Page 43 of Vicious Is My Throne

Bexley’s spine creaked, he straightened up so fast. “If you think you can do a better job, go right ahead.”

“I’m only teasing, Bexley. It’s not like I can read a single word, so if you say it’s a frog, then it’s a frog.” Finally, his lips twitched. “And, for the record, I’d rather fight a frog than the Oracle.”

“Fine, then, shall I continue?” He adjusted his spectacles. “No flame will halt the heartless fight, draped in eternal, starless night…or this could mean darkness…No weapon forged by mortal hands will cleanse these blighted, ruined lands. Where time and ancient memory meet, the lines of gold lead to defeat. To end the dark, the world to cure, a broken heart, intentions pure.”

Where time and ancient memory meet…did that mean the visions?

“Well, that’s cryptic and completely unhelpful.” I sighed. “And what does that mean about the sword not working? Why can’t they just say stab the bad guy in the heart with the magical weapon and go live happily ever after?”

“It specifically says fire will not work, but yes, this does seem to indicate the sword, as a weapon, will not work against Corvus.”

My eyes drifted over to the rendering. “Yes, it sure does.”

“I sometimes think the wisest of us were simply idiots hiding behind clever sayings,” Bexley countered softly. “When I write my autobiography, I’ll spell everything out clearly and leave nothing to the reader’s imagination.”

“Really?”

“Of course not, where is the fun in that? I’ll make it as difficult as possible for them to decipher my writings. I worked hard for my knowledge, and so should they.”

“Do you think that’s part of this? Making us earn the answers, I mean?”

“Possibly. Magic has a cost which must be paid. Knowledge has a cost too.” He squinted up at the ceiling painted to look like the sky. “What is the cost of your magic? You mentioned monsters.”

I swallowed. If he only knew what the real cost was…

“Every time I use the magic our marks get darker. And the Fae King was covered in black veins. I expect by the end of this…we will look the same.”

A picture of Corvus loomed in my mind. Hulking, ruined, barely able to move. And in all those visions, we’d been transformed into creatures so unlike ourselves, I could barely comprehend the journey it would take to get us to that point.

“Oh, I saw with my own eyes what the king became in the end. That was you?” I managed a tight nod, a sour wave of bile choking me.

“So the cost of using the magic is to become a monster.” Bexley drummed his thin fingers on the table, the huge ring he always wore slipping sideways, it was so heavy. “I assume you use your power judiciously, then?”

“As judiciously as possible, given I don’t want to harm the others.”

“Then this weapon could be the answer, Anaria.”

“We have one picture in one book,” I pointed out, Bexley nudging the other book closer. “Okay, two pictures. We don’t know where this knife is, or how it works, or if it even exists. What do you think that bit means about lines of gold lead to defeat? Our defeat or his?”

“The passage is quite vague, but remember, my translation is shaky at best. I suppose Cosimo would be the one to ask. I’ve never known him to be wrong when it comes to ancient languages.”

“Oh, we already went that route.”

Bexley’s ears perked up. “What did he say?”

“He burned the other copy and told me he was saving us from ourselves.”

“Well, that sounds arrogant enough to have come out of his mouth.” Bexley ran his finger along a line of text. “I should give you the same warning. But I’d much rather eradicate those two forever.”

“Me too,” I muttered, flipping the next book open, and there it was.

A perfectly rendered drawing of the sword, including the pommel Zor so desperately needed to see. I squinted at the text and cursed my lack of formal education. “I can’t read this except for some names. Shadowbrook, Hexborough…Mysthaven.”

Bexley’s entire demeanor changed, going from relaxed to stiff, all his earlier wariness returning. “Ah, I knew I’d seen that somewhere before.” His voice was tight as a drum. “I believe this rendering will satisfy the general.”

I wasn’t sure anything would satisfy Zor right now. He’d been in a foul mood when we’d left Blackcastle and was in an even fouler mood now. My own temper wasn’t much better, but our options were dwindling by the hour.

All we had were a half-arsed cryptic message and a drawing of a weapon that might not even exist.

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