“Or perhaps,” I say, sobering, “you are simply early. We didn’t find them until the threads were ready. The Fates rarely move in straight lines.”
Dagan huffs, but some of the pressure in the stone eases.
“Regardless, your mate or lack thereof is not the issue demanding our attention,” I continue. “We have Idris to contend with.”
Alaric’s humor fades. “Yes. Idris.”
The name tastes like soot.
“The Dark Sage,” Kael says quietly. “How many did he take this time?”
Dagan’s fingers curl into fists. The ground shudders again, a low, angry quake that rattles the spear racks along the wall.
“More converts to Idris’s tainted mission have been discovered in one of my villages,” he grinds out. “He swept through with his dark promises and took nigh on two dozen able-bodied men and women.”
My fire flares, sharp and vicious. “Two dozen?”
“At least,” Dagan says. “Those we can confirm. He dresses it as salvation. ‘Join me, and I will free you from endless toil. From the forges. From the Lords who demand your labor and give you nightmares in return.’”
Alaric’s eyes narrow. “He always was a master with words.”
“I do not understand how a man can fall so far. How once upon a time,” I snarl, “he was a monk of the Silver Flame. Once, he swore to protect this realm. To hold it sacred. Now he feeds on the very despair he stokes.”
Kael’s hands tighten at his sides. “We cut him down before. We can do it again.”
“Not while he hides behind the dead and those too desperate to see their own chains,” I say. “He is clever. He sends his SoulTakers to raid where we are weakest. He makes us look like tyrants while he gathers an army of the disillusioned.”
My gaze drops to the shrouded crown.
“The longer it sits without a Prime, the more his influence spreads,” Alaric admits. “And the Fates do nothing. They watch. They weigh.”
“They are waiting for the weave to align,” Kael murmurs. “For the right pattern to emerge.”
“Or they are laughing while the world burns,” I growl.
We fall into a simmering silence.
Then Dagan exhales slowly, the tremors underfoot easing.
“We can’t force the crown,” he says. “We all know it. Very well. We focus on what we can do.”
“The Ember Vein first,” I say. “It is the lifeblood. If Idris finds a way to penetrate the wards there, we lose everything. Dreams. Hope. The very reason Nightfall exists.”
Alaric nods. “We can’t do more at this time, Thorne. We already reinforced the wards together. Before I leave Jules to head back there, I must know what our plans are should the Vein fall under attack.”
“Our plans? To crush Idris and his army!” I growl.
“Yes, but we can’t do that unless we can find him. And for now, the Vein is as secure as we can make it,” Kael adds.
“I have stayed all night below,” Dagan adds. “I have felt none of the SoulTakers’ presence or progress or evidence of them advancing through the ground—not yet. But their last attempt reached too near.”
“I will not leave my lands unprotected,” I growl.
“Of course not,” Alaric says. “We go together. We bind our magic to the wards in all four elements—Air, Water, Earth, Fire. If Idris or his pets so much as breathe too close, we will know.”
He glances toward the great balcony where, beyond, the Broken Plains lie distant but constant.
“And then?” Kael asks quietly.
