Page 127 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

My mother’s lessons in controlling light—because she’d known, even then, that the heroic bloodline was more complex than the stories claimed. My father’s transformation from protector to jailer as the king’s gold filled his coffers. The night I’d first manifested destructive magic and the panic in everyone’s eyes.

But there was something else. Something darker woven through the memories. In every interaction with Auremar, in every meeting with his mages, I could sense something wrong. A hunger that went beyond political ambition. A darkness that felt familiar in the worst possible way.

Because it felt like the thing I’d seen looking out through Kaz’s eyes last night.

The realization hit me just as the potion’s effects began to fade, leaving me gasping against Nyx with her labored rumbles filling my ears. The light finally stopped pouring from my hands, and she slowly unwrapped herself from around me.

I stared at her in horror. Her scales, once gleaming obsidian with just a hint of pink, now blazed with rosy luminescence. She looked like she’d been carved from pink tourmaline, every scale shimmering with absorbed magic. Even her wing membranes had taken on the hue, giving her the appearance of some exotic jewel.

“Oh gods, Nyx. What did I do to you?”

She huffed. Through our bond, I felt her exhaustion, but also satisfaction. She’d done what she’d set out to do—kept me safe, kept my uncontrolled magic from alerting every power-hungry bastard in the Spire to my presence.

I wrapped my arms around her neck, burying my face in her scales.

“You brilliant dragon,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

She rumbled softly, already half-asleep from the exertion. At least the glow was starting to fade.

The memories were settling now, finding their places in my mind like books being reshelved. Not comfortable—they ached like wounds exposed to air—but bearable. I was myself again. Just… more myself than I’d been an hour ago.

I needed to tell Kaz. Not about his true nature—that revelation could wait until we weren’t surrounded by enemies in the heart of the Syndicate’s power. But about Auremar, about what he’d been planning even then. Because I realized that Auremar had his eye on me all along. My mother had fought it, and my father had gone along with it, knowing what Auremar was up to. I was starting to see the connection between the king’s obsession with bloodlines and the ancient evil my husband carried in his soul. I still felt like a few pieces were missing, but Mnemosyne had said they would be remembered over a short time.

But first, I needed to stop sitting in an alley like a vagrant with a glowing dragon.

“Come on,” I told Nyx, hauling myself to my feet. She wobbled slightly, still drained from her magical feast. “Let’s get you back to the apartment and find you some food. I’d say we need to be discreet but everyone is going to see you looking like a giant gemstone.”

As we made our way back, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. Some crucial piece that would make all the other pieces fall into place.

The memories had shown me the what. Auremar’s cruelty, my father’s betrayal, my mother’s sacrifice. We knew the king had been desperate to collect those of heroic bloodline, and what he’d planned to do with us. He’d already accomplished part of his task.

After all, what better way to control an ancient evil than with the blood of those created to oppose it?

But had he ordered my memories erased simply because of my mother’s death and the power I’d shown? I’d had the impression the mages were there to alter my memories anyway, and my mother had intervened.

What had they wanted me to forget?

36 Resist Ancient Whispers

(That Make Excellent Points About Murder)

Kazimir

Wind clawed at my face, desperate to tear me from the Spire’s landing platform. I welcomed it. After a night and morning of fruitless searching, the physical discomfort was almost a relief from the chaos in my head. Even Griffin’s experimental, exceptional—and nonexplosive—tracking runes had failed to find Pip’s trail.

And there wasn’t much of a trail left to follow from the assassins. They’d hidden their movements with magic, and since I had so thoroughly dispatched the bodies, I didn’t have much to work with.

The Alchemist stood at the platform’s edge, their shifting robes creating a hypnotic display of color against the gray sky. They didn’t turn when I approached, though I knew they’d sensed me coming.

“Your display at the restaurant was… excessive,” they said, their musical voice carrying perfectly despite the wind. “The Writhing Tentacle has been a neutral meeting ground for three centuries. Now it’s rubble and viscera. The kraken will have to be relocated.”

“They attacked my wife,” I snapped. Everything came out sharper these days, like there were thorns growing in my throat. “What would you have had me do? Politely ask them to stop?”

“I would have had you show restraint.” The Alchemist finally turned, and though their mask hid their upper face, disapproval radiated from every line of their body. “The power you wielded—that wasn’t just dominion magic. The Heirloom’s influence?”

Mostly, I thought. The Heirloom had certainly amplified things, but there’d been something else.

“You summoned me,” I said, changing the subject. “I assume it wasn’t to critique my combat techniques.”