Page 8 of Burn of the Everflame

“Why should I trust you? You locked my daughter on an island prison.”

Blood drained from her face. “You know about that?” She shook her head. “That—that was Sophos’s plan. There was nothing I could do!”

“Nothing? Swear to me, on your mortal father’s name, that you had no hand in what happened to my daughter.”

Guilt flitted over her features. Her voice turned quiet. “You must understand . . . I have a realm to protect, Auralie. I could not sacrifice it for one girl.”

“That is my Queen you speak of,” I growled.

“I did what I could. I got the Guardians safely off the island, didn’t I? And I’ve returned to Coeurîle every week to leave Diem supplies.”

“Are you sure she got them?” Teller asked. “Were the supplies gone each time you went back?”

Mireille hesitated, then sighed. “No. They were never touched.” She hurried on. “But I will keep sending her more until this dreadful ordeal is over.”

Teller looked at me, eyes round. It was a look I had seen a thousand times before—from half-mortal children and their parents, from mortals facing their execution, from my own family when they found themselves on the wrong side of a more powerful Descended.

The look of a terrified person who had placed their last chance at hope in my hands.

“It means nothing,” I said to him. “Diem wouldn’t trust anything that came from a Crown.” My eyes slid back to the Arboros Queen. “Neither should we.”

“Come to the meeting, Auralie,” Mireille urged. “This is your chance to make whatever demands you wish.”

“And if I demand my daughter’s freedom?” she asked.

“That, they will not give—not until the war is over. They fear her too much.”

I’m the one they should fear, I thought darkly.

Auralie shrugged. “Then my answer is no.”

Cordellia balked. It was barely noticeable, no more than a tensing of muscles, a slight turn of her head. I might not have noticed, had I not spent the past month watching the two women present a united front to keep the rebels from splitting any more than they already had.

“Auralie,” Cordellia whispered.

“Leave, Mireille,” Auralie said loudly.

The Queen’s mouth fell open. “I’m offering you a chance to save your people.”

“All I need to do to save my people is wait for Ophiucae to finish what he’s started.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from the mortals behind us.

Mireille gaped at me. “You’re fine with this, Prince? The slaughter of your people—your family?”

Fury danced like fire in my bones. “The savior they need is on that island. If any harm befalls my family because of it, you and the Crowns will repay it in blood.”

She rolled her shoulders back, feigning disinterest in my threat, but she couldn’t hide the color leeching from her cheeks. She turned to Cordellia. “Dell, we’ve been allies for years. I helped you many times, at great personal risk.”

“You have,” Cordellia agreed tightly.

“Have I not earned your trust? Think about what’s best for your people. All the lives that could be saved.”

“Auralie is our leader.”

Her tone was unconvincing. The Arboros Queen’s eyes took on a determined glint at the sign of a crack in our ranks. “A leader does not place anything above her people—even her own family. If Auralie will not be the leader the mortals need . . .” She picked up the discarded invitation, then held it out to Cordellia. “ . . . perhaps you will.”

Auralie and Cordellia exchanged a lingering look so burdened with unsaid words, even the air felt heavier.