Page 128 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

The Alchemist’s face twitched. “No. I summoned you to deliver a warning. The other chairs are concerned.”

“Concerned.” I let the word hang between us.

“They’re asking for your resignation.”

Ah. There it was. The real reason for this meeting. I stepped closer to the edge, close enough that one good shove would send the Alchemist plummeting into the abyss below. The thought was tempting. So tempting that I had to clench my fists to keep from acting on it.

Do it. One less complication.

I forced myself to step back. “There’s only one way a chair resigns. They planning to come collect?”

“Not while you’re here, certainly. None of them are that foolish.” The Alchemist tilted their head, studying me. “But they don’t need to face you directly to make your life difficult. What will you do when Lord Gilt decides to fund Auremar’s campaign? When Lady Zaraiah’s spy network turns against you? When Baron Revek’s cursed artifacts find their way into your enemies’ hands?”

“They wouldn’t dare.” But even as I said it, I knew better. The Syndicate had survived this long by being pragmatic above all else. If they saw me as a threat to their profits…

The Alchemist began to pace, their robes swirling. “Your mercenaries have given us victories, yes. But mercenaries can be hired from other places. Your territories can be isolated, your trade routes strangled. Are you prepared to fight a war on multiple fronts?”

Ultimately, yes. With the ley lines under my control—both here and eventually in Solandris—I’d have power the Syndicate couldn’t imagine. But there was another complication.

The voice in my head had been just as loud this morning as it had been all night—a constant, insidious hiss that I couldn’t silence no matter how hard I tried. I’d attempted meditation, fury, even channeling power through my runes until pain should have drowned it out. Nothing worked.

“You’re quiet,” the Alchemist observed. “Calculating odds? Or perhaps thinking of your wife? What makes you so certain you would win?”

My jaw clenched. “Get to the point.”

“The point is that you’re becoming everything the Syndicate was created to prevent—a singular power that threatens the balance. But I didn’t call you here to threaten you.”

I laughed harshly. “Could have fooled me.”

“I called you here because I voted for you to join our ranks, and I feel a certain responsibility for what you’ve become.”

That caught my attention. “You voted for me because you owed me a debt.”

“True. But not the whole truth.” They stopped pacing, facing me fully. “Do you know why I really supported your membership?”

“Enlighten me.” The words dripped sarcasm, but I was genuinely curious.

“Because I saw your hunger for power and recognized it. As a guardian of the ley lines, I should have opposed you. Should have died rather than allow another villainous overlord to rise.” They paused, and when they spoke again, their voice carried an odd note of respect. “But I also saw someone strong enough to eventually oppose Auremar. Someone whose honest tyranny might be preferable to the hypocritical ‘good’ that lets children starve while kings feast. And most importantly, to stop the destruction that was weakening the Shadow King’s prison every time Auremar performed a ritual.”

I processed this in silence, too tired to fully mask my surprise. The Alchemist admired me? That was unexpected.

“Of course,” they continued, “I didn’t anticipate you’d acquire the Heirloom and a wife capable of wielding it. That does complicate things.”

“Life’s full of surprises.” I rubbed my eyes, feeling every hour of my fruitless hunt. “Speaking of surprises—did you know my former servant Pip would be at the Gilded Gallows?”

The Alchemist’s mask tilted slightly. “I’d heard rumors the boy had been seen there, yes. Consider it a freely given favor. I cannot abide traitors either.”

“And the assassins?” I pressed. “Do you know who sent them?”

“No.” The word was flat, unadorned. Truth, or at least partial truth. Without Arabella’s truth-sense, I had to rely on instinct, but the Alchemist had no reason to lie about this. They needed Arabella alive for their plans to restore the ley lines. Killing her would be counterproductive. “Though I have my suspicions.”

“Share them.”

The Alchemist moved back to the platform’s edge, staring out at the roiling clouds. “Consider the timing. Pip appears and then mysteriously disappears so thoroughly that no amount of your considerable resources—or your shadows—can find him. I’ve done my own searching, with the same lack of results. Then assassins strike where collateral damage would cause maximum chaos.”

I nodded. “You believe they’re connected. I agree. Was it a Syndicate member?”

“If it was, I have not heard. Did Pip know of the Heirloom?”