"What, tell it to pick someone else?"
"Yes. Surely a Paragon can refuse the call."
Gnawing on my lip, I gazed past the cluster of nobles in green cloaks. The black blade lay in the center of the table, quiet and dull.
Did I want to refuse its call?
When Killian had invoked the right of Cierthine, I'd felt a wave of power, seen the blade pulse with magic.
A Paragon had the authority to demand another expedition into Tirnanog. They might even have the strength to withstand the storms that had shielded it all these long years.
And . . . there was a certain allure to the idea. To the fame and glory Paragons garnered.
Liam leaned forward, catching my eye. "You don't want to refuse it, do you?"
"No, I?—"
"If there's anything you want," Liam said. "It's to be important."
I wanted to protest the claim. It painted me in a vain, shallow light.
But it was true.
"Which begs the question." Liam's eyes flicked to the sword. "Why did it choose someone like you?"
I swallowed hard. WhyhadCierthine called me? When the storm had raged above Kentoro, I'd felt a swell in my breast, a swell that had quieted when I held the blade. Pain had torn through me the moment Laiserian had taken it away.
Like a piece of my soul had been ripped out.
But I was nobody, despite my insistence otherwise. Despite my desire to be more. And no matter how I tried to scrub the memory of Galasvar from my mind, it would not leave.
There, in the darkness and death, that dragon of shadow had nuzzled and accepted me. Spared me. All the city had perished, torn apart and gnawed to their bones, yet I had lived.
"Thank you, brother," I said, a little sharper than intended. I flew from my seat, hands curling into fists. A hush fell over the nobles, and all eyes regarded me.
King Ailithir leaned on the table, peering at me with pale-green eyes smudged with shadows. "No," he snapped. "That's out of the question."
A wiry man with thinning hair spoke next. "It's the only way. Paragon weapons do not choose a new master until the previous one has died."
I stared at him blankly, digesting his words and their meaning.
"Whoa." Liam shot from his chair and pushed me behind him. "Executing a Paragon because you don't like them has to be seven shades of illegal."
"Silence, half-breed," a plumper man with red cheeks snapped. "Nobody asked for your opinion."
"I did," the king snapped back. "Or he would not be here." Shoving off the table, he gently motioned for Liam to step aside. "You don't remember your mother, do you, Mare?"
"N-no," I stuttered.
"Of course not." The king shook his head. "Tirnanog clung to our traditions until the last. She served in a unit of myrmidons, as did her forebears."
Was that the reason I retained such pride for a city I'd never known? My mother and her people had fought to maintainindependence from the Solhearts' ever-expanding Empire of Forlaith.
Had the storm not swept them away, what would have become of my home, of its lords? Would they have capitulated, or burned?
"Lady Rohan had more talent with a blade than I ever did." The king smiled. "Maybe you will, too."
An eruption of protests sounded behind King Ailithir. One voice rose above the others.
