“The stone isn’t just any relic. It’s an anchor, a nexus of primordial magic. If King Sarris and my father unlock its full potential, they’ll have the power to reshape reality itself. Life, death, time… They’ll control it all.”
"And their plan?" Alias demands, his fury barely contained as he steps closer.
Jason hesitates, shame clouding his face
“They want to break through the wards protecting your castle and your father,” he admits. “The magic you wove—it’s too strong for any direct attack. But with the stone, they could unravel your protections from within. Once the wards fall, they’ll storm the castle and eliminate any resistance. Your father, the council, your allies… None would survive.”
The room falls into silence as his words sink in. The wards I created were meant to make the castle impenetrable, a fortress against any threat. The thought of them failing, of my father and our kingdom falling to Sarris and Jason’s father, sends a cold wave of dread through me.
“And after that?” Gwyn’s voice is more biting than I’ve ever heard it, her usual gentleness replaced by a jagged edge.
Jason lowers his gaze, his voice barely a whisper.
“Then they’ll rebuild the world in their image. King Sarris will rule unchallenged, and my father will secure his legacy. They’ll crush anyone who opposes them and claim dominion over life and death.”
Every pair of eyes rests on me, as if I hold the solution to this impossible puzzle. My mind reels, piecing together fragments of old texts and whispered legends. The Obsidian Vault is a place of myth, its wards fueled by the blood of its creator’s lineage. Magic that binds itself to life—magic that cannot be cheated or undone by force.
“We’ll need to find a way to break through the magic,” I say finally, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “I need to return to the castle. The library there holds ancient tomes that might offer a way around the Vault’s protections.”
Callum steps forward, his expression dark.
“Or we could just kill Sarris,” he says, his tone low and laced with lethal intent. “Use his blood to open the Vault ourselves.”
“It won’t work,” Casper interjects calmly. “This kind of magic needs a living bloodline. Killing Sarris would sever the bond. The wards would remain intact.”
The room falls silent again. My thoughts race, but there is no easy path, no simple answer. Finally, I speak.
“And you,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence. “What did they promise you?”
Jason flinches, the shame in his eyes deepening.
“A seat at the table,” he admits, his voice trembling. “A chance to save my people, to ensure their survival under the new order.”
I smile softly, taking in his words, but I’m not speaking to him.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
My eyes shift to Celaena, her gaze now trained on me. She steps forward, her golden hair hidden beneath a royal blue cloak, her presence a quiet threat.
“Lord Striden believes you’ve infiltrated Jason’s heart,” she mocks, her words dripping with disdain as she tilts her head, studying me. “They won’t wait for his arrival to begin their plan.”
I step closer to Celaena.
“And what plan might that be?”
Her lips curl into a cruel smile, the kind that speaks of bitterness and jealousy.
“They plan to slit your throat sometime between now and then,” she says, her voice coy, as if savoring the idea.
I exhale slowly, her words dissipating like smoke against the unease blanketing the room. Jason moves forward, fury igniting in his eyes, but I raise my hand. The magic surges, dark and cold, spilling from my fingertips like a living shadow. It twists through the stillness, hungry and ancient, coiling around her neck. It tightens just enough to steal her breath, forcing a gasp—a chilling reminder of the power she dares to challenge.
“Tell me, Celaena,” I whisper, my voice slicing through the silence, “did you volunteer to do his bidding?”
The magic lingers at her throat, a tangible warning. I don’t need to break her as I did Vanessa. Celaena isn’t a snake—just a mortal, caught in her own insecurities, desperate for something she will never have. Her eyes burn with defiance, though her breaths come shallow and labored. She spits at me, a gesture fueled by desperation more than courage.
“Brave of you to think you could take me,” I say, a soft smile curling at the edges of my lips, though the ice in my tone betrays the warmth of the expression.
My gaze locks onto her, unflinching, steady, like a predator watching its prey. Her defiance flickers, failing to mask the fear creeping behind her words.
