The Defenders of Dembroch: Book 3 - The Widow's War

By Patrick Harris

Death and chaos have found their way to Dembroch.

When all seemed lost, the Arx allied together to save Sir Nicholas from the King's Killer. Many warriors were lost, but the future king was returned to the safest shores of Dembroch - as was a monster.

Deep within Sir Nicholas laid the dreaded monster Necrosis.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SunBurst Sagas
• Release date: Oct 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088027509

Patrick Harris

Patrick Harris is a former soldier, academic, and corporate lawyer. He has worked in many industry sectors, inlcuding mining, insurance and energy supply. He now writes full time.

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The Defenders of Dembroch

Book 3: The Widow’s War

During the early days, when the earth was still young, mankind was plagued by the Carceres, terrible entities of death, chaos, and woe. Merlin and his underling mages were empathetic to the terrified mortals and pulled seven islands from the depths of the sea. Upon each island, the mages buried a pillar that bathed the land in its own unique magic and created a sanctuary from the Carceres. For generations, exiles and refugees flocked to these isles and, safe from the Carceres, prospered. Kingdoms, empires, and great cities were built upon these safest shores and, in time, the seven sister islands joined together to form an alliance known as the Arx.

Though the Arx isles were protected, each became a target for the evils of the world. The Carceres were a distant threat, but the danger of monsters and men was constant. Foes constantly sought their borders. And none was more fearsome than Necrosis.

As all dreaded, Necrosis found its way to the isles of Dembroch, where stood the Army of the Arx. A long, terrible battle ensued. Necrosis decimated the allied forces. The monsters of the kingdom’s Horror Hollow, once satisfied to live below, rose to the surface to fight alongside this monster of monsters. The Demon Queen’s coven descended upon the carnage, scavenging the dead. The land bled. The pillars trembled.

When it seemed Necrosis would conquer Dembroch and even the Arx, Sir Solomon trapped the creature and drank a death elixir, subduing the creature into an egg. The battle won, the Demon Queen and her coven were banished from the kingdom of Dembroch and, with the resident mage and magesty’s help, a barrier was formed around the isles so that no trespassers could ever find it again. When all this had been accomplished, King Richard once again sequestered Dembroch’s monsters to the hollow below. The dead were sent to Avalon and Sir Solomon, who had lost his mind to defeat Necrosis, was exiled, never to return.

So the Arx remain, the pillars buried deep, the magic evolving and growing to suit each nation, the Carceres held at bay, and man’s sanctuary preserved. If even Necrosis could not shatter the Arx, what evil would dare try?

– A reading from The History of Unseen Places

Chapter 12: The Rise and Fall of the Arx

PROLOGUE: A Knight to Remember

Foolish but brave were the children that dared enter the no man’s land of Dembroch, the cursed kingdom.

Stop! you may shout at them, as their grandfather did, his voice too far across the waves.

And they were never seen again, you may suppose, as so many sailors did after watching another foolhardy soul step foot on Dembroch.

Mock them, scold them, or write them off, but is it not reckless courage that so often secures victory? For no man or woman could tread upon Dembroch, nor could any break its curse. Like a lily sprouting from the forest ashes, only youth could walk ashore. Only a child could break the curse. And Robbie and Lucy, bravely and foolishly, despite what every naysayer would shout at their back, intended to do both.

Brother and sister waded out of the waves, shivering in the cold night air. Sand crunched under their feet. Waves crashed into steep cliffsides, chunks of rock breaking and falling into the deep. Between the eroding cliffs was a sandy hill with a path winding between dry, dead shrubs.

Braver of the two, Lucy held her grandfather’s sword, though it was growing heavy. Robbie carried his grandfather’s journals, waterlogged and unreadable. They paused, the sound of their names on the wind, but they were alone—kind of.

Spread across the shore, some waist-deep in the surf, others only a few steps onto the sand, were dozens of people. They stood frozen, a thin coat of spiderwebs and ashes covering their bodies. One of them, perhaps a more recent victim, still had skin showing, horror still fresh on her face. The wind whistled through the statues.

Creeped out already, Robbie and Lucy crisscrossed through the statues and hiked up the steep hill of dead grass and brush. At the crest, they paused to overlook this land they had dreamt of since their first bedtime story.

The Timeless Kingdom of Dembroch stretched out before them, an isle of despair. There were more people up here too, similarly frozen in place and covered in ash. Most were gathered on the shores and ocean cliffs, but a few dotted the island’s interior, punctuating the landscape like the few trees that remained standing, their leafless branches gnarled and dead. The remainder of the forest was mulch on the ground. Craters and fissures ran from one side of the island to the next. Riverbeds ached for water. Dark spider webs crisscrossed the land, hovering over a layer of ash that had solidified into a strange, semi-solid layer of dirt like rain freezing into a thin sheet of ice. And in the center of it all was the heap of rubble that had once been the castle.

The grandchildren gaped at the devastation. This was far from the magical kingdom they had heard of during bedtime stories. There were no magic flames burning across the isles, suspending the kingdom in time so that no one aged or died. They could see no healers tending to Hospites and studying their life-threatening sicknesses and curses, no harvesters or fishers sowing and reaping the land and sea, no defenders training with swords or chasing monsters back into the Horror Hollow. There wasn’t a sign of life anywhere—

A rustle came from the grasses around Robbie and Lucy. Then another. Then the brush all around them was quivering.

Just as Robbie was beginning to stammer that they should go, a creature leapt from the grasses. Part spider, part snake, the creature flew at Lucy’s face. She screamed, unable to lift her Grandpapa’s heavy sword in time.

A giant bear claw of a hand snatched the spider-snake out of the air and crunched it. The creature screeched and burst into blood and guts.

Robbie and Lucy gasped. It was Grandpapa.

He put a finger to his lips. Lucy noticed there was dried blood around his mouth, staining his grey beard.

The grasses rustled again.

Give it to me, Grandpapa mouthed to Lucy.

She handed him the hilt not a moment too soon. More spider-snakes burst out. Grandpapa swung his sword expertly, cutting the creatures from the sky as they launched at him.

But one slipped past. It landed on his arm, wrapping its snake tail around his neck. The spider mandibles clicked, searching for flesh.

Robbie screamed—he was only six after all—and swung the journals. He whacked the spider-snake, causing it to explode on Grandpapa’s back. The journal burst apart as well, pages falling at their feet.

Beasts in the brush shrieked in horror, then fell silent. Grandpapa, exhausted, fell to his knees. He wheezed, holding his sides. Blood trickled between his fingers. Lucy thought it looked strangely greasy.

Grandpapa, she said, you’re hurt. Did one of the spiders—

He shook his head.

The Skraits, he managed to say. I stole their boat to catch you.

Oh, no, Robbie cried.

He and his sister had just read about the Skraits. Their weapons were coated in poison that would kill in twelve hours or less.

We have to find you an antidote, Lucy insisted.

Grandpapa shook his head, popping open his gold-flecked pocket watch. It read 11:30. There wouldn’t be time, but he didn’t dare tell the children.

And yet, the grandchildren now knew the significance of the pocket watch—that it told the hour of the soul, not the day, and the closer to midnight was the closer to death—and they knew the look on his face. Robbie and Lucy hugged their grandfather around the neck and sobbed for forgiveness.

We didn’t mean for you to get hurt, Lucy cried.

It was just a bit of fun, Robbie said. We just wanted a little adventure before bed.

There’s nothing to forgive, he promised them. I teased you for years with Dembroch, never guessing you would figure it out so quickly. I should have known better. You’ve got your grandmother’s brains. But the Skraits, this cut— he groaned painfully —I would run through a thousand swords to keep you two safe. I love you both.

Littles and littles? they asked.

Lots and lots, he promised. Come, we mustn’t stay here.

He tried to stand, but the Skraits’ poison was already working. His legs were jelly, and he fell harder into the ashen dirt.

As his grandchildren fussed over him, Nick cursed his foolishness. This was not how he wanted this to go. Robbie and Lucy weren’t ready. They were too young.

But this cut full of Skraits’ poison… He would be lucky to see the sun rise. There was no chance of him living long enough to make an antidote. And then Robbie and Lucy would be on their own. With all the enemies against them, that would not do.

They must break the curse, Nick reminded himself. Then timelessness would return to the realm and the toxin in Nick’s blood would be halted. It was the only way, though he rebelled at the thought.

And yet, how long would he keep prolonging their fate? Six and seven were too young, but eight, nine, ten—he could convince himself that these ages were too young as well. They would be adults before he knew it and the chance to save Dembroch would be lost.

Here and now, they had an opportunity. They must take it, no matter how unprepared these innocent children were.

Silver lining, he reminded himself, as his wife had so often reminded him. Find the rainbow in the storm.

At any rate, he supposed, if they didn’t break the curse, he would get to spend his last few moments with his grandchildren and one last tale of Dembroch. But, if they made it through the night, the curse would break at last. Dembroch would be freed. And maybe, just maybe, Robbie and Lucy would get to see their parents again.

Help me up, Grandpapa said to his grandchildren. And stay close to me.

—

Using his sword as a walking stick, Grandpapa limped his way to the rubble that had once been Dembroch’s castle. He and the grandchildren took up shelter in what ruins remained, overlooking a sunken pit. Two bodies were down there, encased in ash. Grandpapa stared at them a moment, a far-off, unmoored look in his eye. Creatures chittered in the night, in search of fresh prey.

Seeing that Robbie was shaking and in need of distraction, Lucy asked Grandpapa a burning question on her mind: what had happened to Dembroch?

A terrible curse, Grandpapa replied, sitting against a cracked stone wall. The timeless magic of Dembroch became twisted so that any man or woman who stepped foot on the island became frozen in time.

That’s why there are so many statutes? Robbie asked, glancing at the two bodies in the pit.

Grandpapa nodded solemnly.

Are they dead?

We don’t believe so, Grandpapa said. Only trapped in time.

Lucy cocked her head.

"But then how are you here, Grandpapa?"

"Your grandmother’s brains and your great aunt’s wit, Grandpapa said under his breath before explaining. I am immune to the curse because of the magic in my heart, but I can’t break the curse. You two are able to roam about because you are still young. And yes, you can break the curse, but what you must do—"

Robbie and Lucy waited expectantly.

Blood, Grandpapa whispered finally, defeated. The only way to break this curse is for a child to live through the night and spill their blood at daybreak.

The faces of the children paled.

Not all of your blood, Grandpapa promised. Just a drop is often all it takes. But it will be a long night full of monsters. And it’s not right. No child should bleed even a drop of blood for a country they have never known.

But we do know Dembroch, Lucy insisted. If one drop of blood will bring back the land I love—

We’ll cross that bridge come daybreak, Grandpapa said. Now, come, sit with me.

They sat on his lap, huddling up to stay out of the howling wind. Grandpapa grunted a little, the oozing cut bleeding just a little more.

Grandpapa? Robbie asked. Was it Necrosis who did this to Dembroch?

Where did you hear that name? Grandpapa asked. I never told you—

We took some of your journals, Robbie admitted, pointing at the soggy, blood-spattered remains of the journals he’d held onto. On the way to Dembroch, we read about you and your friends’ quest to unite the Arx. You accidently brought Necrosis to Dembroch.

That he had, Grandpapa remembered—as if he could forget.

So many decades ago, Dembroch had been threatened by an ex-defender called Solomon, nicknamed the King’s Killer for murdering Dembroch’s last king. After sending a witch to destroy the kingdom, which Nick and his friends had stopped, Solomon had sought to resurrect the terrible beast named Necrosis, a soul-sucking monster that had brought about ruin and woe in the days after King Arthur.

In an effort to stop Solomon and his allies from reviving Necrosis, Nick and his fellow defenders had scattered across the globe, seeking out Dembroch’s sister countries to ally together and form an army. They visited six islands, each imbued with their own magic and rich in their own cultures. They had made friends with Mudryy, an orphan raised on dreams of the land his clan had fled and whispered about when the White Tsar wasn’t listening; Lady Katya, a magician whose personality and subjects were cold and dead; and Chieftess Rèn Gwo, an adventurer who had lost her daughter too soon.

As time drew short, Nick and his friends had succeeded—the Arx was headed to Dembroch to reunite—but Solomon had kidnapped Nick and planted the monster Necrosis in his body. When Nick had been saved by the Arx, he’d delivered the monster right to Dembroch, just as Solomon had planned.

Where’s the next journal? asked Grandpapa. It has a green cover.

The journal Robbie held was burnt orange.

I dropped it in the waves, he admitted, looking at his feet and kicking the ash.

Grandpapa stifled a laugh.

Well then, he said, I suppose I’ll just have to remember what happened. He paused gathering his thoughts. Now, before I start, I should warn you both. This story isn’t for the faint of heart. Might put a bit o’ hair on your chest, as a matter of fact. Robbie giggled, Lucy stuck out her tongue. And we need your youthful souls to save Dembroch. So anytime you feel like this story is making you grow up…stop me.

Robbie and Lucy shook their heads adamantly. Their curiosity was too strong, and the thought of adulthood was as abstract as wealth to a street urchin.

Very well, Grandpapa said. It’s a tale about a monster of monsters and nightmare of nightmares, souls and swords, a journey to the Horror Hollow and another into the mind. It’s about Merlin and a white owl, war and the weight of a crown, pirates and a Demon Queen. But beyond all the shocks and scares, it’s a story about friends and the lengths they go to face their fears of the future, discover what it is to be a good king, and save each other. Let’s begin.

And so, in the treacherous ruins of no man’s land, his life ticking closer to midnight, Grandpapa told his grandchildren a final tale of Dembroch.

PART 1: Blood, Sweat, Toil, and Tears

CHAPTER 1: The King’s Killer and the Future King

I accept! I exclaimed, though I certainly didn’t want to.

As if in reply, right in my ear, there were three very loud, very solid knocks like someone announcing their arrival at the door.

My heart froze. Goosebumps flushed my skin.

Merlin was calling.

No, I corrected myself. Not just Merlin. Necrosis. And by extension…the King’s Killer.

My body filled with terror as cold as ice and heavy as lead.

The seers wrenched me from their seeing stones and dragged me down the shore. I screamed in protest, struggling against them, spinning to see where they were taking me. Were they throwing me into the sea?

No. From the corner of my eye, I saw their destination and my dread doubled.

Further down the shore, a stone staircase had broken through the rock. At the top of the stairs, perhaps ten feet above the ground, was a door. It steamed in the falling rain.

I fought with all I had, my heart thumping harder. The magic in my little ticker thrashed alongside me, full of enchantment that had healed my widowmaker of a heart attack, breaking seers’ eyes and making my enemies fly this way and that, but my captors held firm and dragged me up the stairs. Rain began to pool in my eyes. I blinked hard, squirming like a worm on a hook. Grand Seer Izdajico, that filthy traitor, swung his cane hard, smacking my stomach and the air right out of my lungs. I saw stars and gasped for breath.

Before I could resist anymore, we were at the door. It loomed over us all, an ominous, steaming panel of thick, polished redwood. There was no doorknob, but carved into the center of the wood was a soul-piercing, mind-bending eye. Like an optical illusion, it seemed to swirl and move, as though it could actually see.

Grand Seer Izdajico grabbed my arm and wrenched—hard. I shouted in pain, my bones and ligaments stretching the wrong way, as he pressed my hand against the door. Against the eye. There was a creak, the door opened, and suddenly there was a draft of wind. I felt a gravity to the threshold.

Seers along the stairs yipped like hyenas. They pushed against me and my captors, eager to go through. I fought harder than ever, my heart pounding, magic exploding all around me, the very fiber of my being screaming for escape—

But no matter how I struggled, I was helpless to the inevitable and I was pulled through the door. The stars and rain and wind and salty smell of Posterus’ Port disappeared in an instant, replaced by an enormous, muggy, flame-lit cavern. The rain felt like a second skin on me now. My ears were filled with raucous cheers and hisses. I smelled sweat and rancid meat.

My eyes adjusted to the dim light and my knees went weak. Filling the cavern were hundreds of people, enemies all. I saw witches with their green halos, Skrait pirates with their molten bodies and poison-slicked swords, and Stricken Men with their blackened, burnt skin.

Looking around, I saw that the last of the seers were coming through the door I’d unwillingly summoned. My heart leapt—this was my only chance—but the last seer closed the door and it blinked out of existence.

I thought desperately of some other way to escape. Running would do no good. My chroniseal, a device that could transport me out of here, had been taken by the Grand Seer. My last chance, my heart, was too sporadic. If only I’d listened to the queen and my friends and found a way to control the magic. Some king I would be when I couldn’t even train my own heart.

I ground my teeth in anger. I’d been a fool. My queen had told me to stay on Dembroch, to wait for the Arx to arrive, and then safely accept the rites of royalty with an army at my back. But I just couldn’t say no to one last adventure. I’d run off into the sunset, fallen into the seers’ trap, and spoken the words at a most inopportune time. By accepting the rites of royalty and starting the journey of becoming Dembroch’s third king, I’d called Merlin to me, thereby opening a door to the mage and his captor, the King’s Killer. I had no one to blame for my current predicament but me.

Bring him, a voice called through the mob.

The seers pushed me through the crowds. Witches jeered and spat on me as I passed. Stricken Men and Skraits threatened me with their swords and spears.

Through the throngs of people, I saw a mound of bones, tall as me. Atop this throne of skeletons sat the man who had spoken. I knew him, though I did not know his real name. He was the man from my vision, the rogue my friends and I had been chasing for years.

The King’s Killer.

He slouched on his throne, animal skulls snarling from the pelts draped over him. His olive skin was puckered with thousands of little scars and his eyes were dark jewels.

At the foot of the King’s Killer, my captors released me. Up close, the King’s Killer looked vaguely familiar, but my mind was too scattered to place him. My heart thudded deep in my chest. The cavern fell unnervingly silent.

From his throne of bones, the King’s Killer spoke. He did not shout, but his voice was deep and commanding all the same, carrying to every ear. Each word dripped with arrogance, the cat taunting the cornered mouse.

Sir Nicholas, the King’s Killer said, words layered in a Spanish accent. The knight who would be king. He breathed in deep, as if he could smell my identity, then proclaimed: All hail!

I expected boos and hisses, even stones thrown at me, but instead the King’s Killer’s announcement was met with shouts of excitement and delight. It gave me chills.

Do you see how you inspire them, Sir Nicholas? asked the King’s Killer, his voice carrying above the adulation. They worship you, the final sacrifice of the Sinners’ Solemnities.

My heart jolted in terror, making a few witches scream as their magic sparked around them. That was their plan? I was a sacrifice to end their dark ceremonies?

The Sinners’ Solemnities was a two-week festival of bloodshed and debauchery, celebrated by murderers and scoundrels, all to bring forth monsters and dark magic on the last night when a new moon rose on a winter’s solstice. My friends and I had discovered that the King’s Killer and his minions were using the Sinners’ Solemnities to reawaken Necrosis, the dreaded beast that only Dembroch and the army of the Arx had managed to stop in the sixth century. Funnily enough, that monster had once been a mage named Merlin. The reason I was in this mess, remember?

Shortly after mentoring King Arthur, Merlin had been transformed into this monstrous creature, Necrosis. A Dembroch defender named Solomon had subdued into an egg. Though in an embryo state, Merlin could still hear the call of the future kings and queens he needed to mentor. And as the future third king of Dembroch, I was one of them. Yay.

I glanced over the King’s Killer, spotting it on his belt. Hanging below his belly was a strange egg, the size of a conch shell and oblong in shape. Its semi-transparent surface shone like an oily rainbow, and underneath I could just make out a creature, undulating over itself like an octopus nestling in its tentacles. It was the egg of Necrosis, hanging right in front of me on the King’s Killer’s belt.

There was no way I could sprint up the bones and snatch it. Even if I could, I didn’t know if I’d be able to successfully destroy it. What could kill a mage-turned-monster?

I considered this all in a moment and tore my eyes off the egg when Grand Seer Izdajico bowed before the King’s Killer and ascended the throne. The Grand Seer handed over my Dembroch chroniseal.

No! I shouted, making to run at the Grand Seer and the King’s Killer—with that device, the King’s Killer could transport himself directly to north Scotland and that much closer to Dembroch—but my captors had anticipated the attack. The seers smacked their staffs into my stomach and back, knocking the air from my lungs and sending me back to the ground.

Fear not, the King’s Killer said. I cannot set foot on shore. This will do me no good, other than allow you an easy escape.

Before my very eyes, he crushed the watch and medallion, the breaking metal cutting into his skin. White blood dripped from his fist. He dropped it, the metal ringing as the broken contraption bounced down the bones and broke apart on the ground. I saw a flash of the Dembroch sigil, a castle in flames, the metal torn and bent. It hit the stone ground and shattered into a million metal fragments, my last escape destroyed.

As his minions cackled in my falling face, the King’s Killer descended from his throne of bones and circled me, looking me up and down. He towered over me.

King Nicholas, he regarded, a hint of disdain in his voice. I must admit…you’re tinier than I expected. He looked me over again and sneered. I see nothing to impress Merlin or the queen. No broad shoulders, no strong brow, no scars of victory. Why should you be the third king of Dembroch that Merlin would mentor? Why would Dembroch favor you?

I glared back at him, unwilling to admit anything—my queen’s love, my magical heart, my fears of becoming king…

Nothing to say? the King’s Killer goaded. No desperate pleas? No words of defiance?

You will fail, I said through gritted teeth. Dembroch will—

He hit me hard and fast, a meaty fist right into my cheek. I collapsed, spitting blood and a tooth. Lights danced in my eyes.

Come now, mocked the King’s Killer. You can do better than that. Give me something to remember you by.

I won’t let you take Dembroch, I declared, thinking fondly of Clay and Jenn and my sister Meghan and my queen Coralee. "Even if I am gone, a thousand defenders will stand in your way. You will never sit on the throne."

The King’s Killer chuckled softly. It was unnerving, but I wouldn’t let it show.

You fool, he whispered. After chasing me all these years, has your kingdom learned nothing? I do not mean to rule Dembroch. I intend to destroy it.

This was news to me, and the King’s Killer must have seen it. He stooped beside me, whispering so only I could hear.

A man is only as good as his knowledge, and how little you know, he breathed in my ear. You and your defenders scramble about in the darkness trying to stop a force you can’t see or know. He chuckled darkly. Your queen has fought so hard to stop me, all while falling into the trap I’ve lain for you all. How better for me to destroy what is left of the Arx than to have every leader together on the kingdom I intend to drench in blood?

I gaped at him. It wasn’t possible. Queen Coralee, my friends, and I had devised this plan to unite the seven countries of the Arx on our own. He couldn’t have had a hand in it, and yet, all the dominoes seemed to be lined up for the King’s Killer to knock them down in one foul swoop.

If no one has warned you, the King’s Killer whispered, "I must be the one to tell you how important this moment is. This is the first and last conversation we will ever have together. A killer of kings and a future king. He chuckled again at a joke only he knew. As a token of appreciation for the great works you will accomplish for me, during our little chat, I will not lie. He spat on the ground, some of his spittle hitting my cheek. I’ve never liked the taste of it. As such, you can trust every word we share in this first and last conversation, and I ask you to do the same. For example, when I say that I do not seek Dembroch’s crown or throne to rule, you can believe me. When I say that I forced your queen’s hand, led her to the conclusion to assemble the Arx, all with the intent to destroy the safest shores, you can rest assured that it is indeed the truth. Now, in the same way, as I have told the truth, I expect the same from you. It would be a shame to tarnish your soul with a petty lie. Do we have an agreement?"

It was a thinly veiled threat—this would be our first and last conversation, whether we never met again or the King’s Killer took my life right after our final words.

I see I must earn your trust, the King’s Killer growled when I did not respond to him. You may initiate the conversation. What more would you like to know?

The question came spilling out of me. My voice sounded pluckier than I felt.

Why do you want to destroy Dembroch? I demanded to know through a mouthful of blood.

The King’s Killer smiled coyly. Aiming for the jugular before you even break the skin. You have heart, defender. He composed himself, choosing his words. You will destroy Dembroch and its sister nations for me, all so I can regain what I have lost.

That’s not an answer, I said.

I have revealed more to you than to any living soul, whether you understand the truth or not, the King’s Killer shot back. Now, my turn. Answer me. Why has Dembroch chosen you?

Why do you care who reigns on Dembroch? I shot back. You mean to destroy it no matter who wears the crown.

You aren’t as stupid as you look, the King’s Killer replied, a spark of jealousy in his eyes. "You see, King Nicholas, I was to be the third king of Dembroch before it was denied me. You did not seek it, yet you were offered the crown. I must know, what did I do wrong? Why do we stand here now, opposites on the chess board, one future king denied, another unseemly, unimpressive knight called to rule by Merlin? What makes you a better king than me?"

When I still did not reply to the King’s Killer’s question, he stood and called out to the crowds.

Sinners, do any of you know? What makes King Nicholas so special?

He has a brave soul, but fear bursts from him. Fear of the future, announced the Grand Seer, his glowing eyes surveying me. His desperation overwhelms his reason. Like any other human who has touched the stars, he longs to stay where he does not belong.

Stricken Men spoke up too, mocking my lack of fighting skills and prowess in the field. Witches whistled at me like I was a piece of meat for the spit.

Then, a new voice called over the crowd. It sounded strange, a hundred whispers speaking at once. Atop the throne of bones appeared a woman with porcelain skin, a starved body draped in black rags, and eyes that glowed like green suns. I knew her from the stories. This was the Demon Queen, creator of Necrosis and mother of the witches around me.

His heart, the Demon Queen’s many voices said in unison, breathing in deep. Dembroch has chosen him for his heart.

Ah, how easily I forget, the King’s Killer said, sneering smugly. Your heart pumps with the magic of Dembroch.

He lunged at me, wrapping his meaty hands around my throat. My heart thundered so strong, he could surely feel it between his fingers. Around us, there were flashes of green as the closest magic near me reacted to my thumping heart. Seers flailed wildly, their mirrored eyes lighting with pasts and futures. The King’s Killer’s skin bubbled, the blood underneath seeming to boil.

How? I wondered in terror. How did the King’s Killer or Demon Queen know about my magical heart? Precious few knew that I had magic in my heart—a few defenders, the queen, the Council, and the healers who had saved me.

Careful, King’s Killer, called the many voices of the Demon Queen. Because of his heart, he alone can be the vessel.

The King’s Killer released my throat and I gasped for breath. Stars were blinking in my eyes again. I felt powerless to defend myself.

I too have tasted the magic of Dembroch, the King’s Killer mused. Intoxicating, isn’t it? You’d do anything to make it go on forever. But nothing lasts. I’ll see to that.

He knelt beside me again, whispering now, close enough I could see every pore in his face. Tiny veins of white were barely visible under the scarred skin.

What great sins you will commit for me, the King’s Killer said. I know full well you won’t succumb to Necrosis, but you will set it free on Dembroch. The Timeless Kingdom will fall around you and then, perhaps, we shall meet again. We will likely trade blows rather than words, for as the third king of Dembroch, you must vanquish an enemy none else can overcome. The King’s Killer chuckled. I hope you choose me. So that in the end, I can see the look in your eyes, full of the knowledge you do not yet have, and the realization that you’ve torn your heart asunder for Dembroch, your queen bride, and your friends, just to destroy them with your own hands.

His words could have stalled me, made me second guess everything I knew. It certainly sent my mind reeling. But I was focused on something else. The King’s Killer was so close, he hadn’t seen me slip my hands around the egg of Necrosis.

I did it quick and tore the egg from his belt. The King’s Killer was fast too, falling over me and crushing me into the stone. My arms were still free though, the egg pulsing in my fingers. I brought it down quick, slamming the egg on an edge of rock. It popped like a water balloon. Necrosis smeared on the rocks, its body squishy.

The King’s Killer grabbed my shoulders and flipped me over, pining me to the stone. The dark jewels of his eyes burrowed into mine.

At the very least, he said, I will remember you for your sheer stupidity. Necrosis cannot be killed. I would know. I tried to kill it and saw its true face. It was Necrosis who told me what lay ahead for you and I. And the best I could do was turn it into an egg.

In that terrible moment, realization hit me. The King’s Killer—I knew him now. His name was Solomon.

A million thoughts went through my mind like fireworks, remembering in an instant who this disgraced, exiled knight had once been, trying to understand how he could be here now, beating me senseless, mocking me, and swearing to destroy the kingdom he’d once served.

Solomon saw the recognition dawn on me.

Pity, he said. You only understand when it is too late.

I struggled, but he was a mountain of a man, large as the Watchmaker and just as strong. My kicks and squirms didn’t even make him budge.

Fight hard as you can, he said mockingly. "I say a poison prayer that your time as