Page 65 of Heir of Illusion

“What happens when you touch it?” I ask, remembering Baylor’s order.

“Never touch it!” His eyes flash as he nearly shouts the words. “Once you touch the sword, it owns you. Controls you.”

“That’s not possible,” I whisper.

“I wish that were true,” he says darkly. “Being in close proximity is all it takes to begin hearing the voices, but once you touch it, it’s over. Very few would be able to fight against its will at that point.”

My mind returns to the passage I read in my book.

“Is that what happened to Philo?” I ask, referring to the first God of Love and Hate.

He nods. “As a God, he probably would have been able to withstand its influence for a short time, but it would have taken all his strength. Eventually, he would have been too drained to keep fighting.”

I always think of Gods as being indestructible, but they aren’t. They were created by the Fates to unite our realms and rule over them, but they can still die. Even among the supposedly immortal, no one lives forever. While a high fae might live two or three thousand years if they’re lucky, a God’s lifespan is more than triple that. Like fae, Gods age slowly. Cassandra, the Goddess of Divination is the oldest among the current set, probably due to her ability to see threats in advance.

Claudius may have been the first God to die, but he wasn’t the last. Many have been slaughtered by other Gods over the years. Though, I’ve never heard of one being felled by a mortal or fae.

“An Heir would succumb to the sword much faster,” Darrow adds, referring to the children of the Gods. “They might be able to use it once, but even for someone with divine blood, it would be a risk.”

A great rumble of thunder crashes outside, the force of it shaking the building. I move toward the window, wincing as lightning strikes nearby. These storms are getting out of hand.

“It’s going to get worse,” Darrow echoes my thoughts. “That tsunami that happened up north will be nothing compared to what the Fates will rain down on us.”

He reaches for a decanter of brown liquid, pouring several fingers worth into a crystal tumbler. He holds the glass up to me, but I shake my head, politely refraining from commenting on the time of day or the generosity of his pour.

“You believe what they say about the storms?” I ask. “That it’s Baylor’s fault?”

He nods, taking a sip. “Him becoming king wasn’t part of their plan.”

Darrow is usually more careful than this. That small confession, offered so freely, was treasonous. While he may toe the line occasionally, he typically chooses his words more carefully. What’s different today?

“Why are you telling me this, Darrow?”

He swirls the liquid in his cup, watching me with sad eyes. “Because I think you’ve finally seen Baylor for what he is.”

My jaw clenches. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My mistake,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze.

“Is there any way to help those who’ve succumbed to the sword’s influence?” I ask, changing the subject.

Thoughts of Alice’s haunted face cloud my mind. Even if Grell Darby could break free of the sword’s hold, the damage has been done. I don’t know if she could ever see him the way she did before. Unfortunately, love is simultaneously the strongest force in the world, and the most fragile.

“Sometimes distance helps.” Darrow knocks back the rest of his drink and sets the glass on his dresser before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Sometimes it doesn’t.”

“Where did you learn all of this?”

He doesn’t respond.

Strangely, his silence is a relief. As much as I want answers, his uncharacteristic forthrightness was worrying me. Whatever is truly going on with the sword, it’s shaken him more than anything I’ve seen before.

“Is there anyone who would be immune to it?” I try another question.

“The Goddess of Illusion,” he says, surprising me. “Or one of her descendants. But since she’s missing, and the existence of her Heir has never been confirmed, no. There’s no one who could wield it without consequence.”

He moves to the window, peeking through the gap in the curtains. There’s a faint tremor in his hands as he scans the streets below.

“Thorne isn’t the only reason you’ve been avoiding your shop?” I ask tentatively.

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