“Perhaps before the three were split by the curse, Halendor was the court of loyalty, sacrifice, and protection. The labyrinth was supposed to provide balance, but he corrupted it. Isodine’s diary said blood kept the artifact intact. Devotion might not just be about love, it could be about binding, the kind that can’t be broken without consequence.”
Lore tilted his head. “That’s what broke the artifact in the first place. Devotion used to control rather than protect.”
I exhaled, my breath stirring the wings of the featherdorn. “Dominion. Irridain.”
“Dominion sounds like control. Leadership. Rule.”
I nodded, but slowly. “But the featherdorn grants wishes. It doesn’t follow orders. I don’t believe it’s tied to tyranny. It’s guidance. Permission, maybe. Or will.”
He narrowed his eyes, considering. “Maybe Dominion isn’t about power over others. Maybe it’s about agency. Power over one’s own fate.”
The quill scratched rapidly over the page, recording every word.
“‘You seek a forge, but what you need is a mirror,’” I whispered, remembering what Justifar said last night. “They’re not just magical objects. They could be mirrors, reflecting something inside us. Essence shows us who we are. Devotion shows what we’re willing to suffer for.”
“And Dominion shows us how we choose to act on that knowledge.”
I sat back, folding my legs beneath me on the sofa. “Prager split the original artifact. It’s a device older than her bloodline, one that was fused by…grief and love?”
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “And now we’re meant to fuse it again. How? With a spell or fire or blood?”
“With understanding?” I asked.
“Or surrender.”
I paused, looking up at him. “Surrender to what?”
He met my gaze. “To each other. To what we fear most. Whatever we love most is also the thing that could break us.”
I swallowed hard. The red gem in the pendant gleamed like a fresh wound.
He stared at the three talismans. “Justifar said, ‘Pour yourself into it. Bind not them, but what they represent.’ Maybe we’re not fusing artifacts. Maybe we’re fusing what they ask of us.”
Farris barked from where he sat on the floor by the table. He stared at us with that eerie stillness of his, his eyes gleaming inthe light. With a huff, he padded into our bedroom, returning withEmber’s Shadow, of all things, dropping it onto the floor by my feet.
“No bedtime stories in there,” Lore said with a low laugh.
“This book gives when it feels I need it most.” I lifted it and laid it on my lap, flipping through it, pausing as ink scrolled across the page, reading aloud. “Where dragon tears fell into the sea, the tide remembers.” The words disappeared, and when I pawed through the book again, I found nothing but blank pages. Sighing, I glanced toward Lore. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged
“Too many clues without any way to link them together,” I growled.
He cradled my face. Kissed the tip of my nose. “We will find a way.”
Except his death was looming closer all the time.
I laid the book on the table.
“Essence asks us to accept ourselves, fully,” Lore said. “Devotion asks us to make a vow freely, not by force. And Dominion asks us to act on that vow without fear.”
We sat in silence. Only the pen still whispered over the page before it stilled as well.
“Lord Briscalar’s words,” I said. “‘One hand only may turn the key, who bears the shadow and the sea. Speak not of what you long to see, but ask where the beginning be.’ What do we think he meant?”
Lore’s brow furrowed. “One hand only could mean only one of us can use the featherdorn’s wish, which makes sense. One wish, one of us.”
I nodded slowly. “We should decide what the wish will be. I assume we can’t wish for the curse to be broken.”
