Page 42 of The Last of the Dark Lords

There was an undertone of raw anger in Manod's voice. I wanted to explain myself, to make him understand. "My grandmother—"

"Stop!” He breathed in, calming himself. “It doesn’t matter, not now. The crown stays with the bearer until he dies. Then it lies dormant until it is given to the next. Once the connection has been secured between them, the bearer cannot live without the artifact."

The taste of acid hit my mouth as my stomach churned. "There's no way to save him?"

"You are his husband." Manod turned his back on me as if he couldn't bear to see my face. He paced around the room, lighting candles, illuminating the dark chamber. "Not only did you establish the marriage bond, you were recognized by the fire. There is a connection between you and Cyrus that is unique. Your grandmother’s artifact ensured that Cyrus cannot re-establish his connection with the crown again, that's part of its dangerous magic."

Manod turned, the light of the candles flickering yellow on his face. He glared at me as if daring me to contradict him. I said nothing.

"You can."

"What?"

"You can become the Crown of Seeing’s next bearer. It will recognize the bond of marriage you share, and the connection can be preserved through that."

"So if I—"

"If you put on the crown, and it accepts you, then he will not die.”

Whywouldit accept me, after what I had done? “And if it doesn’t?”

“You'll both be dead."

I ran my hand through my hair. Exhaustion and guilt threatened to overtake me. This was too much. Knowledge of what was right and what was wrong was obscured from my sight. All that was left was confusion.

"It is your grandmother's fault,” Manod accused. “If she had told you the truth—"

"Grandmother doesn't lie!" My reaction was automatic and instinctive. It was ingrained in me, but even as the words left my mouth, I was already doubting them. A growing grief gnawed at me. I had been so certain that she would not mislead her own grandson.

Manod sighed. "Sit down, Skye." He gestured to the nearby wooden chair.

I sat, and even that amount of physical relaxation made me aware of how my whole system was on a knife's edge. What Manod was about to say might make me or break me.

"I was advisor to the Lord of Ashfuror when your parents died."

My whole body tensed. "You knew them."

"I did."

"You were there when they were killed by Cyrus’ father.”

Manod barked out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Is that what you were told? That they were murdered in cold blood?"

I nodded. It was a story I'd heard over and over again, from Grandmother, from everyone in Greatfalls. "They were ambassadors. They were slaughtered in the middle of the night."

"Of course that's what they told you." Manod's face softened. "Well, I was there, and I know the truth."

My vision blurred around the edges. This was the fundamental fact of my childhood from the age of six. My parents had been murdered by the Dark Lord of Ashfuror. It was foundational. Questioning it would jeopardize my whole sense of my own history.

But I had to know. I gestured for him to continue, steeling myself.

"They were here as diplomats. Although Ashfuror and Greatfalls have been at odds for centuries, there were moments here and there when the tensions eased. This was one of those times. There were some indications that perhaps we could forge a lasting peace. We hosted a banquet in their honor. They talked prettily about the possibility of alliance, of sharing resources and greater peace in Fyr."

He sank down on the edge of the bed.

"But the second night they were here, I was alone in my quarters when Stahkla sent me a flash of insight. He doesn't often communicate in that way. He prefers to use his artifacts, but this was important. It wasn't much, nothing visual or even words. Just an overwhelming sense that Cyrus was in danger."

His face showed his discomfort at calling up the memory. His voice shook, but he pushed through.

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