Page 41 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“Happiness,” I repeated flatly.

“You know what I mean. That warm, comfortable feeling you get from good food.”

“My grandmother always said you could judge a person by their bread,” Thorne added thoughtfully.

Yes—I needed something stronger. I motioned for the servant in the corner to bring whiskey.

“Sebastian’s scones are amazing,” Griffin was saying. “They suggest someone with patience, precision, and an understanding of transformation.”

I took the whole bottle of whiskey, too. “They’re just scones,” I muttered, pouring three fingers and knocking it back quickly. Sebastian’s presence in the citadel wasn’t going to be good for my health. I was already drinking too much. Good thing my runes dampened the worst of alcohol’s effects, though that particular perk seemed counterproductive tonight.

“Have you ever had a proper scone?” Arabella asked me. “I mean a really good one? Flaky but not dry, sweet but not cloying, with that perfect crumb that—”

“Enough about the fucking scones,” I snapped, and the candles flickered.

The others exchanged glances that suggested they’d be continuing this conversation later. Without me.

“Fine,” Arabella said, giving me a patient look. “Let’s discuss why Auremar is murdering everyone with heroic blood.”

All eyes snapped to her. No one else had heard this yet.

“Sacrificing them for what?” Thorne asked.

“Power, probably. Or to fuel something.” I glanced at Arabella, who was absently touching her temple where the Heirloom had merged. “The point is, he’s rounded up most of the heroic bloodlines in Solandris, and we have good reason to believe he just sacrificed them.”

“That’s why he wanted Sebastian as property,” Griffin said, his eyes widening. “Not just for political leverage, but for—”

“Ritual purposes,” Vex finished grimly.

“The outpost was embarrassingly easy to take,” I continued. “My shadow constructs are stronger than ever—I can summon more each day without strain. If not for this setback, we’d already be marching on the capital.”

“Once we control the ley lines, none of Auremar’s schemes will matter,” Vex said.

“Except we can’t control them while they’re corrupted,” I corrected.

I told Vex, Thorne, and Griffin what we’d discovered about the ley lines, leaving out the detail that the Heirloom was currently residing in my wife’s skull.

When I finished, Griffin was practically bouncing in his seat. “The magical theory alone is fascinating! To corrupt an entire network of ley lines would require—”

“It would require murdering dozens of people with heroic blood,” Arabella said flatly. “Maybe hundreds.”

The table went quiet.

I drummed my fingers against the table. “The fool doesn’t even know what he’s doing.”

“What do you mean?” Arabella asked.

“Auremar.” I practically spat the name. “He’s trying to siphon power from Solandris—from the Shadow King’s prison, if our intelligence is true. But he’s an idiot playing with forces beyond his comprehension.” My jaw clenched. “He thinks he can control it, draw from it like a well, but instead he’s poisoning the entire network.”

“You think it’s accidental?” Vex’s silver eyes narrowed. “The corruption?”

“Of course it’s accidental,” I snapped. “Auremar’s many things—a tyrant, a murderer, a hypocrite—but he’s not suicidal. Corrupting the ley lines undermines his own kingdom’s defenses. No, this is pure incompetence. He’s reached for power and grabbed a viper instead.”

My hand tightened around my empty glass. The thought of that golden-crowned fool bumbling his way into continental catastrophe made my blood burn. I forced my fingers to relax before the glass shattered.

“He’s probably been at it for years,” I continued, reaching for the decanter. “Slowly bleeding whatever’s down there, not realizing he’s letting something else seep out. Something that’s rotting the ley lines from within.”

“But what could be powerful enough to—” Griffin started.