Page 45 of The Last of the Dark Lords

There was Cyrus, pale and still, unmoving in his bed. My stomach churned, and I gasped at the grief that sprang up in me. Was he dead? Was I unable to save him?

His body shifted and changed into a different person, a man with blonde hair instead of brown and a permanent sneer affixed to his face. My brother Athard. Also still, also unmoving.

Then, before I could take in what I was seeing, it changed once more, and the body became my grandmother’s. She too did not stir. Was it slumber? Or death?

"All of them? Do all of them die?"

And what if they do? Will you still take the crown? Will you still pay the debt you owe to Cyrus and to me?

If they were all gone, what then? If my family and my husband were dead, what remained? I would be left with my duty to the people of Fyr, and the knowledge that I did everything I could to right the wrong I had perpetrated. That would have to be enough.

"If I bind myself to the crown, I will become a ruler? A Dark Lord?"

You will.

A fiery appendage gestured to another node. Inside was the image of a large chamber of dark stone with a huge round table at the center. A map of Fyr was on the table, with wooden figurines placed at various points throughout. A figure stood over it, cloaked in black, wearing a glowing orange crown.

It was me.

Manod was by my side, appearing even older and wearier, his beard unkempt and his eyes bloodshot. Other people were around us, but I did not know them. Advisors? Military commanders? But they all waited. They were waiting on my decision.

Then a flurry of images. Me standing with members of the aristocracy, dancing, talking, laughing. Me speaking with unhappy citizens. Me meeting with dangerous criminals.

Eventually, everything faded, the amber strands disintegrating around us, until it was just the god and I alone in the void. Although it said nothing, I could tell that it was waiting for my final agreement.

There was no question. I would rule over Ashfuror, over all of Fyr. I would save Cyrus and atone for my betrayal. If the lordship changed me, it would be no one's fault but myself. If I wanted to keep my integrity, I'd need to have the will to do so.

There was only one way forward.

"I accept the crown."

Chapter 14

Without a word, the God of Fire and Metal was gone, and I was back in Cyrus’ bedroom. There was no fire, no charred furniture or smoke-filled rafters. It was as it had been before, except for the amber light that bathed the entire room. It took me a moment to realize that the illumination came from the crown on my head.

"Stahkla has accepted you."

Manod stared at me, his hands by his sides and his eyes wide.

"He did."

"My Lord." Manod went down on one knee, his movement unsteady from old age. I reached out to stop him.

"Get up, Manod. I am no more a Lord than I was a moment ago, no matter what the crown might signify. I’ve been in the city all of three days. Please stand."

Manod was uncertain for a moment, then pushed himself up to standing. "What is your command, Lord?"

"Cyrus. Is he alive? Is he hurt?"

Manod moved to Cyrus’ bedside and I followed. My husband was still. Whatever tremors racked his body before had calmed.

"My healing put him into stasis, and his body has stopped fighting it. The artifact ceased draining him when you bonded with it. I can remove the magic keeping him like this, but whether he has the energy he needs to recover, I do not know."

I let out a shaky breath. Had this all been for nothing? But I had sworn myself in service to the people of Fyr, and I would not break another oath. Even if Cyrus didn't…no, I didn’t want to think of it. Fear and grief sprang up in me, but I pushed them away. This wasn’t the time.

Manod pressed his hand to Cyrus' forehead, and his body released. It was subtle, but there was a ripple as the muscle and tissue relaxed. I willed his chest to move.

After a minute or more, it finally did. A strangled sound burst from Manod, but he quickly tamped down his display of emotion. He picked up Cyrus' wrist, feeling for a pulse.

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