Page 40 of The Last of the Dark Lords

"I love you, Grandmother."

I jolted awake, breathing hard, in bed once more. The room had been returned to normal, no longer a morphed dreamscape. I was back in Ashfuror.

Cyrus lay next to me in the bed. He was so still, his chest barely rising and falling with the flow of his gentle breath. His face was peaceful and free of worry.

This was going to hurt.

I stood and went to the dresser, keeping my footfalls light. I opened the drawer and removed the dagger, the present from my Grandmother and the gift of Vazzart. It hummed in my hand, vibrating as though my touch had brought it to life.

I picked up the circlet. The volcanic glass was dark and lifeless. Without Cyrus bearing it, feeding it his energy, it was nothing but an empty symbol. I couldn’t let it continue to steal Cyrus’ vitality.

I held the ornament aloft in my left hand. It was lighter than I imagined it would be. As I raised the dagger, the sound of mumbling came from the nearby bed. I froze.

Cyrus was talking in his sleep, mumbling incoherently. I breathed in and out slowly, steadying the racing tempo of my heartbeat.

Taking the dagger in my right hand, I circled around the crown. Once.

The crown sprang to life, shining with a bright orange-yellow light and emitting a low tone. The dagger shook and hummed. Moving it through the air took an effort, as if the knife was being pulled down toward the center of the earth.

Twice.

The tone grew louder, and the crown shook sympathetically with the knife. It was warming underneath my fingers, tolerable but heating up quickly.

Three times.

The whole room came alive with orange light, and flames burst from the surface of the circlet. I almost lost hold, but I gritted my teeth and gripped hard, even as my fingers blistered. I could see them then, the rope-like strands of amber energy running from the artifact to Cyrus, pulling energy from him, taking what belonged to him.

He deserved more than this, to have his life sacrificed to Stahkla's will. The people of Greatfall, my people, my home city,they deserved more as well. They deserved to govern themselves, to not constantly worry about some far away Dark Lord coming to bend them to his desires.

And I deserved more. I had given up my home and I had given up my hand in marriage. I deserved time. Time to find out if Cyrus and I could have something real, something like my mother and father had had.

The dagger was heavy now, so heavy, and the crown burned with a white-hot heat. I wanted to scream, I wanted to drop them both, but I didn't. I had a duty to perform. For Greatfalls. For Cyrus. And for myself.

With great effort, I held the dagger high. My arm strained against the weight. In a single quick motion, I cut through the threads of energy that connected the crown to my husband, sleeping peacefully in his bed. Inourbed.

The cords of power snapped with a crack that echoed off the stone walls. I instinctively shielded my face. Then everything went dark.

Chapter 12

Cyrus' scream shook me to my core. It was the desperate cry of a creature in agony, and it made my heart break to think I'd been the cause of that pain, even momentarily. I set the now-dark circlet down and went to his side.

He lay there, eyes open, staring up at the empty air as if he could see something I couldn't.

"Cyrus? What’s happening?”

"I didn't know it would hurt this much." He didn't look at me, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. I put my hand to his forehead. It was hot to the touch.

"Cyrus..."

"I had wondered if you would do it. You love your home city so much."

"It wasn’t only for Greatfalls. Now you won't have thatthingdraining your life away."

"Sweet Skye." He grabbed my hand, squeezing, but never turned his head to me. Could he see anything at all? "I'm sorry. I should have warned you, but Stahkla stopped me. The god wanted this to be some kind of test or…I don’t know..."

"Cyrus—"

He coughed, deep and raw, and tremors wracked his body. Despair filled me as I watched the consequences of what I’d done.

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