Page 35 of Heir of Illusion

“You should agree to his terms,” I announce suddenly, ignoring the hoarseness in my voice.

I’ll do what Thorne wants and convince Baylor to let me help in the search. But when I find the sword, I won’t be giving it to either of them. Something that powerful doesn’t belong in the hands of a king or a God. It shouldn’t belong to anyone.

His arms fall away from me as he steps back, his features twisting with suspicion. “And why would I do that?”

“It’s the smart move.” I shrug, feigning indifference as I head for the pitcher of water sitting on a cabinet in the corner.

My fingers tremble as I pour myself a glass and swallow several large gulps. Thankfully, the cool liquid soothes my aching throat. Since the attack was short, hopefully any damage it caused was minimal. And with my fae heritage, it should heal quickly.

“Let him think he’s won,” I continue speaking. “Boost his ego a bit. Obviously, his plan is to drive a wedge between us in order to isolate you and get information out of me. So, we make him think it’s working.”

He watches me warily. “For what purpose?”

“To use his own plan against him. While he tries to gain my trust, I’ll be spying on him and making sure he doesn’t screw us over.”

I don’t mention that I’m planning to screw them both over.

Baylor is quiet, his expression betraying nothing as he deliberates on my proposal. Tremors threaten to give away my nervousness, but I force myself to appear calm despite knowing that his answer will determine my fate.

“I don’t want you around the sword,” he says finally. “That’s nonnegotiable.”

“Then I won’t go near it,” I lie.

He nods. “And you will report everything you learn to me.”

“Of course.”

And with that, it’s settled. Baylor returns to his desk, riffling through his folders. My outward appearance is neutral, but inside I’m reeling. If I’m successful, this will be far beyond my usual acts of rebellion. The Angel of Mercy started as a small way to fight back against Baylor. It was intended to undermine the city’s confidence in him while also helping those in need.

Taking the sword is different. I’ll be destroying his alliance with the Fifth Isle, which will be a major blow to Baylor’s reign. But there will be other consequences too. Without that grain, many people will go hungry. Can I live with that?

I don’t need to search within myself for the answer. I already know it. No. I won’t be able to live with that. Which means I’ll need to find a way to ensure that grain is delivered with or without the sword.

I shove my worries away as Baylor returns. He hands me a sheet of paper, and I pray he doesn’t notice the way my hands shake as I take it, finding a lifelike depiction of an antique sword.

“The sword’s official name is thealmanova,” he explains. “But many have taken to calling it the whisperer.”

Chills skate over my skin, but I ignore my unease as I examine the drawing. The blade is engraved with markings from an old language I don’t recognize. There’s something almost sinister about it. Glowing rubies adorn the faded white pommel, resembling drops of blood. My stomach twists as I realize the handle is actually made from bone.

I swallow. “It’s certainly unique.”

As I peer closer at the image, the hairs on my arms rise. My trembling fingers trace over the rubies embedded in the sword, noting the familiar shape and color. They appear almost identical to the ones clasped around my throat. Questions spark in the back of my mind but I stop them in their tracks. That’s not possible.

“Very unique,” Baylor agrees, pulling my attention away from the paper. “And very powerful. Which is why you must take great care. If you find the blade, promise me that you won’t go near it.”

I nod, still distracted by my suspicions.

He reaches out, gripping my chin as his eyes bore into mine. “Never let it touch your skin. This is extremely important, pet.”

An icy shiver skates down my spine. “I promise.”

I wait for him to offer further explanation for his strange warning, but he doesn’t.

“Good,” Baylor says, releasing me as he returns to his desk, writing out a quick message. He quickly folds the parchment before stamping it with his seal and handing it to me. “Give this to Kaldar. He’s in the dungeon, guarding the entrance to the tunnels. He will allow you to pass through with ourguest,” he spits the word as he sits back down, effectively dismissing me.

I want to ask him about the similarities between the rubies, but I know better than to expect the truth from him. Instead, I head for the door, ready to escape this horrific encounter. My fingers have just brushed the brass handle when he speaks again.

“When you’re down there, ignore any voices you may hear. The whispers cannot be trusted.”

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