Chapter 28 Sit Through a Lecture #2
“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.”
They paused while Arabella and I digested that information. My hand clenched. “How?”
The Alchemist’s voice dropped. “In his greed for power, Auremar let the prison threads fray. The sacrifice was the final blow—it caused enough damage for the Shadow King to seep into the exposed ley lines. Now he’s spreading through them, taking them over, searching for a way to manifest physically again. ”
The Alchemist’s fingers drummed against their knee. “Within a year, probably less, every ley line in the realm will be his—and beyond our use.”
Arabella glanced at me. “Just as we took Solandris’s northern outpost, Auremar was releasing the Shadow King into the ley lines.”
The Alchemist nodded. “That’s my conclusion as well, based on the timing.”
I stood and paced away. The Shadow King had stolen what should have been mine.
All that planning, all that conquest, and another villain had slipped in and stolen my prize out from under me.
The headache that had been building behind my eyes flared into blinding pain, and for a moment, I could have sworn I heard laughter—cold, ancient, and triumphant—echoing in the recesses of my mind.
I gripped the back of a chair, my knuckles white. “So what does this mean?” I demanded, forcing the voice back. “How do we stop it?”
“There are only two ways to fix the ley lines now.” The Alchemist held up one finger.
“First, you could unweave the prison itself. Let the Shadow King manifest physically so he’s no longer inhabiting the ley lines.
Of course, then you’d have an ancient god of tyranny walking the earth again, so perhaps not ideal.
Given that it took the full might of Soriven and the Heirloom to imprison him the first time, I don’t recommend this approach. ”
“And the second?” Arabella asked.
“That’s where things get interesting.” The Alchemist moved toward the door, their robes shifting to a deep silver. “And why I needed you both here, at the Spire, rather than anywhere else.”