Page 51 of Winds of Ruin
“For what?” Lark glanced between them.
“Let us steal you away for a moment,” Sybilla said, guiding her toward the hall.
I clapped and said, “Oh, I won’t miss this.”
Krait’s arm wrapped around Sybilla’s hip as they walked. Their affection wasn’t something they often flaunted—only on special occasions.
It left my side feeling cold and empty.
The iron doors to the armory vault groaned open, and Krait stepped inside, retrieving the powerful artifacts hidden within. I resisted bouncing in place in anticipation.
“Much to my dismay, you’re no longer a girl. Soon, you’ll have all of your father’s Shadows,” Sybilla said. “And you’ve masteredIsleen’s art of compulsion. But there are a couple more things we’d like to give you before you begin scouring tombs and ruins.”
Lark’s hands slapped her cheeks. “You’re finally letting me go?” She balked and glanced my way. I offered her a conspiratorial wink.
Krait approached with a flat, velvet box and a sword holstered at his hip. “It’s hardly our choice any longer.”
The box clicked open, revealing a familiar necklace within that glowed iridescent blue. The beads formed two tiers with a delicate lattice between them.
It had been my idea to give her the relics, to let her help search. She’d begged to come along for years.
“Maybe it needs to be her,”I’d argued with Krait. “There may be a reason I cannot find it. The power within the relics could call to one another.”
Krait had initially scoffed at me. But then he’d come around.
“This is Isolde’s carcanet,” Sybilla explained. “She wore it to amplify her strength and crafted it from her own tears to be indestructible.”
Krait plucked the necklace from the box’s plush lining. I rocked from foot to foot as Lark pulled her hair to the side so her father could secure the clasp.
My niece reached up to touch the smoothed stones. “What do I do with it?” she asked with a tone of reverence.
“We hope it will guide us to the third relic,” I chimed in. “It’s a hunch. But Isolde’s weapons were crafted to be wielded by you.”
Sybilla pulled the sword from Krait’s side holster. Its ruby-encrusted pommel caught the low lamplight.
Seeing it again brought back memories of a newly crowned King cleaning the blade at a desk in Helos and scolding me for breaking in. Those early conversations with Emmerick felt like they’d happened centuries ago. Before the curse, or the mirror, or our friendship...
“This sword once came to me in a time of great need. Now it will be yours to wield.”
Necklaces, swords, duty, impending doom.
I watched Lark’s expression closely, searching for any sign of doubt; if she felt it, she didn’t show it. Blood pumped in my ears as she held out her hands to take the Sword of Isolde—a weapon destined to destroy the Death Origin.
When the blade touched her fingertips, the metal glowed a brilliant shade of gold as the rubies blazed red. “Suits your color preferences,” I noted, which elicited a smile from Lark and a pointed stare from Sybilla.
There was still one more relic to find.
Still a curse to break.
We celebrated in peace today, but the prophecy was clear—Caym would rise again, whether my dear niece was ready to face him or not.
She would not do so alone.
Chapter 22
Larkspur
Ireentered the ballroom and fetched a drink. The punch burned as it slid down my throat; I choked. Whoever spiked it had been heavy-handed with their pour.
