Page 363 of Burn of the Everflame

But I’d made her a promise.

As ready as I’d been to abandon it when she died, somewhere in those long hours I spent alone on the island, kneeling among the Everflame’s roots until Taran arrived to coax me home, I decided that I owed it to Diem to try.

“You know,” Auralie said, “there’s another house I know that could use some work . . .”

I groaned. “Don’t start. It’s got a roof and a door. That’s good enough.”

“Luther, she wanted you to finish it.”

“I never should have told you that.”

“Well, you did. And I agree with my daughter.”

Against my repeated, loudly expressed wishes, Auralie had come by the house I built for me and Diem every morning, then stopped in again every night. Though I usually grumbled at her to leave, she’d linger for hours, putting food in front of me and watching with arms crossed until I ate every bite. She’d done it silently at first, mouth twitching with things she was fighting not to speak. Eventually, she began to offer advice.

You should put a window on the western wall. Diem liked to watch the sun as it sets.

You’ll need to make the table a long one. She would have insisted on enough seats for the whole family to come.

Make sure to add some fencing in the gardens. Diem got so angry when the wild rabbits ate her herbs.

I still hadn’t decided whether I hated it or loved it.

She gave my arm a light slap. “Honestly, Luther, you can’t keep sleeping on a bare wooden floor. You’re punishing yourself. Diem wouldn’t want that.”

How could I explain to her that it wasn’t a punishment—it was my one small comfort, a reminder of the night Diem and I had spent together as brand-new mates? Sometimes, if the fire was warm enough, I could even imagine she was curled up against me, sleeping in my arms. Painting over the walls and laying down rugs felt like erasing her from the one place I still felt her presence.

I closed a hand around Diem’s gold pendant, which I’d taken to wearing on a leather cord around my neck. “I like the house the way it is, Auralie.”

I looked over at her, letting my mask slip just enough for her to understand. Her mouth gave a small pinch. “I won’t speak of it again.”

“Thank you. And thank you for looking after me—I know I have not made it easy.”

“You’re my son, Luther. I’ll always look after you.”

Warmth seeped into the gloomy abyss that had become my soul. It had been a very long time since I’d had a mother figure in my life. I never thought I would again.

Maybe this was Auralie’s way of coping with her children’s deaths, by throwing her motherly fussing into me instead. Maybe this was what she needed to heal.

Maybe it was what I needed, too.

“You’re kinder to me than my own parent,” I said.

She frowned. “I thought you and Remis were making progress.”

“We were. Then he told me I was turning into Ulther.”

She scowled. “You’re nothing like Ulther.”

But I was. My late uncle had been a hollow, useless husk of a King, letting others run the realm while he wallowed over the death of his mate. At times, I’d despised him for neglecting his people. Other times, I’d pitied him for a heartbreak I never thought I’d understand.

Now . . . I’d become him.

There was a long way to go before I could trust that my father’s encouragement to embrace the role of King was motivated by more than his own self-interest, but he was right nonetheless.

“Leave Marthe Hanoverre her mansion,” I said. “She’ll be more trouble than it’s worth if we don’t. Move whoever still needs a home into the vacant Hanoverre properties. Tell Marthe it’s an order from His Majesty, the King.”

Auralie sat up, eyebrows rising. “Very well.”