I jolt mid-step before my foot hits the ground. “My mother saw the hammer?”
“More than that. She kept it safe.”
Victor pushes his chair toward me so I can sink into it.
I can’t seem to stop shaking my head. “How did I not know this?”
Victor answers me with a hard look.
“Right,” I say. “She swore you to secrecy. But why tell you and not me?”
It isn’t intended to be a hurtful question, but Victor’s jaw clenches before he rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck.
“It was after the Ember Fae attack,” he says. “She must have sensed how much I was struggling, and she understood my passion for metalwork. She visited me each day and described a little more of the hammer to me, starting with the hammer’s head and moving to its handle, describing it marking by marking, and encouraged me to draw it. Her visits, the promise of knowing the hammer’s final form, gave me purpose.”
“Is that why the images are incomplete?”
“She died before she could describe all of it to me.”
I’m grateful that my helmet conceals the bitter twist of my lips, but I can’t stop the forward drop of my head toward my hands.
Aeliana… my intelligent, thoughtful mother… should never have died.
“You said she kept the hammer safe.” My voice is a bare rasp as I push through my sorrow, a sadness that, like so many of my emotions, I can only attribute to Thyra. By the Goddess, her presence in my life has cracked open my poisoned heart. “Did Aeliana tell you where it is?”
“She said it must never fall into the wrong hands,” Victor replies. “She wouldn’t say why. Which leaves me grappling with my promise never to speak of it.” He peers at me, no doubt trying to read my thoughts from my eyes. “It would help if I understood why you’re asking about it.”
I could lie.
Or I could tell him I can’t explain why I’m asking. But it seems I’m reckless tonight. “I need it as part of breaking the curse.”
Victor’s shoulders sink. “Then I must tell you where it is, but you will understand, once I give you this information, why I kept it to myself.” Briefly closing his eyes, he adds, “And whyI was so alarmed when you suggested I accept Mother’s invitation.”
My forehead puckers as he heads first to the far door, listening there for a moment before muttering, “All quiet,” and then gesturing me to his inner workroom, where his drawings are strewn across multiple tables.
Leading me to one of his hand-drawn images of the False Queen, he jabs his finger at the unfinished sketch of a hammer at the bottom of the page.
“The hammer that forged the Dragonstone Blade is enclosed in a tomb within the temple on Mount Vividari.”
Where the celebration is being held.
Before I can even consider the full ramifications of this, Victor continues.
“There’s more.” He holds up the same finger. “Only a full-blooded Vividari can open that tomb and access the hammer.”
A snarl builds in my chest. “Are you saying that Galla Vividari is the only fae alive who can open that tomb?”
“She is. Which is why the location of this celebration is a real concern to me.”
“You think she knows.”
“I fear it.” He lowers his hand. “But maybe she doesn’t have a clue. Maybe she’s holding the celebration there purely to hurt you. In fearing she knows, I could inadvertently reveal the secret, causing the very catastrophe I want to avoid.”
His concern is valid.
Fear can create its own outcomes.
“She can’t be allowed to take control of that hammer.”
