Page 100 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

No. This was a conversation for when we were truly alone. If it was a conversation we should have at all—and I still wasn’t convinced of that.

In the meantime, we continued walking through villain-infested corridors with a Weaver who already knew too many of our secrets.

“Where exactly are we going?” Kazimir demanded after the third turn down a narrow passage.

The Alchemist’s mask caught the light from the wall sconces. “We’re almost there.”

“There” turned out to be a heavy door at the top of a long spiral staircase. The Alchemist pushed it open, and we emerged onto a landing platform and into the howling wind. “This platform is reserved for the chairs and their flying beasts. It’s rarely used these days, as most of us prefer more conventional transportation.”

I cast a glance at Kaz, who shrugged. He hadn’t known about it either.

The platform jutted out from the Spire like a tongue, with nothing but open air on three sides. We were at the topmost point of the Spire—the god’s massive pelvic girdle. I automatically scanned the skies for any sign of Nyx, but saw only churning clouds and the occasional lightning flash in the distance.

The view down was dizzying. The spine plunged directly below us, a chain of glowing vertebrae disappearing into the churning clouds. A steady, low hum vibrated up through the soles of my boots—the chimes from the rib cage far below.

A particularly vicious gust of wind nearly knocked me sideways. Before I could steady myself, Kazimir’s magic wrapped around us in a barrier of shadow and will that cut the wind to a gentle breeze.

“Thank you,” I said stiffly.

He didn’t respond, but I felt his satisfaction through our bond. Smug bastard.

The Alchemist moved to the edge of the platform, their robes somehow unaffected by the wind even before Kaz’s spell. “Beautiful, isn’t it? In a horrifying, existential-dread-inducing sort of way.”

“You didn’t bring us here for the view,” Kazimir said.

“No.” The Alchemist turned to face us. “I brought you here because what I’m about to propose requires you to understand the scope of the problem. And the solution.”

“Get to the point,” Kazimir growled.

The Alchemist sighed. “Very well. If the Shadow King is allowed to fully infect the ley lines, most of the magic in the world will be lost, and he will have already won. As I said, there are two ways to purify the ley lines now that the Shadow King’s corruption has begun to spread. Freeing him completely is obviously out of the question. Which leaves us with option two.”

They began to pace along the edge of the platform. “First, you must temporarily reroute part of the ley lines to cut them off from the infection. It will be a stopgap measure only—the ley lines are too ancient and can never truly be separated. But it would buy time for the next part.”

“Which is?” I prompted when they paused for dramatic effect.

“To truly purify the ley lines, you must round up the remaining people of heroic bloodline and keep them from Auremar.” The Alchemist’s voice took on an urgent quality. “Only then can you perform a ritual to force the Shadow King back into his prison.”

I felt Kazimir’s anger spike through our bond. “That’s two tasks,” I pointed out, trying to keep things civil. “Saving the ley lines and gathering heroes.”

The Alchemist’s laugh was musical and slightly unhinged. “No, my dear. Rounding up the heroes is the task. I’m simply micromanaging. You can’t complete that job if all the ley lines are corrupted before you begin.”

“It seems like an awfully big task for one piece of information,” Kazimir said. I knew that tone. It usually preceded someone losing a limb.

“What can I say?” The Alchemist spread their hands. “I am also a villain. Did you expect charity?”

A dozen questions crowded my mind, but I started with the most practical. “Why can’t we just kill Auremar and stop him that way? It would be easier than finding every person with heroic bloodline scattered across the Western Realms.”

“An excellent question.” The Alchemist moved closer, and I caught a whiff of their surprisingly floral scent. “If you simply blast King Auremar off the map—which I’m certain you’re both capable of—you might damage the carefully balanced magic containing the Shadow King. We don’t know the full scope of Auremar’s meddling. The prison is already weakened; a sudden, violent magical discharge near its center could shatter it completely. The realm would go from dealing with one mortal tyrant to facing an ancient, unstoppable one.”

“So what exactly are you proposing?” I pressed. “How are we supposed to help?”

“The Heirloom cannot only draw power from the ley lines, but also act on them directly. Shape them. Redirect them. Since you have the Heirloom and are now its guardians”—their mask tilted as they studied my face, and I had the uncomfortable feeling they could see right through my glamor to the Heirloom—“and I do hope you’ll trust me with the full story one day—rerouting the ley lines falls to you.”

“How?” Kazimir’s question was sharp, impatient.

The Alchemist walked to the edge of the platform, looking out over the expanse below. “There’s a reason I asked you here specifically. Do you know why the Syndicate chose this location for its headquarters?”

“Because villains have a flair for the dramatic?” I suggested.