Page 89 of Burn of the Everflame

Her eyes flared as my words sank in. The corners of her mouth crept upward. “If it’s a council of the people, surely the mortals will demand some seats.”

“Surely,” I agreed. “It’s only fair.”

Marthe scoffed. “What a vulgar suggestion. I never⁠—”

“The Unhoused Descended, too,” I said.

“Absolutely not,” Marthe squawked. “Being Unhoused is a punishment. We cannot reward them for⁠—”

“If the Unhoused Descended get a seat, then my House gets a seat,” the Ghislaine man cut in.

“Mine too,” another woman called out.

I shrugged. “Fine with me. All the Houses get a seat.”

Marthe banged her cane, screeching about my preposterous, unworkable plan, but her protests were lost in the room’s excited chatter about my offer and the implications it might have on the realm.

One voice did slice through the clamor—low and strong, its familiar timbre pulsing hot through my blood.

“And what of the half-mortals?”

The crowd quieted as they turned toward the man in the doorway, his piercing blue-grey eyes pinned on me.

“Do we get a seat at the table?” Luther asked.

My heart stopped, though the galloping beat of his echoed over the bond.

Did he just . . . ?

“Son,” Remis warned. “A word. In private.”

Luther ignored him and prowled toward me. “Our voices were silenced by the progeny laws. Those of us who managed to survive were forced to hide, in Lumnos and abroad.” He stopped in front of me, holding me captive in his stare. “We will fight for this realm. We’ll lay down our lives to protect it. No time or space will ever change that.” He lifted a hand to the sigil of the Lumnos Crown stitched across his heart. “This is our home. Our love for it is eternal.”

My throat burned with emotion.

His chin lowered. “Will our home forsake us?”

“Never,” I whispered.

“Luther, what are you talking about?” Iléana’s voice was shrill, almost panicked. “Why do you keep saying we?”

“Son,” Remis growled again. “Do not⁠—”

“Because my mother was a mortal.” Luther turned to face the crowd. “My father killed her to hide the truth. Her name . . .” He faltered, and I slipped my hand in his. His fingers curled around mine as his shoulders rolled back. “Her name was Florille. I am her son, and I am half-mortal.”

The air was thick with silence.

Luther had been a stalwart of Lumnos high society, the respected Prince who embodied the rule of law as the King’s favored heir. My parentage had always been a source of gossip, but his was unassailable, absolute.

Even Alixe and Eleanor looked stunned, though Zalaric had suspected the truth. From the pride beaming on Taran’s face, apparently so had he.

“Half-mortals have no place on any council,” Marthe said. “They are forbidden.”

“Not anymore,” I said. “The people of Lumnos are free to love, marry, and have children with whoever they please.” My glare cut to Jean Hanoverre. “Those who interfere with any half-mortal’s return will answer to me.”

My proclamation was not well-received. The economy of Lumnos was built on the bedrock of sanctioned injustice. Upending it, even in this small fashion, put their entire way of life at risk. Nothing could be more dangerous than a privileged group losing their power.

As the outrage grew louder, Luther’s magic unfurled, shimmering in anticipation of an attack.