Page 98 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

I glanced at her, surprised. Had she known that all along?

The Alchemist nodded. “By the time Soriven reached his full power, the Shadow King had ruled for nearly three centuries. Soriven knew conventional weapons and magic wouldn’t be enough to break such entrenched dominion. So he created a weapon specifically designed to channel and control the ley lines, giving the wielder ultimate power to combat and contain the Shadow King. But the Heirloom’s very nature demanded a price—it was forged from the Shadow King’s own essence and bound with Soriven’s First People magic, two opposing forces that could only work in harmony through genuine union.”

“The dual requirement.” Arabella was looking at me. “Dominion magic and heroic blood.”

“Yes.” The Alchemist sounded pleased. “The Heirloom requires both the power to dominate and the will to protect. One without the other renders it inert.”

Lies, the voice hissed. Soriven was a thief, a usurper—

“And the marriage requirement?” Arabella asked. “If Soriven wielded the Heirloom alone…” She trailed off, but I knew exactly where her thoughts were going.

It was the same question that had plagued me since the Heirloom first refused to respond to my touch. I’d spent years searching for it, certain that my dominion magic would be enough. When it remained dead in my hands, I’d been forced to dig deeper, eventually uncovering the marriage requirement that had led me to kidnap Arabella in the first place. But even after everything—the wedding, the consummation, successfully activating it—we still didn’t understand why Soriven hadn’t needed a partner.

“Did Soriven somehow wield both dominion and heroic magic?” I asked, though the theory felt incomplete even as I voiced it.

“Ah, now that’s where Soriven’s half-human nature becomes crucial,” the Alchemist said. “Being half–First People, Soriven could naturally channel both protective and dominion magic within himself—yes, he could wield dominion magic that he’d learned mostly from spying on the Shadow King. His dual heritage allowed him to hold opposing forces in balance. But full humans?” They shook their head. “While we can learn various forms of magic—as Lady Blackrose demonstrates beautifully—we cannot serve as a sole conduit for the Heirloom’s opposing forces. The artifact channels the raw essence of both the Shadow King and the First People. That level of primordial power, held in opposition within one human body, would tear us apart.”

“So the marriage requirement—” I began.

“—is the only way for humans to wield the Heirloom,” the Alchemist finished. “One person channels dominion, one channels protection. The marriage bond, when consummated, creates a magical bridge between two souls. It’s the only way beings like us can replicate what Soriven could do naturally.”

The Alchemist’s tale supplied several missing pieces to our puzzle. I didn’t show it, but I was relieved. Imagine the embarrassment if I’d gone through all that trouble—the abduction, the negotiations, the bone-and-hair wedding rings—only to discover I could have wielded the damned thing myself with the right meditation technique.

The thought should have been amusing, but it twisted something uncomfortable in my chest. Arabella and I had barely spoken since the Gilded Gallows. Since I’d thrown her past trauma in her face like I was just another common villain.

I pushed the feeling down. Vulnerability was a luxury I couldn’t afford with the Alchemist watching us so closely.

“Fascinating history lesson,” I said gruffly. “But I fail to see—”

“Patience, Lord Blackrose.” The Alchemist held up a hand. “You see, my family has been Weavers since the First Hero’s time—guardians of the ley lines. One Weaver in each generation, sworn to protect the magic and watch for signs of the Shadow King’s return.” Their lips quirked. “The other members have no idea, of course, but there’s always been a Weaver in the Syndicate since its inception—it’s the perfect position to monitor magical anomalies across the realm.”

Now that was unexpected. Even the voice in my head seemed to pause in its murderous suggestions. “So it was your people who put that three-headed chimera in front of the Heirloom,” I said. “The one I killed.”

“Yes.” The Alchemist showed no sign of anger or resentment. “When the chimera was killed and the Heirloom went missing, I was concerned, as you can imagine. Soon after, when Skyspire began emitting unusual magical signatures, I knew where it had gone.”

I stood abruptly, shadows coiling around my feet. “This is all very interesting, but you haven’t given me a single reason not to end this conversation with violence.”

The Alchemist tilted their head. “Tell me, have you noticed anything unusual in Solandris lately? Beyond its typical resistance to your advances, I mean. Any corruption in the magical fields? Difficulty accessing the ley lines?”

Arabella and I exchanged another glance. I finally reached for my teacup.

“I’ll take your silence as confirmation.” The Alchemist leaned forward. “Let me explain a piece of the story that most people don’t understand. The First People created the ley lines like a vast spider’s web, connecting all magic across the realms. When Soriven imprisoned the Shadow King, he didn’t build a cage—he wrapped him in that very web, layer upon layer of magical silk, until the Shadow King was completely cocooned at its heart.”

They traced patterns in the air, and faint lines of light appeared, forming an intricate web of ley lines that reminded me of Griffin’s cartography apparatus. “The prison isn’t a room with walls and a door,” they continued. “It’s a cocoon suspended in the magical plane of the web. The Golden Rose Fields of Solandris? They’re where seven primary strands anchor the web to physical reality. As long as those anchor points remain strong, the cocoon holds.”

The light-web flickered, its strands dimming. “But Auremar has been poisoning those anchor points for years—harvesting the roses incorrectly, spilling blood where there should be renewal. The strands grew brittle. The cocoon began to fray.” The Alchemist’s fingers clenched, and the web dissolved. “Five days ago, King Auremar did the unthinkable. He completed a great sacrifice—hundreds of those with heroic blood. Anyone connected to the ley lines felt the disturbance.”

The teacup in my hand cracked. I set it down carefully, controlling the urge to shatter it completely. We’d suspected the sacrifice, but hearing it confirmed didn’t make the information more welcome.

“The kings of Solandris were supposed to be guardians of the prison,” Arabella said, her voice tight with anger. “That’s why my bloodline was important.”

The Alchemist nodded. “Originally, yes. The kings of Solandris were descendants of the First Hero, tasked with maintaining the prison. Over time, the line has thinned, diluted. As you may already know, Auremar barely has a drop of heroic blood, if any. By rights”—they looked at Arabella—“you should be closer in line for the throne of Solandris than you are, if not a princess.”

Arabella’s jaw tightened. “I have no interest in that throne.”

“We know the ley lines need purification,” I said, cutting off that line of discussion. “If you hadn’t dragged us here for mud baths and lectures, we could be working on that problem.”

The Alchemist’s smile was sad. “Lord Blackrose, the ley lines beneath Solandris aren’t just corrupted. Through his meddling, Auremar has released the Shadow King from his prison—but not into our world. Into the web itself.”