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“Although . . . ?” Kit prompted.

“The council has been discussing what it means that Elyria was able to sense some of the crown’s power even with its true nature hidden so thoroughly in this form. We think that the two of you are the key to unlocking it.”

“The two of us?” Cedric asked. “Why not just her? I never sensed anything back when I thought it was simply Tenny’s locket.” He paused. “At least, I don’t think I did?”

Thraigg leaned forward in his seat. “Do you sense anything from it now, boyo?”

“I . . .” Cedric placed his palm atop the locket, holding it to his clavicle. “Well, yes, but I already know what it is. I’ve already felt it activate under my power.”

“And that is exactly it, dear one.” Larkess gave an approving nod. “It activates under your power. It is your birthright. Your mother died protecting both it and you. But it is not just you in this world alone anymore.” The elder’s eyes were shiny when she looked from Cedric to Elyria and back again. “Two champions, two victors, two bloods—one soul-bonded pair. The council believes it is the two of you together who hold the key to unlocking, and uniting, the Crown of Concord.”

From bitterest rivals to heartbreaking ends, two bloods shall find their way.

The prophecy—the stars-damned motherfucking prophecy—continued to haunt Elyria’s thoughts, her memories. Celestial prophecy was muddy on the very best of days, and she was coming to realize just how many ways there were to interpret the ancient words. Still, she hoped and prayed they’d at least gotten that first bit over and done with. Hadn’t both she and Cedric experienced enough heartbreak to last multiple lifetimes at this point, after all?

“What would we have to do?” Cedric asked, interrupting Elyria’s spinning thoughts.

Elder Larkess steepled her thin green fingers under her chin. “Zephyr told me much about what happened during the Crucible.”

“I bet she did,” muttered Kit under her breath, and Elyria bit the inside of her lip to keep from chortling.

“She was particularly impressed with the way Elyria wielded the merged power of the champions during the Trial of Magic,” continued Larkess. “The council thinks that if you and Cedric were to merge your magic like that again—especially now, with your soul-bond established—it may provide the power necessary to reveal the crown’s true form.”

“Two bloods,” Elyria said, and Larkess nodded.

“It was a bloomin’ right sight, the way ye lit up and unsealed the entrance to the labyrinth, Rev.” Thraigg was nodding animatedly. “I think Lark might be onto something here.”

“All right, great. So all Cedric and I need to do is merge our magic again, like we did in the Sanctum, and we can get to putting the stars-damned crown back together.” Elyria placed her palms on the table, readying herself to rise from her seat, though something itched at the back of her mind. She tried to ignore it. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s get the fuck to it.”

“The council said something similar, if less colorfully stated,” Larkess said, a sad sort of smile pulling at her mouth.

And there it was again, that itch. “You keep saying ‘the council.’ ‘The council thinks.’ ‘The council believes.’ But are you not including yourself?”

“I am sure that is not what the elder meant,” offered Shep, who had thus far been watching the conversation unfold with his typical calm, easy demeanor.

Elder Larkess, however, did not contest Elyria’s conjecture.

“Do you not think it will work?” asked Cedric, putting voice to Elyria’s thoughts.

The sylvan shook her head. “It is not that I don’t believe it will work. My brothers and sisters on the council and I are in alignment on this. The two of you are already halfway interwoven. Your powers . . . they already beat within one another, and I do believe you both to be the key to uniting the crown.”

“And uniting the crown is, in turn, the key to defeating Malakar,” Elyria said firmly. “So what exactly is your hesitation?”

A beat of silence.

Elyria folded her arms over her chest as though bracing herself against whatever the elder was about to say.

Larkess sighed. “I am not sure what further solidifying your bond may do to your . . . magical makeup, as it were. Already I sense the thread between you, the way your powers speak. The way you have each been remade, thanks to the other.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Cedric asked, something akin to distress floating down the bond between them. It was laced with a tinge of guilt, as though her knight was suddenly wondering if he had inadvertently done something to harm Elyria.

“Of course not,” Elyria said quickly, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss the crease that had formed between Cedric’s eyebrows, to smooth away his worry. “How could it be?”

Larkess gave a small shake of her head. “Not at all, my boy. There is no ‘bad.’ Neither is there ‘good’ here. What I mean is that the person you are—the people you both are—is simply different from who you were before.”

“Well, I could’ve told you that,” Elyria said down the bond, and the edge of Cedric’s frown quirked.

“The only reason for my hesitancy is . . .” Larkess drew in a deep breath, her eyes drifting to Elyria. Or, more specifically, to a spot directly above her shoulders—first one, then the other.