“And that is what you are, isn’t it?” Mor continued, her gaze lifting to meet Lara’s. “The first in many generations of your family.”
Queasiness washed over Lara.Fuck. Mor had just ripped off her mask. She wasn’t ready for this. “I don't believe it,” she whispered finally, her mind wheeling.
“You didn’t know about the family connection?”
Lara shook her head.
“TheOrd-ree seal… passed down from ruler to ruler over hundreds of years. Common-born fire-wielders didn’t possess such a ring though … it belonged only to Albia’s royal line.”
Aware of the gazes now boring into her back, Lara curled the fingers of her right hand into a fist. “How do you know this?”
“The archives of Caisteal Gealaich hold many secrets … if you dig deep enough.”
Moments passed, and as they did, the riddle Lara had been trying to solve for a while now untangled itself. Whenever shedisplayed a strong emotion—anger usually—flames flared in the depths of the amber. And they did whenever she wielded fire as well. There were also times, as she clenched the cairn stone tightly in her right hand, when the ring pulsed hot against her skin.
Over the past turns of the moon, she’d guessed it was connected in some way to her ability. But she hadn’t made the link to her family.
“What does the ring have to do with the spirit world?” Cailean spoke up then, his voice sharp.
Mor’s gaze never left Lara’s face as she replied, “Nearly two and a half thousand years ago, fire-wielders were common in Albia. There was even a class of druid called pyromancers … trained fire-wielders who expanded their abilities through study and discipline.”
Cailean stiffened. Clearly, pyromancers weren’t part of current druidic lore. The news surprised Lara as well. She hadn’t realized some fire-wielders had become druids.
“One of these pyromancers—the High King’s brother—rose to become arch-druid,” Mor continued. “He encouraged the king to push the boundaries of his power … to take control over life and death itself.”
The fine hair on the back of Lara’s neck stood to attention. That was quite an ability—one she wouldn’t want. To wield it was to make yourself a god. It was risky. Arrogant.
“The arch-druid chose The Shattered Crown for his ritual … a broken stone circle in the far north, on the shores of the Darkmere,” Mor said. “The veil was thin there. Like the other standing stones of Albia, it was made long ago by the Ancients … long before my time. However, The Shattered Crown has always been different from its cousins … it holds no earth magic and has never provided a portal between Albia and Sheehallion. No one is sure why the Ancients built it so, or of its original use … but your ancestors decided it was perfect.”
“What did they do?” Lara asked, though dread was already pooling in her gut.
“They created a breach in the veil between this world and The Threshold.” Mor’s expression remained impassive. “The arch-druid had an iron ring forged with a piece of amber set into it … amber he fed with his own blood over many moons of ritual, binding it to his fire magic. He and a group of pyromancers then traveled to The Shattered Crown and, together, they burned a narrow tear in the veil. The arch-druid then used that ring—theOrd-ree seal—to stabilize the tear and keep it open.”
Lara frowned. The Threshold was the liminal space between worlds, where spirits of the dead lingered for a short while before passing to the Otherworld or Underworld. However, some malevolent spirits, like the Slew, remained there. “I can’t believe my ancestors would mess with something so dangerous.”
“They had to … if they wished to bring back the recently departed,” Mor replied. “Those of their choosing, of course. Shortly after the breach was created, the High King lost his beloved daughter to illness. He wanted her resurrected.” She paused. “And through sacrifice at the stone circle, they brought her back from the dead.”
Lara’s throat suddenly felt dry and tight.Gods.They’d actually done it.
“The ring was designed to be worn by fire-wielders,” Mor went on. “It needs to be actively maintained … fed power through the bloodline connection. As long as a fire-wielder wears it, the tear will remain stable and controlled. Small enough for their purposes, yet preventing anythingundesirablefrom escaping.”
“What went wrong?” Cailean asked.
“The fire-wielders were slaughtered.” Mor’s voice flattened. “Allof them. Ill-feeling had festered for decades. There were tales of villages burned and power abused … of pyromancers going mad and incinerating everything within reach. When Albia outlawed fire magic, the Marav made it a death sentence … and they hunted the fire-wielders down. They dragged them from their homes and put them to the sword. And when the last one died, knowledge about the tear in the veil and the ring went with them.”
“So, what do you know about the ring?” Lara’s voice came out hoarse.
“For centuries, the rulers of your line have worn theOrd-ree sealas a family heirloom, not realizing magic lay dormant in their veins or what the ring truly was.” Mor’s gaze fixed on Lara’s hand. “Without a fire-wielder to maintain it for so long, it’s likely the ring has been slowly failing. Like a fire starved of fuel. The ‘controlled tear’ has been gradually widening.”
Lara’s chest tightened. “But I’m wearing it now. Shouldn’t that help?”
“You’ve awakened it,” Mor said, her tone softening slightly. “But I fear the damage has already been done. Indeed, given recent events, you may have made the situation worse.”
Lara stared at the ring on her finger with new horror.“I’mthe reason the spirits are flooding through?”
“Theringis the reason,” Mor corrected her. “Your family created this crisis over two thousand years ago. You simply … woke it up.”
A brittle silence fell.
