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That was the advantage she had decided to use.

Orsin did not understand the amulet. That became clear as I watched her piece it together from fragments. Overheard conversations, documents she was not meant to read, questions asked sideways through people who thought they were answering something else.

He believed it opened Morrath. He believed one of his daughters would be the key because that was what the seers had promised him. He believed only he was strong enough to wield it.

He was wrong about all of it.

The amulet had been forged by the Sarens. Only the Sirens, their royal bloodline, could wield it safely. Anyone else who attempted it would die. The stronger the person, the faster the death.

But Orsin had never believed the power was out of his reach.

Alarnan queens had long been known for their connection to ancient wards. Their blood carried a unique ability to interact with the magic that protected kingdoms, and Orsin believed that through them he could create the daughter the seers had promised him.

That was why he sought Alarnan wives.

That was why he waited.

He believed that eventually one of his children would be powerful enough to wield Toritha’s amulet for him.

Orsin had been told this by mages who later died for telling him things he did not want to hear. After that, the people around him learned to tell him only what he wanted.

Ryaran learned the truth from the few mages who had survived his anger. The amulet could not be wielded by him, and it could not be forced open. So she created a duplicate with their help and let Orsin believe he had won. The real amulet was hidden, while the false one slowly weakened him every time he attempted to use it.

The amulet was not a weapon.

It was a warning.

I did not understand what that meant until I saw my mother in the library one day and learned what she had discovered.

Orsin sat on a throne that was never meant to be his.

What was now Yorali had once been Pearsal, a Sarenal kingdom. It had been peaceful, with no army, its people focused on farming and mining. Tearsar had been poor and barren, its people lacking magic.

So they stole it.

In the middle of the night, they slaughtered Pearsal until nothing remained except scattered creature communities. Those survivors were thrown into Morrath, where Orsin believed they could no longer threaten him and where he could still maintain some control.

After taking Pearsal, Orsin sent men into the mountains searching for survivors. Anyone found was brought to the Hall of Punishment and thrown into the pit.

On the day they slaughtered the last Saren, a message was left upon his throne.

When you least expect it, we will return. You will not be powerful enough. And you will pay in blood.

That was the beginning of Orsin’s paranoia.

Others had attempted to steal Saren territories before him. Each time, days later, those lands vanished behind impossible wards, sealed without a trace.

Gone were the opportunities to steal more magic. More wealth. More power.

Then Orsin learned Queen Toritha had left behind two children when she sealed Sarenal away.

And an amulet capable of opening those wards for her son.

Years passed. Daughter after daughter failed to awaken what he needed.

The seers had been wrong. Or perhaps Orsin had misunderstood them. Either way, he became desperate. The power he had spent his life chasing was still beyond his reach, and the people he had destroyed could return at any time.

So he turned to the source.