Malrik’s voice shifted, layered.
“There are seven pieces,” he said. “Scattered across the Dominion, buried in places that don’t remember they were ever whole.”
“Seven?” Seraphine breathed.
“I can see only one clearly. The oldest. The keystone. Hidden beneath the drowned temple in the Deadrun Marshes.”
Seraphine exhaled, fisting her hands. “And the others?”
“Shattered across broken time,” he murmured. “I see a veil of wolves. A burning sky. Blood-soaked sand and...”
He stopped.
Eyes opened slowly, irises still glowing faint silver.
“…a throne of bones where no king dares sit.”
Silence.
Cassian whistled low. “You sure know how to pick vacation spots, Princess.”
Malrik turned his gaze on him, something unreadable in his expression. “He hides much.”
Cassian crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, it’s all mine to hide.”
Malrik’s eyes narrowed slightly. “For now.”
Seraphine stepped between them again, sharper this time. “Enough.”
Malrik inclined his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“As charming as ever,” he said.
“And you’re still a bastard in silk.”
That made him laugh—soft and humorless.
“You’ll need a blood key to breach the Marsh temple,” he said finally. “It won’t open for fire alone.”
She nodded. “Where do I find one?”
He looked at her like he pitied her. “You don’t. You make one.”
They leftthe ruins by midday, heading south.
The wind bit harder, the sky a bruised gray, and Seraphine felt the weight of progress.
Seven shards. One confirmed. Six to go.
Cassian fell into step beside her as the group pushed forward.
“So. Blood keys.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask.”
“Too late. Already imagining it involves some deeply disturbing ritual involving ancient gods and sharp objects.”
She smirked despite herself. “You’re not entirely wrong.”
