Page 101 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“Yes,” they conceded with a slight nod. “But primarily because of what lies beneath us.”

“The nexus,” Kazimir said, his voice tight.

“Indeed.” The Alchemist turned to face us. “One of the greatest nexuses of ley lines in the Eastern Realm. The very reason this god died here, in fact. It was drawn to the power, consumed too much of it, and…” They made an expansive gesture. “Well, you can see the result.”

I moved closer to the edge, peering down at the chaotic landscape below. “You want us to isolate this nexus from the ‘diseased’ portion.”

“Precisely!” The Alchemist clapped their hands together. “Using the Heirloom, you can save a huge chunk of the network of ley lines. It will give you enough power to work with while you complete the larger task. Lord Blackrose has his runes to maintain his magic, and you have your innate bloodline, but there’s no doubt access to pure ley lines will make you both exponentially stronger.”

I processed this information, turning it over in my mind like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. Something was missing. I folded my arms. “And where exactly are we supposed to find these heroic bloodlines? Auremar’s been hunting them down and sacrificing them, remember?”

“Not all of them,” the Alchemist said. “Many have gone into hiding. Others don’t even know what they are. You’ll need to find them and, er, convince them to help—and bring them to the nexus in Solandris.”

The task would be enormous. “And what about the inhabited ley lines themselves? Won’t the Shadow King continue to spread while we’re running around kidnapping heroes?”

“Most certainly. That’s why we need to start with the nexus beneath the Spire,” the Alchemist explained. “To temporarily prevent him from getting this far while you use these ley lines for your magic.”

“Do you know what makes me so powerful?” I asked suddenly. “My bloodline, I mean. Why my magic resonates so strongly with Kazimir’s?”

The Alchemist went very still. For the first time since we’d met them, they seemed caught off guard.

“No,” they said after a moment.

Cold pricked behind my eyes, sharp and undeniable—my truth-sense. “You’re lying.” I stepped forward, ignoring Kazimir’s warning touch on my arm. “Why won’t you tell me?”

The Alchemist’s shoulders sagged slightly. “Would it make any difference if I did?”

“Yes.”

“Then I won’t tell you.” They held up a hand before I could protest. “Because I am uncertain, and that is the truth. I have theories. Suspicions. But nothing concrete enough to share. Speaking them aloud might do more harm than good.”

My truth-sense confirmed it—they genuinely believed withholding the information was better. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“Theories about what?” I pressed.

The Alchemist turned back to look at the dead god. “About why your blood sings with power that should have faded generations ago. About why the Heirloom responds to you in ways it shouldn’t. About why King Auremar was so desperate to obtain you specifically, when there are others with heroic bloodline he could have claimed more easily.”

I nodded. “Tell me.”

“When you’ve saved the nexus and begun gathering the others, perhaps I’ll share my theories, assuming we’re both still alive at that point.” The Alchemist’s voice was gentle but firm. “Consider it motivation.”

I wanted to scream. Or set something on fire. Preferably the Alchemist.

But before I could act on either impulse, they turned and headed back toward the door. “Shall we discuss the specifics of the ritual? I assume you’ll want to attempt it soon. Time is, after all, of the essence. And the Shadow King is spreading faster through the web every day.”

I looked at Kazimir, seeing my own frustration reflected in his gray eyes. What choice did we have? The world was ending, one ley line at a time.

And apparently, we were the only ones who could stop it.

The Alchemist left us on the platform, assuming we would follow. As soon as we were alone, Kaz’s shoulders sagged slightly, as if he’d been holding himself rigid through sheer force of will.

“Kaz?” I touched his arm, concerned.

He shook his head. “I’m fine. Just… processing.”

But he wasn’t fine. I could feel it through our bond—something dark and cold slithering beneath his stoic exterior.

“We haven’t been able to manipulate the ley lines,” I said finally. “Not really. Every time we’ve tried with the Heirloom, it’s been—”