Page 175 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“She’s fine.” I forced my voice level. “But you should have—”

A surge of power rippled through the air, dark and familiar. A single magical signature pulsed from the forest below, just beyond the swamp’s edge. The wards chimed—not the bone-deep shriek of an attack, but the insistent warning of someone deliberately triggering them.

Someone powerful wanted to be noticed.

As one, the lightning bridges all shut down as a precaution. The new wards might overreact to a squirrel’s sneeze, but I’d rather that than miss a genuine threat.

Vex grimaced. “I hope no one important was on the bridges. Who would be dumb enough to trigger the defenses after what we did to the Hero’s Guild?”

“It’s the Alchemist.” I flexed my fingers, feeling the runes beneath my skin pulse with interest. “This should be enlightening.”

Vex’s expression tightened. “The Alchemist doesn’t make social calls.”

“No, they don’t.” I was already drawing the portal sigils in the air. Whatever they wanted, it was important enough to risk approaching Skyspire alone. “Have Griffin prepare that doppelganger kit of his. And Vex? We’re not finished discussing this.”

Before she could ask any questions, I ripped open a portal to the forest edge.

I stepped through darkness onto soft forest loam, the portal snapping shut silently behind me. Twenty feet away, the Alchemist stood with their hands raised in a gesture of peace, their robes shifting through hypnotic shades of green and violet. No army. No backup. Just them and the humid air of the swamp.

“Let me guess,” I said conversationally. “You’re here to tell me the Syndicate is tired of me.”

“So you know, then.” The Alchemist lowered their hands slowly.

I let shadows pool at my feet, a casual display. “Zaraiah attacked my wife.”

The Alchemist’s visible features beneath the mask shifted—eyes widening, mouth parting slightly. Their fingers twitched in that nervous pattern. “Is she harmed?”

“She survived.” I let ice creep into my tone. “No thanks to the task you set her on. Zaraiah got away, though.”

Their hands fluttered upward, then dropped. The robes flickered through a rapid sequence of colors—gold to crimson to deep purple—before settling on an uneasy amber. They made an irritated huff. “That explains why Zaraiah didn’t contact me directly. But she’s voting with the others—Revek, Gilt, Vespera, and Garrick are invoking Protocol Nine.” Their voice held none of its usual musical quality. “They want you removed from the Syndicate. Permanently.”

“And you came all this way to warn me?” I tilted my head. “What do you want in return?”

“Nothing.” They paused. “Consider this an investment in future cooperation.”

The air between us crackled with unspoken tension. The Alchemist had always been the most pragmatic of the chairs, the one most likely to see beyond immediate gain to long-term advantage. But there was something else in their posture now. Something careful. Calculated.

“There’s more,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

The Alchemist’s masked face tilted, studying me with an intensity that made the runes beneath my skin itch. “Yes. Though this next part is… delicate.”

They took a step closer, and I felt their magic probe at mine—not attacking, but analyzing. Reading. “Your magical signature is layered,” they said quietly. “Two consciousnesses occupying one vessel.”

Every muscle in my body tensed. “Careful.”

“The Shadow King.” They said it like a diagnosis, clinical and certain. “You have a piece of him inside you.”

“How long have you known?” My voice was deadly quiet.

“I suspected after the restaurant incident, and then again during our ritual at the God Spire. When you and Lady Blackrose redirected the ley lines, I felt two distinct magical signatures flowing through you—one was your dominion magic, but the other…” They paused. “The other was the same corrupted resonance I’ve been tracking through Solandris’s ley lines.”

Shadows erupted around us, a cage forming before I’d consciously commanded it. The Alchemist didn’t even flinch.

“And then there’s the Heirloom itself,” they continued calmly. “The artifact was designed to contain the Shadow King’s power—forged from his essence, bound by Soriven’s magic. It resists you because it recognizes what’s inside you. It’s trying to protect itself from being corrupted by the very entity it was created to imprison.”

“How do you know it’s been resisting me?”

The Alchemist tsked. “Would you have made such a conventional move against Solandris’s northern outpost if you had the full might of the Heirloom at your disposal?” They spread their hands. “I came here to give you a chance to explain. To tell me I’m wrong. Or to confirm what I already know and discuss what happens next.”