Page 97 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“I must say, the fact that you and Lady Blackrose managed to activate it at all is quite impressive.”

Kill them, a voice whispered in my head, cold and ancient. They know too much.

I forced the thought down, though my shadows stirred restlessly at the edges of the room. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that I possessed such an artifact,” I said. “What would stop me from simply killing you now? If I had the Heirloom, I could level this entire Spire with a thought.”

The Alchemist nodded, seemingly delighted by the threat. “Oh, absolutely. The power you and Lady Blackrose have managed to harness together is genuinely impressive. That magical bond of yours—” They gestured between us with their fork. “Quite remarkable. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“You’re stalling,” I observed.

“I’m offering context.” They set down their utensils and folded their hands. “Before you decide to murder me and potentially collapse the God Spire onto the heads of several hundred villains—which would be dramatic but inconvenient—perhaps you’d like to satisfy your curiosity?”

“Perhaps,” I conceded, “I might be persuaded to hear what you have to say before deciding whether to kill you.”

“Wonderful!” The Alchemist stood, their robes shifting from midnight blue to deep purple. “This room is secure from all forms of surveillance, magical or otherwise. But if you’d be more comfortable, we could relocate to the sitting area? I find threatening conversations go better with tea.”

They didn’t wait for an answer, simply gliding toward a set of plush couches arranged around a low table near the window. With a wave of their hand, a tea service materialized—delicate porcelain painted with scenes of battles between gods and monsters.

Arabella and I exchanged a look. Her truth-sense wasn’t triggering any warnings, and my own instincts—beneath the constant whisper to kill, destroy, dominate—suggested the Alchemist wasn’t planning an immediate betrayal.

We followed.

The Alchemist poured tea. “Sugar? Honey? Essence of tormented souls?”

“Get to the point,” I said, not touching the offered cup.

“Very well.” They settled back into their seat, mask glinting. “What do you know of the First People?”

The words triggered something in me—a strange sense of déjà vu, as if I’d heard this before in a dream I couldn’t quite remember.

“Mythical beings said to have created magic,” Arabella answered before I could speak. “The ancestors of the fae.”

“Not mythical,” the Alchemist corrected. “And not the ancestors of the fae, though that’s a common misconception. The First People were something else.”

This is pointless. Kill them.

I gritted my teeth against the intrusive thought. “What does this have to do with the Heirloom?”

“Everything. Before humans, before the kingdoms and empires you know, there were the First People,” the Alchemist began, their musical voice taking on an almost hypnotic quality. “They weren’t gods, but they were close. Magic as we know it originated with them.”

The Alchemist sipped their tea thoughtfully. “They created the ley lines from their magic, as tools. A network of power that would sustain magic throughout the realm so that their servants—humans, fae, and other beings—could harness it themselves. But even then, the First People were few, and as millennia passed, they began to fade. Most chose to merge with the ley lines themselves ten thousand years ago or more, becoming one with the magic they had created.” The Alchemist’s voice softened. “But a precious few lingered, walking among the younger races as their numbers dwindled to nothing.”

Arabella leaned forward slightly, but I tried to maintain a facade of disinterest.

“For thousands of years, these last First People watched civilizations rise and fall,” the Alchemist continued. “They became myths, then legends, then forgotten entirely. By the time the Shadow King rose to power two millennia ago, perhaps only one remained—a being so ancient that even the fae considered them eternal. This last guardian of the old world had watched humanity for millennia without interference, even as the Shadow King’s evil spread across the land.”

The Alchemist was silent for a moment. “But then, despite everything—despite the laws of their kind, despite the vast gulf between their natures—they fell in love with a human. From that impossible union came Soriven, born precisely when the world needed him most.”

“The First Hero,” Arabella murmured.

“Indeed. Half-human, half-something far greater. Soriven inherited the First People’s connection to the ley lines and his father’s mortality, along with humanity’s ambition and fear.” The Alchemist’s fingers drummed against their teacup.

That uncomfortable feeling intensified. I knew this. Somehow, in my bones, I knew exactly what the Alchemist would say next, but it was leading somewhere I didn’t want to go.

“Soriven created the Heirloom of Dominion,” I said, the words coming unbidden.

“Yes, but do you know why?”

“To stop the Shadow King,” Arabella said quietly.