The Queen of Woe pushed past Cyril, her delicate shoes crunching the crystal she’d smashed. “I helped you against him, now give me back my daughter and wife! And my brother.” After a moment she reluctantly added, “And his husband too, I suppose.”
“Delilah is already on her way to the lair,” I explained. “Rick and Kit have probably returned home. Or … the version of home that is here.”
“Well, go get them!” she demanded, stamping her foot in a move too petulant for a queen.
It would take too much energy to teleport between the kingdoms, hunt down royals, and bring them back to my lair. “Tomorrow,” I promised, hoping the royal champions’ quest would finish by then. “Right now, I need you to leave.”
She crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. “Give me one good reason why I should.”
“The Good Wizard wants to reset the timeline to avoid creating chaos,” I said. “Did the royal champions complete their quest?”
The queen hesitated, glancing at her companions. “He said Treasure died while breaking the curse.”
“Almost died,” I snapped.
She reared back, then narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t take that tone with me, young man. I’m the only reason he didn’t imprison you.”
“Not the only reason,” Fyodor grumbled behind us.
“The Good Wizard could reverse time to before Treasure endangered himself to break the curse, but I interfered before it could fulfill the requirement of the Kingdom Defense Spell,” I explained. “The curse is broken. No amount of time manipulation can change that fact. The easiest way to avoid chaos, and for the royal champions to complete their quest for the defense spell, is to allow time to continue naturally, as the Good Wizard said.”
The queen’s shoulders slumped. “Which means allowing Treasure to die.”
I nodded sharply. “To fix the problem, the champions have to finish their quest to defeat a great and terrible evil—one way or another.” I tapped my chest. “I’m going to be that evil.”
“We tried that!” the queen insisted. “We told the Good Wizard they should defeat you, but he argued that you aren’t qualified! That you aren’t even a titled mage!”
The Prince of Shadows cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “He’s correct. Either the Good Wizard’s Council or the Council of Evil must bestow the title of Great and Terrible. It’s not one you can steal for yourself.”
My shoulders slumped. So, we’d done all of this for nothing? I didn’t care about the spell protecting the Desolated Lands, but Treasure did. He’d sacrificed his life for it once, would he do it again? Would he choose to die in the original timeline to protect his home?
“Luckily, I happen to know a council member.” The prince grasped a stray bit of shadow between two fingers, and it solidified into a black card that he held out to me. It was more impressive than the business card Brutus had handed me when we’d first met. That one was made of stiff cardstock, printed on a press. This one still had a slightly intangible feel, and instead of ink, the letters were made of light.
Cyril Bowers
Lord of Darkness, Prince of Shadows, Bringer of Terrible Evil, The Great and Powerful
Council Member #11 of The Great and Terrible Council of Evil Powers, Not Just Evil Mages, Despite What Some Council Members May Believe
Lucinda gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. “You got the position? Oh, Cyril, you got the position!” She squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close. Suddenly, her excitement froze, and she pulled away so she could pierce him with narrowed eyes. “And you nevertold me.”
Panic flashed across Cyril’s face. “I’m sorry, honey bunches, but it’s council policy! Our identities must remain secret until a council matter arises!”
“I am yourwife! You shouldn’t keep any secrets from me! Unless they involve presents.”
Cyril kissed his wife’s cheek to mollify her. “I’m sorry, dearest, but you know how they are, threatening everyone’s families with horrible tortures if we don’t play along with their little secrecy game.”
“Oh my,” Francesca whispered.
“I couldn’t risk you killing anyone in a fit of pique if they tried to intimidate you.”
Lucinda’s lips pressed into a thin, displeased line. He kissed her several more times on the cheek, on the neck, until her head lolled back, and her eyes drifted shut in delight.
“Would you like to use a guest room?” I asked dryly.
Cyril perked up. “Could we perhaps borrow Brutus’ study? I want to defile his sanctum.”
She giggled and said, “Perhaps later. Right now, you need to finish what you were saying, sweetheart.”
