Page 17 of The Last of the Dark Lords

As we made our way through the dead plains, I was struck with how dire the state of the rest of Fyr must be. My righteous anger drained away, replaced with a feeling of concern for the people of Fyr, and for myself.

Was this the Dark Lord’s fault? Had he mismanaged the response to the drought so severely that the land itself was dying?

The stories passed around the old families of Greatfalls painted the dark lords as power-hungry and willing to sacrifice their people for their own conquest. But those were stories about Cyrus’ father and grandfather. I had no sense of the man himself, outside of how infuriating could be.

We slowed to a standstill, and Cyrus hopped down from his horse.

“Time to set up camp, pretty.”

I bristled at his mocking words, but I kept my face still. I wouldn’t let him see the effect he had on me. I refused to give him the satisfaction.

Sliding off of Blaze, I reached into my bags, pulling out a stake and anchoring him to the earth. No trees grew here, and the dirt was still warm from the rays of the now-setting sun.

I glanced around me. Elber, the Dark Lord’s personal guard, was helping him to set up a small wedge-shaped tent. I was struck by the easy rapport Cyrus had with the hulking brute. Elber made some remark as he pushed a stake into the ground, and Cyrus laughed. Wait. Did these two already have a relationship?Was I going to be a husband in name only, while Cyrus was off screwing his guard? Or worse, inlovewith him? I felt a pang of jealousy, which was absolutely absurd. I was on my way to Ashfuror to take his power from him. What did it matter who he slept with?

That thought was followed by a wave of confusion. WouldIbe expected to sleep next to Cyrus this evening? What would he want of me? Although I had entered into this arrangement willingly, the farther we got from home, the more of a prisoner I became. Within the next day, we would pass the point where I had any knowledge of the land around us. I hated how little power I had. Cyrus held all the cards.

I didn’t trust him. The Dark Lords had always brought death and destruction to Greatfalls, and to all the people of Fyr. The history we learned in school was clear, although my education had stopped with the death of his grandfather. I knew almost nothing about his father, other than the fact that he had conquered the other remaining Lords of Fyr. Cyrus had inherited his position as the last of them.

And I was there to betray him. A spark of guilt sprang up in my chest, which I quickly pushed away. It was ridiculous to feel remorseful. I was protecting my family and my home. I was doing what was right.

Still, he was my betrothed. Did he expect me to submit?

Manod, the old priest, must have seen the confusion on my face. He left the small cooking fire he was building and approached me.

“He doesn’t expect anything from you, young Skye.”

Hearing his words, Jelenna broke from putting up her own tent and took a step toward us. I held up my hand to stop her. She was right to be suspicious, and I didn’t trust Manod’s apparent kindness, but it didn’t make sense for any of them to cause me harm. If something happened to me, all of this would have been for nothing.

“He understands that you don’t know each other.” The priest’s voice was soft but clear. “Although all of us would wish nothing more for Cyrus than to find love in this betrothal, you are strangers.”

I nodded, not saying anything, stifling my incredulity. A love match with the Dark Lord of Ashfuror? It was an impossibility. To me, he’d always been a boogeyman, a story to scare children with. At least some of the more fantastical stories had to be false, but the title was a terrifying one. I’d spent my whole life building up the defense of Greatfalls in the eventuality of his attack.

The old man chuckled. “You have many voices warring in your mind. When you’re ready, speak to Cyrus. He may be arrogant and sarcastic, but his heart is in the right place. You should get to know your intended.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what I would even say to Cyrus.

Manod smiled and walked away. I watched him go. After a minute, Jelenna cleared her throat.

“A little help?”

I rolled my eyes and went over, helping her stake the corners of the tent despite the fact that it was an obvious cover so that we could speak.

“What did he want?” she said under her breath.

“He told me to talk to, you know,him. Cyrus. The Dark Lord.”

“You’re going to have to eventually.”

I must have made a disbelieving face, because she shook her head. ‘No, no, if you don’t connect with him, then we’ll never accomplish what we came here to do.”

With one motion, she pulled and the tent popped erect and into place. Grabbing the travel bags from the horses, she tossed them into our new shelter. She indicated that I should crawl inside.

After I did, she followed and knelt down, whispering as she searched through her bag. “I have a package from your grandmother.”

“Is it…?”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line. It was the artifact. It had to be.

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