Chapter 29 Receive Your Assignment
(While Standing on a God’s Pelvis)
Arabella
The Alchemist didn’t wait for us to agree. They simply turned on their heel and glided toward the door. “Come along. What I need to show you isn’t something one discusses over tea.”
I glanced at Kazimir. His jaw was tight, shadows coiling restlessly around his feet—a sure sign he was contemplating violence.
Through our bond, I felt his frustration mixing with something else.
Fear? No, not quite. More like… recognition.
As if some part of him already knew what the Alchemist had just revealed.
“We could still kill them,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear.
“We could.” I rose from my seat. “But then we’d never know how to fix the ley lines. And you hate not knowing things almost as much as you hate being manipulated.”
His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “You know me too well.”
“Not well enough, apparently.” The words came out sharp, and I saw him flinch, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel guilty about it.
The Alchemist led us through corridors I hadn’t seen before, past doors marked with symbols that made my eyes water to look at directly.
Other villains passed us in the halls—a vampire countess dragging a sack of bones, a merchant whose skin gleamed like molten gold—but they all gave us a wide berth.
“Nothing says ‘trustworthy’ like secret passages in a villain’s lair,” Kazimir drawled.
The Alchemist laughed, the sound musical and strangely genuine. “You’re one to talk, Lord Blackrose. I’ve heard rumors about the hidden chambers at Skyspire.”
“Just rumors,” Kazimir said smoothly.
As we walked, I thought about everything we’d just learned, but some things were more confusing than ever.
That vision at the end of the Heirloom activation had been as real as the stone beneath my feet. The Shadow King’s consciousness, ancient and malevolent, wrapped around Kazimir like he was the darkness itself. Not a memory. Not an echo. Something that had felt utterly, terrifyingly present.
The vision had shown me shards—pieces of the Shadow King that had escaped during the binding. I’d watched them flee into the world, seeking vessels, seeking hosts.
But how could the Shadow King be escaping his prison now if pieces of him had been loose in the world all along? What did it mean that he was living in the ley lines from beneath Solandris while simultaneously… what? Growing? Awakening? Inside my husband?
None of it made sense. And the not-knowing gnawed at me.
I glanced at Kazimir. His jaw was set, shadows trailing behind us.
He didn’t remember the vision. Every day I kept silent felt like another stone added to the wall between us, but what was I supposed to do? Blurt it out in front of the Alchemist?
No. This was a conversation for when we were truly alone. If it was a conversation we should have at all—and I still wasn’t convinced of that.
In the meantime, we continued walking through villain-infested corridors with a Weaver who already knew too many of our secrets.
“Where exactly are we going?” Kazimir demanded after the third turn down a narrow passage.
The Alchemist’s mask caught the light from the wall sconces. “We’re almost there.”
“There” turned out to be a heavy door at the top of a long spiral staircase.
The Alchemist pushed it open, and we emerged onto a landing platform and into the howling wind.
“This platform is reserved for the chairs and their flying beasts. It’s rarely used these days, as most of us prefer more conventional transportation. ”
I cast a glance at Kaz, who shrugged. He hadn’t known about it either.
The platform jutted out from the Spire like a tongue, with nothing but open air on three sides.
We were at the topmost point of the Spire—the god’s massive pelvic girdle.
I automatically scanned the skies for any sign of Nyx, but saw only churning clouds and the occasional lightning flash in the distance.
The view down was dizzying. The spine plunged directly below us, a chain of glowing vertebrae disappearing into the churning clouds. A steady, low hum vibrated up through the soles of my boots—the chimes from the rib cage far below.
A particularly vicious gust of wind nearly knocked me sideways. Before I could steady myself, Kazimir’s magic wrapped around us in a barrier of shadow and will that cut the wind to a gentle breeze.
“Thank you,” I said stiffly.
He didn’t respond, but I felt his satisfaction through our bond. Smug bastard.
The Alchemist moved to the edge of the platform, their robes somehow unaffected by the wind even before Kaz’s spell. “Beautiful, isn’t it? In a horrifying, existential-dread-inducing sort of way.”
“You didn’t bring us here for the view,” Kazimir said.
“No.” The Alchemist turned to face us. “I brought you here because what I’m about to propose requires you to understand the scope of the problem. And the solution.”
“Get to the point,” Kazimir growled.
The Alchemist sighed. “Very well. If the Shadow King is allowed to fully infect the ley lines, most of the magic in the world will be lost, and he will have already won. As I said, there are two ways to purify the ley lines now that the Shadow King’s corruption has begun to spread.
Freeing him completely is obviously out of the question. Which leaves us with option two.”
They began to pace along the edge of the platform. “First, you must temporarily reroute part of the ley lines to cut them off from the infection. It will be a stopgap measure only—the ley lines are too ancient and can never truly be separated. But it would buy time for the next part.”
“Which is?” I prompted when they paused for dramatic effect.
“To truly purify the ley lines, you must round up the remaining people of heroic bloodline and keep them from Auremar.” The Alchemist’s voice took on an urgent quality. “Only then can you perform a ritual to force the Shadow King back into his prison.”
I felt Kazimir’s anger spike through our bond. “That’s two tasks,” I pointed out, trying to keep things civil. “Saving the ley lines and gathering heroes.”
The Alchemist’s laugh was musical and slightly unhinged. “No, my dear. Rounding up the heroes is the task. I’m simply micromanaging. You can’t complete that job if all the ley lines are corrupted before you begin.”
“It seems like an awfully big task for one piece of information,” Kazimir said. I knew that tone. It usually preceded someone losing a limb.
“What can I say?” The Alchemist spread their hands. “I am also a villain. Did you expect charity?”
A dozen questions crowded my mind, but I started with the most practical. “Why can’t we just kill Auremar and stop him that way? It would be easier than finding every person with heroic bloodline scattered across the Western Realms.”
“An excellent question.” The Alchemist moved closer, and I caught a whiff of their surprisingly floral scent.
“If you simply blast King Auremar off the map—which I’m certain you’re both capable of—you might damage the carefully balanced magic containing the Shadow King.
We don’t know the full scope of Auremar’s meddling.
The prison is already weakened; a sudden, violent magical discharge near its center could shatter it completely.
The realm would go from dealing with one mortal tyrant to facing an ancient, unstoppable one. ”
“So what exactly are you proposing?” I pressed. “How are we supposed to help?”
“The Heirloom cannot only draw power from the ley lines, but also act on them directly. Shape them. Redirect them. Since you have the Heirloom and are now its guardians”—their mask tilted as they studied my face, and I had the uncomfortable feeling they could see right through my glamor to the Heirloom—“and I do hope you’ll trust me with the full story one day—rerouting the ley lines falls to you. ”
“How?” Kazimir’s question was sharp, impatient.
The Alchemist walked to the edge of the platform, looking out over the expanse below. “There’s a reason I asked you here specifically. Do you know why the Syndicate chose this location for its headquarters?”
“Because villains have a flair for the dramatic?” I suggested.
“Yes,” they conceded with a slight nod. “But primarily because of what lies beneath us.”
“The nexus,” Kazimir said, his voice tight.
“Indeed.” The Alchemist turned to face us. “One of the greatest nexuses of ley lines in the Eastern Realm. The very reason this god died here, in fact. It was drawn to the power, consumed too much of it, and…” They made an expansive gesture. “Well, you can see the result.”
I moved closer to the edge, peering down at the chaotic landscape below. “You want us to isolate this nexus from the ‘diseased’ portion.”
“Precisely!” The Alchemist clapped their hands together.
“Using the Heirloom, you can save a huge chunk of the network of ley lines. It will give you enough power to work with while you complete the larger task. Lord Blackrose has his runes to maintain his magic, and you have your innate bloodline, but there’s no doubt access to pure ley lines will make you both exponentially stronger. ”
I processed this information, turning it over in my mind like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. Something was missing. I folded my arms. “And where exactly are we supposed to find these heroic bloodlines? Auremar’s been hunting them down and sacrificing them, remember?”
“Not all of them,” the Alchemist said. “Many have gone into hiding. Others don’t even know what they are. You’ll need to find them and, er, convince them to help—and bring them to the nexus in Solandris.”
The task would be enormous. “And what about the inhabited ley lines themselves? Won’t the Shadow King continue to spread while we’re running around kidnapping heroes?”
“Most certainly. That’s why we need to start with the nexus beneath the Spire,” the Alchemist explained. “To temporarily prevent him from getting this far while you use these ley lines for your magic.”
“Do you know what makes me so powerful?” I asked suddenly. “My bloodline, I mean. Why my magic resonates so strongly with Kazimir’s?”
The Alchemist went very still. For the first time since we’d met them, they seemed caught off guard.
“No,” they said after a moment.
Cold pricked behind my eyes, sharp and undeniable—my truth-sense. “You’re lying.” I stepped forward, ignoring Kazimir’s warning touch on my arm. “Why won’t you tell me?”
The Alchemist’s shoulders sagged slightly. “Would it make any difference if I did?”
“Yes.”
“Then I won’t tell you.” They held up a hand before I could protest. “Because I am uncertain, and that is the truth. I have theories. Suspicions. But nothing concrete enough to share. Speaking them aloud might do more harm than good.”
My truth-sense confirmed it—they genuinely believed withholding the information was better. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating.
“Theories about what?” I pressed.
The Alchemist turned back to look at the dead god.
“About why your blood sings with power that should have faded generations ago. About why the Heirloom responds to you in ways it shouldn’t.
About why King Auremar was so desperate to obtain you specifically, when there are others with heroic bloodline he could have claimed more easily. ”
I nodded. “Tell me.”
“When you’ve saved the nexus and begun gathering the others, perhaps I’ll share my theories, assuming we’re both still alive at that point.” The Alchemist’s voice was gentle but firm. “Consider it motivation.”
I wanted to scream. Or set something on fire. Preferably the Alchemist.
But before I could act on either impulse, they turned and headed back toward the door. “Shall we discuss the specifics of the ritual? I assume you’ll want to attempt it soon. Time is, after all, of the essence. And the Shadow King is spreading faster through the web every day.”
I looked at Kazimir, seeing my own frustration reflected in his gray eyes. What choice did we have? The world was ending, one ley line at a time.
And apparently, we were the only ones who could stop it.
The Alchemist left us on the platform, assuming we would follow. As soon as we were alone, Kaz’s shoulders sagged slightly, as if he’d been holding himself rigid through sheer force of will.
“Kaz?” I touched his arm, concerned.
He shook his head. “I’m fine. Just… processing.”
But he wasn’t fine. I could feel it through our bond—something dark and cold slithering beneath his stoic exterior.
“We haven’t been able to manipulate the ley lines,” I said finally. “Not really. Every time we’ve tried with the Heirloom, it’s been—”
“Resistant,” he finished, his jaw tight. “I know.”
“So how are we supposed to reroute an entire nexus when we can barely get the Heirloom to respond to simple commands?”
Kazimir placed a hand on the door. “The Alchemist claims they have a ritual. One specifically designed for this task.”
“And you trust them?”
“No.” He met my eyes, and I saw the same helpless frustration I felt reflected back at me. “If we do nothing, the ley lines are gone forever. If we try and fail—”
“We might make it worse,” I finished softly.
He was quiet for a moment. “There’s still the matter of performing this ritual without revealing that the Heirloom is currently fused to your skull.”
I glanced toward the door. “I think they already know.”
Kazimir’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”
“The way they looked at me when they mentioned the Heirloom. That comment about hoping we’d trust them with the full story ‘one day.’ ” I touched my temple reflexively. “They’re too clever not to have figured it out.”
“Brilliant.” Kazimir’s tone was dry. “So we’re attempting a dangerous ritual with someone who knows our greatest secret and who we have absolutely no reason to trust.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds like a terrible idea.”
“It is a terrible idea.” His expression was grim. “But we don’t have a choice, do we?”
I sighed. “On the bright side, we can tell Griffin we know what happened to the ley lines.”