Page 170 of Fate of the Sun King

Finally, one of the men steps forward and lifts his hand. He’s wearing a long black cloak and has dark hair and eyes that are so achingly familiar a burr of emotion sticks in my chest.

“King Herric of The Aurora,” the Empyrium whispers. “He was drawn to the power. The promise of what it would mean to be worshipped as a god, even if he wasn’t technically one.”

We watch as everyone listens to Herric speak, his mouth moving with voiceless sound.

“But we rejected him,” they say.

“Why?” I ask, keeping my gaze focused on the seven rulers.

“He was needed on the surface.” The Empyrium pauses. “And we did not think he was suitable for the role.”

“Why not?”

“His heart was… dark.”

I recall the Aurora Torch told me the same thing about Rion.

I watch as rage flashes over Herric’s expression—visceral with anger. He looks around the circle, but no one can meet his accusing stare. He storms back to his place and then spins around to face the room as a shiver rolls down my back. I see the promise of war in the depths of his eyes.

Everyone goes back to staring at one another, when finally, the queen from Aphelion slowly raises her hand. It’s clear she’s unsure of herself, her shoulders rounded and her arm covering her stomach in a posture of self-consciousness.

I watch the relief on everyone else’s faces as she quickly drops her arm again, but Herric stares at her with that same promise of bloodshed in his eyes.

The woman speaks to the Empyrium, her spine straightening as I watch her find her confidence.

“Is that Zerra?” I ask. “Zerra was from Aphelion?”

The Empyrium nods.

“Why her and not King Herric?”

The Empyrium pauses, debating what to say next.

“She was not a good queen. When the other rulers laid down everything to help their lands, Zerra turned away, preferring to indulge in only her wants and needs.”

“So why would you want someone like that leading everyone?”

“We sensed she wanted to be better, and we saw in her the ability to rise to the challenge. Besides, like Herric, the others were needed at home. Her queendom would not miss her. Another was assigned in Zerra’s stead, and King Cyrus went on to rule for many years.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, having trouble absorbing everything I’m hearing. This is how it all went down?

“The rulers were sent away, and Herric returned home, but he was not to be content with the hand he’d been dealt. And so he set out to counter the magic of the Artefacts by creating objects of opposing power. After years of research and hunting, he found a material that he called virulence.”

“What’s virulence?”

“It is the antithesis of the magic in the realms. If your magic is the light, then it is the dark.”

“That’s the black stone?” I ask.

They nod. “Indeed. He made six arks in Zerra’s image, such was his loathing of her. He dug into the deepest recesses of the mountains to retrieve it, pushing his workers to death, his kingdom nearly to ruin. It twisted him, made him into something other.

“And so, he fell, inadvertently trapping himself in a world of shadow and ash, where he rules over his lonely, empty dominion. He sought the power of a god but was reduced to nothing but a caretaker of the souls of the damned. Those of you on the surface refer to him as the Lord of the Underworld.”

I gape at the Empyrium, struggling to arrange these pieces of knowledge.

“But the arks were left behind—he had sent one to each of the rulers, claiming they would help control and amplify the magic of their homes. In the early days, they’d had trouble containing it. The magic was wild and untethered, and things got worse before they got better. So they reached for this lifeline, using the arks with impunity. Six coffins made to contain the effigy of Zerra’s form. And every time the rulers channeled their magic through the arks, they would slowly kill her.”

“Six arks,” I say, recalling Nerissa’s research. “Not seven.”