Page 139 of Blade of the Nightking

Towering and skeletal beneath a yellowed crown that branched like antlers, Tharnyx stood upon a field of corpses, his milky skin threaded with black veins that spread like cracks through marble. Behind him stretched endless ranks of shadowed figures. Rotting banners hung from decaying hands. Hollow eyes stared from sunken faces. And above them all, Tharnyx's gaze seemed fixed upon the one holding the page. Upon me.

My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.

Levinica blinked sleepily at me before leaning closer to the page. “The Keeper of Return,” she read aloud.

The fine hairs along my arms lifted.

“Tharnyx,” I whispered. Across the room, Segolayne straightened subtly against the wall.

Levinica glanced toward the page and gave a small, unconcerned nod. “The Keepers are essential to the mythology and ancient history of Elantis.” She settled back into her chair, rubbing tiredly at one eye before leaning closer to inspect the drawing. “That’s what the Firstborn were called long ago. The Bone-Wrought were known as the Keepers of Return.”

I stared at her. “The Firstborn are in this book?”

“Why yes, of course.” She looked genuinely surprised by the question. “They are just as much a part of the origins of Elantis as the Fae and the humans. Perhaps more so, considering they were here first.”

Levinica grinned at my shocked expression and leaned back in her chair, lacing her gloved hands neatly over her stomach.

“The Firstborn came before all of it. Before kingdoms. Before crowns.” Her gaze drifted, distant with memory. “Some believed they were shaped by the gods themselves—made to embody them in this plane of existence to watch over the Veins.”

Veins.

I’d seen the Vein beneath Dheren, that monstrous river of living fire winding beneath the earth, but I’d never realized it wasn’t the only one.

“The Veins are currents of raw magic flowing through the world,” she explained softly. “They run all through the land. That’s where Fae magic comes from.” Her fingers brushed lightly across the parchment before she tilted her head toward me, a conspiratorial gleam in her tired eyes. “The stories say that in ancient times, before the Fae, one could hear the Veins singing as they flowed freely through the world.”

Segolayne gave a quiet huff from her corner.

“Didn’t your mother tell you those stories, Layne?” Levinica asked, half-turning toward her.

Segolayne’s expression tightened instantly. “Yes,” she said curtly, her voice roughened at the edges.

Levinica nodded once, satisfied. “The Firstborn were never rulers. Not in the way we think of rulers now. Keepers is the more accurate word, though that title was changed long before the Wars.” She tapped lightly against the page. “They were pieces of the natural order given form.”

“And Tharnyx was death,” I guessed.

“The Keeper of Return,” Levinica corrected.

I looked back down at the monstrous figure inked across the page. Return sounded far too gentle a word for what I’d seen him do. I said as much and she gave me a wry look.

“The Firstborn were all dangerous in their own ways. But they were necessary to the world. Just like a Lupin, or even a Rask.”

I knew what a Rask was. I’d seen firsthand the devastation they could leave behind, the savage way they hunted and killed. I wasn’t certain I wanted to know what a Lupin was.

“You don’t wander willingly into a predator’s den unless you wish to be torn apart—but that doesn’t make them unnatural.” Her gaze drifted toward the windows, distant with memory. “Coexisting with them was possible, once.”

Beyond the towering glass, Elantis darkened the horizon like some great slumbering giant.

Levinica’s fingers moved absently over the page of the old book.

“They had cultures of their own, you know,” she added suddenly. “Art. Music. Architecture.” Her mouth curved faintly at my expression. “Some of the oldest wonders in Elantis belonged to the Firstborn.”

I knew that already. Aedric had once told me Solmire itself had been built by the Firstborn, encircling the wide lip of the Cauldron in seamless stonework no modern hand could hope to recreate.

Still, I stared at her. “Tharnyx had art?”

Levinica laughed outright. “No, not quite.” She pointed instead toward the crown atop the figure’s head. “There’s a reason they were called the Bone-Wrought, though.”

I leaned closer. “Is that bone?”