Page 133 of The Dragonrider and the Void
“She’s right,” a new voice chimed in, drawing their attention across the room. “You’ve all probably heard me sing about the dangers of consolidated power dozens of times. Do you need me to remind you?” Hardin said, sliding a lute into his hands from around his shoulder.
Hardin leaned against the wall with the familiar lute in his grip while he smiled at them.
“Where did you find your old lute? I thought it was lost in the North, with Tel’s Wagon?” Venrick said.
“Sasja located it for me,” he said with a quirky grin.
“Hardin, you should be resting, really resting and not…” Lark smiled.
“I’ve gotten plenty of rest between ballads,” Hardin said with a wink as he joined them at the parapet. “Besides, there’s work to be done. The binding ritual may have contained the Void Drinker for now, but its goal to control the magic produced in the Everburning Forest has not gone away. Corruption still grows like a weed in the Kingdoms of Sataran, even without the Void Drinker’s influence.”
A companionable silence fell among the three of them as they watched darkness settle over Astral City. Lanterns flickered to life throughout the districts, pinpricks of hope amid the devastation. In the courtyard below, White Eye and Quinthara rested side by side, their massive forms visible only as deeper shadows against the gathering night.
“So, what happens now?” Hardin finally asked, voicing the question that hung unspoken between them.
Lark’s hand drifted to the copper crown of Skol. “Reconstruction. Healing. For the city, for the kingdoms.” She hesitated. “And decisions about the future.”
“Your future,” Venrick clarified. “Regent of Lamar, heir to Skol, both kingdoms will look to you for leadership.”
The weight of those expectations pressed down on Lark, who momentarily felt overwhelmed. Not so long ago, she had been Marcel Heartfell, Nordraven’s most feared dragonrider. Then an amnesiac wanderer, trying to piece together her fractured identity. Now this, at the center of a storm that would reshape the political landscape of Sataran itself.
“I never wanted this much power,” she said softly. “I only wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.”
“And now you’re in a position to do exactly that,” Nix pointed out, flitting to her side.
“But you can share the burden with those you trust,” Hardin said. “While I wasn’t born in Lamar or Nordraven, my Doranian upbringing has given me outside insight into what can happen when powerful people are given too much control.”
Before she could respond, the tower door opened again. Sasja joined them outside, her movements as fluid and precise as ever despite the bandage visible beneath her sleeve. The spy bowed slightly, though whether to Lark as Regent or out of simple habit was unclear.
“Forgive the interruption,” she said, her voice carrying its usual calm despite the urgency in her eyes. “But there are developments you should know about immediately.”
“More attacks?” Lark asked, instantly alert.
“No, quite the opposite. Yarla has sent a letter. She and her elves have discovered something. Reports of strange magical activity all across the Everburning Forest.”
“Effects of the Flashover?” Venrick asked.
“Perhaps.”
“It could be Hierro,” Venrick suggested. “Is the Archmagus gathering forces?”
“Not exactly,” Sasja said. “Yarla hasn’t encountered the Archmagus. Hierro did leave something behind in his chambers in the Vermillion Keep, however. It’s a message, carved into the wall.” She hesitated, uncharacteristic uncertainty crossing her features. “It’s addressed to you, specifically.”
“What does it say?” Venrick asked, his hand moving instinctively to where his sword would normally hang.
“Just three words: ‘He is returning.’”
The implications hung heavy in the evening air. There was only one “he” that could warrant such a cryptic warning now that the Void Drinker had been contained.
“Barrik,” Lark said through gritted teeth.
“Do we know how long we have?” Venrick asked.
“Impossible to say,” Sasja replied. “From what I’ve heard, the tear in reality Barrik used to escape was unstable, unpredictable. He could return tomorrow, or years from now.”
“Or never,” Hardin added, though his tone lacked conviction.
“No,” Lark said, certainty hardening her voice. “He’ll return. Barrik never leaves a plan unfinished, a goal unreached. The power he sought by allying with the rimeshade, by manipulating the kings, by orchestrating this war, he still wants it. And he’ll come back to claim it.”
