Henri’s father started toward us, to Lana’s deep relief. I gave her arm a final squeeze. “Be careful, Lana. The Guardians’ purpose is honorable, but their methods…”
Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I swore a shadow of troubled agreement wavered in her eyes before she bolted away.
“Mr. Albanon,” I said as Henri’s father approached. “Thank you for coming.”
With their warm eyes and kind faces, he and his son looked so much alike, my heart twisted at the sight. It was a harsh reminder of what Henri might look like in a few decades, as his mortal body aged while I stayed in a near-permanent youth.
“Of course,” he said gruffly, then paused. “I understand congratulations are in order on your betrothal to my son.”
“He told you?” My heart leapt for a brief moment—until I saw the stark doubt scrawled across his face.
“You know I’ve always adored you, Diem. I’ve been telling my son to propose to you for years. I’ve always believed you two were meant to be, even now that you’re—” He cut himself off and glanced furtively at the Corbois cousins across the clearing, lowering his voice. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you his dislike of them has grown quite… passionate.”
I nodded but offered nothing more. Henri had always tried to hide his true feelings about the Descended from his father. I would not betray him any more than I already had.
“I barely recognize him these days. He used to be a happy boy, and now he just seems so… so angry.” He rubbed at his eyes with a mournful stare. “The more I try to reach him, the more he pushes me away. He’s a shell of himself. Whatever he’s going through, it’s eating him alive.”
My heart ached, his words hitting a bit too close to home.
“You’ve always brought out the goodness in my boy’s soul,” he went on. “I prayed his love for you would give him a greater purpose. Without you… I confess, I fear what he might become.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I choked out. “Henri’s a good man.”
His features turned grave. “Even good men can lose their way.”
My already crushing guilt swelled. I couldn’t bear the look in his eyes—his desperate hope that I might still be his son’s salvation. But how could I save Henri’s soul when my own was so irreparably broken?
I excused myself before the conversation could spear any further into the dents in my armor and walked toward the group of Corbois. They, at least, would not expect me to talk—I’d hardly spoken a word to any of them since the meeting with House Hanoverre.
Even my daily breakfasts with Luther had become wholly one-sided. Gone was our playful teasing, our swapped stories about our lives, our prolonged looks and private smiles. Now I merely listened while he gave his reports and studied me with that damn all-seeing stare.
Once or twice, he had sat up straighter and looked at me with sudden fire in his eyes, as if he might say something more—but in the end, he never did. He kept his walls, and I kept mine.
And each day, my heart hardened a little more.
“Thank you for coming. Teller and I appreciate your support.” My voice felt artificial, even to my own ears.
“We would never miss it,” Eleanor said. “Your father seemed like a wonderful man.”
“He was a hero to all of Emarion,” Alixe added. “A man who led with courage and heart—just like his daughter.” Her reverent look had me swallowing hard.
“He would be very proud of you,” Luther said quietly.
“No,” I clipped. “He would not.”
He frowned deeply, and I looked down, awkwardly smoothing the lines of my simple black frock. My chest warmed as I realized the Corbois had all worn black instead of their traditional glittering red, a small but significant gesture from people so accustomed to overriding mortal culture with their own.
When I finally mustered the strength to look back up, Luther’s attention had moved to something over my shoulder. His eyes were narrow and streaked with shadow, his fists hanging clenched at his sides.
“Diem?” a familiar voice called out.
The beating of my heart stopped in an instant.
I spun around to see Henri standing halfway across the clearing. Vance, the leader of the Lumnos Guardians, stood beside him, scowling, arms folded over his chest.
“Henri,” I breathed. I broke into a run to meet him. “You came. I didn’t think… that is, I wasn’t sure…”
He shifted his weight, his apprehension evident. His expression was pinched, almost conflicted—not exactly love, but far from the hate-filled betrayal I’d been dreading.
Hope sparked anew, and adrenaline burned like fire in my veins as I fumbled for words. There was so much I wanted to say, so much to make right.
“Please, Henri,” I begged, “you must know I did it because I care about you. I didn’t know what else to do. You would have been killed, and I—”
“Henri was prepared to die,” Vance said matter-of-factly. “We all were.”
“Then you’re all fools,” I shot back.
Vance’s glare sharpened. “That was our best chance to take the palace. You betrayed us to protect them.”
“I was protecting you. All of you. You would never have succeeded, and I could not let so many mortals walk into their own slaughter.”
“You could have called the Descended off,” Henri finally spoke up. “I saw the guards obey your commands.”
“It’s not so simple,” I said, my voice softening as my focus shifted back to him. “Until I’m coronated, the Regent’s orders overrule mine. He would have told the guards to kill all of you.”
He watched me quietly, uncertainty slithering into his features. I rushed forward and took his hands.
“You know me, Henri. You really think I would ever turn my back on the mortals?”
Vance scoffed loudly. Henri shot him a scowl that was surprisingly severe and turned to pull me aside.
Vance reached out to grab his arm. “Brother Henri,” he said, his low tone loaded with warning.
“Are you going to accuse me of being a traitor now, too?” Henri snapped.
I watched mutely as the air thickened with tension, my grief momentarily overshadowed by my shock. Vance stared him down, but Henri didn’t budge. Finally, he let go, and his expression smoothed. “Of course not, Brother Henri. I know you’re with us.”
Henri’s expression darkened. He tugged me away until we were out of earshot.
“Do you really mean what you said back there?” he asked. “You did it to save us—not to protect them?”
“I… yes, of course.”
The truth—that I’d done it for both reasons, as unwilling to allow the murder of my Corbois friends as I was to permit Henri’s execution—was a nuance I wasn’t sure he would ever accept.
I slid my hands to his chest, clutching at his tunic. “You have no idea the risk I took to send the Guardians away without bloodshed. It could still cost me everything. But I was willing to do it—for you. For the mortals.”
His hands slowly lifted to my hips, his eyes jumping across my face. “What about the flameroot? You promised to get us some.”