Page 48 of Shattered Crown

Silas stopped walking. “What moment?”

Lyra turned to face him fully. “The complete merging of realms through corruption rather than cooperation.”

“Sebastian's just the latest vessel,” she continued. “Marcus was one of the first. The entity whispered to him, made him believe guardians were threats to be controlled rather than allies to be cherished. Each generation of Ashworths after him became more receptive to its influence.”

“Until it found the perfect candidate,” Silas said bitterly. “Sebastian was always ambitious. Always resentful of limitations.”

“Exactly. The entity doesn't create character flaws—it exploits them. It traces corruption back to the founding of our house, when the first Ashworth made a bargain he didn't fully understand.”

They reached a small clearing where ancient stones formed a natural amphitheater. Lyra paused, turning to face them with an apologetic expression.

“I need to ask something difficult,” she said. “My father has been in hiding for decades. His location must remain protected.”

Silas nodded, understanding immediately. “You want me to come alone.”

“I'm sorry,” Lyra said, glancing at Kai. “It's not about trust. It's about necessity. The fewer who know his sanctuary's location, the safer he remains.”

Kai bristled slightly but kept his voice level. “I understand. Information is a weapon in the wrong hands.”

“Please don't take offense,” Lyra continued. “Your loyalty to Silas is clear. But my father's paranoia has kept him alive when others who spoke out against the shadow's influence mysteriously died.”

“You don't need to apologize to me,” Kai said, surprising them both with his calm acceptance. “Diana will want a full report anyway. I should return to coordinate with her.”

She offered to take Silas to Nathaniel immediately. “He has information that could turn the tide. But we must leave now. Sebastian's forces are closer to the Eldergrove than anyone realizes.”

Silas faced yet another impossible choice. Abandon the political fight to save Thorne, or stay and risk losing everything to Sebastian's military might.

“Go,” Kai said quietly. “I'll stay and help Diana. Someone needs to keep the legal challenge alive.”

“Don't argue. We both know Thorne needs you more than the court does.” His smile was crooked but genuine. “Besides, I've always wanted to play politics. Think of the chaos I can cause.”

They embraced quickly, years of friendship requiring no words. Then Silas turned to Lyra.

“Take me to Nathaniel.”

11

ROOTS OF PAIN

The Eldergrove screamed in a language only Thorne could understand. Every burned leaf, every poisoned root, every corrupted branch sent waves of agony through his expanded consciousness. He existed everywhere and nowhere, his awareness stretched across miles of forest as he coordinated desperate defenses against an enemy that attacked from all directions.

Shadow creatures oozed through gaps in the magical barriers, their forms shifting between solid and smoke. Human raiders wielding iron weapons and corrupted spells struck at the forest's edges, setting fires that burned with unnatural hunger. Thorne felt each assault as if it were against his own flesh, because in many ways, it was.

Another grove fell to the flames, its ancient trees crying out as they died. Thorne made the brutal calculation he'd been forced to make dozens of times already. Save the heart, sacrifice the edges. The mathematics of survival had become sickeningly familiar.

“Fall back to the second ring,” he commanded through the network of roots and branches that carried his will. Dryads and forest spirits retreated, abandoning homes they'd known for centuries. Some refused to leave, clinging to their trees even as fire consumed them. Thorne felt their deaths like pieces of his soul being torn away.

The constant warfare was taking its toll. Without Silas's presence to anchor him, Thorne found himself losing track of his individual identity. Hours would pass where he existed purely as the forest's consciousness, forgetting he had ever been anything else. Only the lock of hair Silas had given him, carefully preserved in a pouch against what remained of his physical form, could bring him back to himself.

He clutched it now, letting the familiar scent ground him in his own identity. Silas. His love. His anchor. The one he was fighting to protect, even as the distance between them grew more painful by the day.

A tremor through the root network pulled his attention to the heart grove. The Elder Willow's life force flickered like a guttering candle. Thorne manifested his physical form beside her ancient trunk, solidifying from shadow and starlight.

“You spread yourself too thin, guardian,” the Elder Willow wheezed, her voice like dry leaves rustling. Black sap oozed from wounds in her bark where shadow magic had taken root.

“I have no choice,” Thorne replied, placing a hand against her trunk. He could feel the poison working through her system, a corruption designed specifically to target ancient tree spirits. “The attacks come from all sides.”

“As they did in the Time of Sundering,” she said. “When the first guardians fell.”

---