Page 105 of Kingdom of Dance

“Your threats leave me unmoved,” said Lorne, straightening. “Your mother is in a secure location, and her life is directly tethered to me.” He raised an eyebrow. “I understand your training has been woefully lacking. Do you know what a key is?”

“Yes,” Obsidian ground out through clenched teeth. He didn’t like where this was going.

“Explain it to me, so I know we’re both on the same page,” Lorne said condescendingly.

Obsidian longed to hit him, but he knew from his special ability that Lorne had told no lie when he said Obsidian’s mother’s life was in his hands.

“With the right training, a magic-user can work a key into an enchantment,” Obsidian ground out. “The key can be any action, or phrase, that when performed or uttered triggers the magic to be released to achieve a pre-molded effect.”

“Very good, little trainee,” said Lorne in a mocking voice. “Your mother is bound—metaphorically speaking, of course—by magic that will turn on her and stop her heart the moment I perform the key. I don’t think I need to trouble you with knowing what the key is.”

“I should kill you where you stand.” Obsidian was trembling with rage, power pooling uncontrollably at his fingertips now. He didn’t even know if he’d be able to stop himself from releasing it.

“Not a good idea,” Lorne informed him smugly. “For one thing, the power I now have at my disposal—” he lifted his hands, showing off the gleaming thread of magic, “quite something, isn’t it?—is far stronger than any measly magic of yours. You wouldn’t be able to kill me. But even if you could, it would be a mistake. Do you know what the narrow-minded fools in Fernedell locked me up for?”

Obsidian just glared, not willing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Well, I delved into areas of magic not covered in basic training, let’s say,” Lorne went on comfortably, as if Obsidian had asked. “I discovered a delightful twist to the concept of a key. If I die, the magic is triggered as surely as if I performed the key action.” A sick kind of triumph gleamed in his eyes as they rested on Obsidian’s livid face. “I think my life has just become very valuable to you, yes?”

“What do you want?” Obsidian growled.

“Yes, to business,” agreed Lorne briskly. He pushed himself upright. “You are on your way to a wedding, I believe. That’s good. Our friend would like you to attend. While present, you will assist our other player—a princess with whom I’ve heard you’reintimatelyfamiliar—to carry out one simple task.”

“Leave Zinnia out of this,” Obsidian said, a fresh wave of fury washing over him at the man’s insinuations.

“Impossible,” said Lorne impatiently. “Idric also seems to want her in a central role.” He dropped his voice to a mutter. “Foolish, if you ask me, but of course he’s not likely to do that.”

“What’s the task?” Obsidian demanded.

“To kill the bride and groom,” said Lorne. “With as much fanfare as possible.”

For several long seconds, Obsidian just stared blankly at the enchanter. “You must be mad if you think either Zinnia or I would do that,” he said at last.

“Apparently Idric has his own ways of ensuring Zinnia’s cooperation,” Lorne informed him. Obsidian felt his blood run cold, horrified to imagine what that might be. “But you, my little trainee, are my job. And youwilldo your part, or your mother will suffer the consequences.”

“I’m a soldier,” said Obsidian bluntly. “I’m no stranger to the idea of some lives being sacrificed to save others. My mother is one person. What makes you think I’d trade the lives of Prince Amell and Princess Aurelia—not to mention the countless other lives lost in the inevitable war that would follow—for the sake of her life?”

“Because,” said Lorne, a gleam in his eyes, “she’s not just one person, is she? She’syourperson. The only one you have, from what I understand. And she’s not choosing to sacrifice her life like some brave soldier.Youwould be making that choice for her—you’d be murdering her, your own mother. Can you really tell me the lives of some puffed up royals are worth more to you than hers? You’ve said it yourself—you’re a soldier. I know you know how to kill. Not just the mechanics. You know what it takes, and you’ve paid that price before. I have faith you can do it again, with the right incentive.”

Obsidian’s heart was racing painfully, his mind caught in a hopeless downward spiral as he thought of his mother captured and afraid, and tried vainly to think of a way out.

“If it helps,” Lorne said grimly, “the Fernedellian royals have it coming to them. Ten years I was locked up. This is merely retribution long overdue for their crimes against magic.”

“I want to see my mother,” Obsidian said abruptly. “I want you to prove that she’s alive.”

“No,” said Lorne simply. “She’s alive—you’ll have to take my word for it.” His eyes mocked Obsidian with their knowledge. “Something tells me you believe me. You won’t have the opportunity to see her until after the wedding.”

True, all of it horribly true.

“Even if I was willing to do what you ask,” Obsidian said, “the prince and princess will be well guarded. At an event like this, they’ll have magical protection as well as physical. I’d have no hope of achieving it.”

“Don’t worry,” said Lorne lightly. “Whatever you do with your magic, you’ll find its potency increased a hundredfold. Even the presence of your power will be masked from detection—it’s a particular talent of our employer.”

“Employer?” spat Obsidian. “Is that what’s in this for you? Gold?”

Lorne scoffed. “You think I care about gold? Ever since I got out of that prison, I’ve had one goal—to punish the sniveling royals who dared to put me in there.”

“I agree it was a mistake to lock you up,” said Obsidian coldly. “They should have hung you like the common criminal you are.”

---