Draven scoffs out a dark laugh. “A drake is hardly a dragon. Drakes are maybe a third of the size. This one would’ve been able to spit toxic gas or acid, but not fire. Bigger than the wyverns you saw when you came in, but they’re wingless, and best of all weak against our magic. Formidable, but not nearly as dangerous as a dragon.”
I keep staring at him—is he insane? An actual gigantic magical lizard.
He finally notices how still I’ve gone. “They’ve assured me the cave is empty, and the drake is dead.”
“Consider me reassured.” I note the way he huffs a sigh at my sarcasm. “I just don’t like the idea of absconding from our safe institution to stick my neck in the lair of a wingless dragon—”
“Adragoncan burn mountains to molehills. One burned an ocean and all the mer living beneath it, until nothing was left but bones and desert sands.” He crosses to me and leans into my space, capturing my eyes as easily as a cat pouncing on a mouse. “A drake isn’t anywhere near that level of power, and as I said, it’s dead. I would never take you somewhere I can’t protect you.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“This discovery site is the largest undisturbed collection of unrefined zenith, and from the reported size of it, the amount could power the Forge for several centuries on its own.” He points to the lamps and the strange energy within them. “But I’m hopeful it will give us a chance to look for signs of your family and the Arcadian Artifacts.”
My heart rate settles at the certainty he displays. He and his father might have a strained relationship, but it seems unlikely that the king would put Draven in actual danger. I’m sure I can miss a few days of classes now that our midsemester tests are finished. I observe that map on his wall, though the markings are gone, as if he erases them each day. I glance at the zenith in the lamp at his desk, my eyes narrowing.
“So, we’ll be collecting this?” I ask, the crystal smoothed and polished like stained glass.
“Well, that’s refined zenith.” He picks a jar off his shelf and shows me a sliver of dark crystal so pigmented it looks like midnight turned solid. “This is what it looks like in its unrefined stage, where it’s more powerful and dangerous.”
“You know, it looks familiar …”
Blinking, I put it together, all the tomes of boring archaeology, myth, and history compounding. “Do you still have that book with the diagrams of the Arcadian Artifacts?”
“Of course.” He runs a hand through his hair and tracks over to his desk, leaning against it as he searches a neat stack of books, my eyes dragging across the length of him. His head leans to one side, that claim mark on full display, and I’m certain it’s no accident. I can still feel his stubble against my bare neck, chest peaking, and I cross my legs, fingering the bite mark on my neck and wishing I could hide this want better. How can one man be so fucking devastating?
He hands it to me when he finds it. “Why do you ask?”
I flip it open until it lands on the wand. The dark slender Artifact looks chiseled, and I’d assumed its spiraled form was made up of wood before, but seeing the unrefined zenith in front of me, it looks a lot more like stone. Our arms brush and my skin heats. “I think the wand might be made of zenith, judging by the renderings of it, and it says here it has the ability to transport itself …”
Draven leans sharply over the book, hand splaying over mine, heat rising in me as his eyes absorb the page. He breathes, “And no one’s explored the cave.”
“Is there a chance the wand returned to its original source?” I yank my gaze from settling on his full lips and meet his eyes, dancing with anticipation. “Wasn’t there some saying about the wand … darkness seeks darkness?”
Draven’s eyes lighten as though he can’t help but let his enthusiasm over the subject shine through. “They call the wand the Darkstone, or Worldwielder, depending on who wrote the history. It has a unique ability to splice open dimensions between realms.” Draven’s gaze traces over me, lingering on my mouth. He shakes his head, blinking a long moment before his hand grazes the page again, brushing against mine. “Some say a legion of hells’ finest could be summoned with it. Or it could open doors between worlds. But … it also has the power to hide itself. The legends say it calls to people. That it can move itself to where it needs to be.”
“As if it’s almost alive.”
He nods. “Whatever its power, no one’s seen it in eons, but the last sighting of it was at a battle near another huge source of zenith in our kingdom.”
“So, you think it could be in that lair?” I meet his gaze, and he bites back a smile, excited at the potential lead.
“I think there’s a chance. It’s the druid Artifact, but the lines on the maps changed, and this location was once within our borders.” Draven shrugs. “The fact that this cavern’s so untouched has me wondering if this is where it originated. It’s a stretch, but dark power loves company, so maybe without an owner, it returned home, before that drake happened upon it, attracted to the zenith’s power. It’s the best lead we have. But we can’t tell anyone we’re searching for it, lest it gets back to the kings.”
“What would your father do if he found out that we were searching for it?”
“He’s the kind of man who demands respect but gives none. He cares only for how my actions reflect on him. He expects utter gratitude and nothing short of perfection.” Draven’s finger traces the wand drawing. “But I’m more powerful than he is, and he both desires that power for himself … and fears it. If he found out we were searching for a fable, he’d be embarrassed, and if we actually found one … he’d feel threatened.”
It seems complicated, more like the relationship I had with the Lord of Westfall than my own father, who cares less how powerful I am, or what I candofor him. My father only cares if I’m happy and safe. But Thane was like this … a man whose power stemmed from making others small.
Draven looks to the map above his desk, admitting that much vulnerability brings a cost, and right now his eyes shy from mine.
I want him to know the only person I will judge is his father. My hand slowly strokes his, and Draven’s breaths still as I squeeze tight. The apple in his throat bobs and the restraint between us thins, a thread under the duress of a razor. Damn. The intimacy of it fills the room, and there’s nearly no room left to breathe. So, I distract us both.
“Since we’ll be there, should we look for the elves’ Artifact, too? Hints to the ring?”
Draven blinks, the spell strung between us faltering but not dissipating.
“The ring, Seithr, or Kingmaker, has the power to exert extreme influence over any living being, completely erasing their thoughts and replacing them with its own.” Draven’s gaze narrows on the map’s flags. “It’s rumored to be the source of their vast wealth.”
