Alone. That was my destiny.
“I accept.”
Luther tentatively edged closer and helped me to stand, his hands gently curling around my arms to hold me steady. “You accept what?”
“I’ll claim House Corbois,” I said hoarsely. “But only if you protect my friends and family for as long as they live. Even if I die in the Challenging.” My hands began to tremble. “Promise me that, and I’ll do it.”
“Diem…” His voice was soft and painfully tender. He arched his head down in an effort to catch my gaze. “What’s wrong?”
Everything.
I looked up, my fractured, bleeding heart reflected in his concerned eyes. “If you want my trust, then give me your word you’ll protect them, even if I can’t.”
A tear escaped, streaming like a river down my cheeks. I’d once been horrified at the idea of crying in front of him. Now, I was simply trying not to shatter.
“Please, Luther,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
“Of course.” He brushed the tear away and nodded earnestly. “I won’t let anything happen to them. I promise.”
Without another word, I pulled out of his arms and walked away, up the winding staircase, along the twisting corridors, through my heavily guarded chamber doors, and into my cold, empty bed.
I let the tears flow unchecked, and I wept until the world fell away.
Chapter
Nine
I was empty in every sense of the word.
After I left the dungeon, I surrendered to a deep, soul-rending despair that pulled me into a dreamless slumber, but by morning, I awoke feeling numb.
Expending so much power in one explosive burst had drained my energy, leaving my body sore and my head spinning. I bathed and dressed as if swimming through oil, every action requiring twice the effort for half the speed.
My thoughts—and the voice—were quieter than ever. The chaos was still in there somewhere, rumbling under the surface, but for the first time in months, I could sit in silence and just be.
Tears, anger, panic, hope—they all seemed oddly foreign, objects that belonged to someone else. Even when I dared to let my mind drift to my darkest thoughts, the fears hiding within were no more than broken trinkets on a dusty shelf.
I had always imagined the Descended as emotionless shells with magic where their hearts should be. That’s exactly how I felt now—powerful beyond measure, yet depthlessly void.
I’d been up since dawn, sitting in an armchair and staring blankly at the wall, when a knock on the door broke the quiet.
I opened it to see Luther holding a tray piled high with flaky pastries, fluffy steaming omelets, glistening fruits, and an array of juices and teas. He studied me warily, the way you might eye a wounded beast that was as likely to rip your throat out as to keel over and die.
“I thought you might prefer to take breakfast privately this morning.”
I stared at him.
Angry—I was supposed to be angry at him, wasn’t I?
“And I owe you information concerning…” His eyes darted to the guards. “…our mutual acquaintance.”
Yes. My mother.
I did want to know those things. Badly.
I could still feel that, at least.
I stepped aside and watched as he laid out the food on a small table, then I sank into a chair across from him.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. His eyes jumped across my face. “Did using your magic help?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but—had it helped? Was this better than being angry?
“You were right,” I said. “About the release.” I began to pile food on a plate, less out of hunger than just to give myself something to do.
His posture eased as he watched me take my first bites. “The things I said last night… I only meant to provoke you so you would use your magic. I didn’t really mean—”
“It’s fine.”
He leaned forward. “You are not a cowa—”
“Will you pass the tea?”
Luther frowned. He lifted the teapot and poured it into a delicate porcelain cup, then handed it to me. “You must know, you are the last person I would ever—”
“And the sugar, as well?”
His chin dropped. He slowly slid the bowl forward. “If you would just let me—”
“Why do you feel different today?” I plunked a sugar cube into my tea. “Normally, when you come in a room, I can feel your magic. Today, I can’t.”
He leaned back with a heavy sigh. “Because I drained my magic last night trying to keep the palace from coming down on our heads. You should be proud—normally it takes me hours to burn out. You ran through my reserves in minutes.”
Any other day, that would have made me tremendously smug. Obnoxiously smug. I should have been making sexually charged innuendos about his stamina with a wicked smirk.
Instead, I stirred my tea. “I think I’m empty, too.”
“No, you’re not. Not even close.” He smiled wryly. “I can feel yours. It’s weaker than normal, but still stronger than any Descended I’ve ever met.”
I stilled at that revelation. “Can every Descended sense my magic?”
“No. Only the most powerful can sense each other. In Lumnos, there’s only a handful that might feel it. Even those who can won’t know it’s coming from you unless you get close.”
“I see.”
Luther paused, waiting for me to say more. I leaned back and sipped my tea.
His brows pulled inward. “My father issued a formal announcement of the King’s death. He feared waiting would look like we were hiding. I’d hoped to hold off longer, give you more time to settle in…”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“The funeral will be held in a few days. You’ll be expected to be there, but you won’t need to speak or greet anyone. Not until—”
“The ball. Aemonn told me.”
His lips pressed to a thin line. “How helpful of him.”
“He asked to be my escort.”
Luther looked away, staring at some distant point. The muscles in his jaw twitched.
“I made a mistake,” I said quietly. “I revealed something I shouldn’t have.”
His eyes snapped back to me. He leaned his forearms on the table, hands clasped. “Tell me.”
I set down my cup and took a long, slow breath. “Aemonn was flirting, and I’d been drinking. I got flustered.” My eyes dropped. Even the numbness couldn’t keep this from being painfully awkward. “I told him the mortal man I’m seeing asked me to marry him.”
Luther sat deathly still.
“Is that… true?” he asked, with some effort.
“Yes.”
A heavy silence passed.
“Have you given him an answer?”
I winced. “Not yet.”
My eyes closed as I braced for his response. For a long time, there was only an excruciating quiet. Then I heard his sigh, and the creak of jostling leather as he shifted in his chair. Then more silence.
Gods, this was worse than a lecture.
He drew in a breath, and I tensed.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle Aemonn.”
I looked up to see a face empty of judgment or reproach. Instead, his expression was… gentle. Understanding.