After a few centuries of neglect, it’s not surprising that few of the blades are in working condition.

  It’s a relief, honestly. I thought the founders had left an entire arsenal out of their reach, but it’s more like they used the cache to store very valuable trash. Most of the weapons have broken enchantments—the spells inscribed in them missing pieces or worn away by some means. They’re still valuable for their materials and as study pieces, but there are only four weapons that could do any good in someone’s hands.

  Unfortunately, none of them suit my lovely knight. There’s hope, though. A sword with a blade of glass—or something that looks like it. Its enchantment was placed into the blade itself, which is a problem with its missing tip. I hope the succubi can make sense of what remains, or at least have some idea what the blade is made of. Alana’s fascination while watching rainbows of light dance along its surface is just too precious. Depending on how difficult it is to restore, it’d make an excellent wedding gift. Do Victorians do dowries? It’s a practice that’s fallen out of favor in the capital, but some still make the gesture.

  With the History and Armory caches recovered, that only leaves one final piece of the Authority to claim—one I won’t be claiming anytime soon. I always thought it was strange that the crown would allow others to keep ancient treasures of unfathomable strength. It turns out, they didn’t. At least, not entirely. The crown kept one piece of the trove under their purview, buried beneath the capital. The original capital.

  The final cache is beneath the first city—Fortitude.

  There’s a whole lot of traveling in my future. First, Summer Spire, to settle affairs with my family. Then Fortitude, to retrieve the final part of the Authority. After that, Graywatch; seeing the shore isn’t a necessity, but it’s still a good place to disappear. Besides, manabeasts of the sea are enormous, and I need to increase my ooze. From what little we’ve discerned about this body, so long as I have the ooze to support it, I’m functionally immortal. Given the dragons I may have to face in the near future, the more “immortality” I have, the better.

  Hopefully, that should be enough running around to keep anyone’s plans from latching onto me. What we’re planning to do in Quest is going to draw attention. Amusingly, it’s not the negative attention that I’m worried about. No, I’m more concerned with people who look on my reaction favorably. The last thing I need is the king to see me responding to responsibility with care and get more ideas. Right now, I’m too much of a villain for anyone to want to get too close to me—but people have short memories, especially where profit is concerned.

  At dinner, Kierra and Geneva look as tired as I feel. “Problems?” I ask as they take their seats.

  “A few complications,” the succubus answers as my wife stretches with her eyes shut. “But we were successful.”

  “So, our pirate is whole and healthy.”

  “Mm.” I don’t like her amused smile. “Whole and healthy, yes—but not quite ready. We have a bit more work to do there.”

  “And the creature?”

  “Locked away, for now. Quite interesting.”

  “And tasty,” Kierra mutters.

  My disbelieving gaze is wasted on her ambivalence. “What do you mean, tasty? Did you eat it?”

  Geneva holds her fingers apart in a pinch. “Just a little.”

  Massaging the bridge of my nose does nothing to ease my immense feelings at that statement. “I want to have a conversation with it.”

  “I find the threat of being devoured very conducive to convincing a creature to talk,” the succubus remarks unhelpfully. “The creature is still willing to talk. It insists.”

  “Great. I’d appreciate it if you don’t take off any more pieces in the meantime.”

  “Speaking of pieces,” the succubus smoothly segues, “how did your hunt fare?”

  “Good, good. Ah, Kii, most of the weapons are broken but help yourself to what remains.”

  Her smile is especially delighted.

  “How broken?” the succubus questions.

  “The enchantments are broken—cracked, marred, generally incomplete. The materials aren’t in the best condition either. I’m starting to think they hid them because if they told people that all their legendary weapons were wrecked, they’d be laughingstocks.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  She drums her nails on the table. “Repairing them will be quite difficult. If they didn’t choose to do so, I imagine it’s because the materials aren’t readily available.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. There’s a very good chance that I brought back a lot of junk.”

  “But some of them work.”

  “Some.” I’d have to be delusional not to realize what an advantage that is. “I’ll need you to look at them and tell me about their enchantments.”

  “To the best of my knowledge.”

  “All I can ask for.” I expect good things. Given their origin, the functioning weapons should be powerful enough to turn a pauper into a hero. Powerful enough that I shouldn’t have to worry about the city in my absence—so long as they’re in the right hands. “Oh, I’m assuming you have connections in the Hall still. Work them. I want to know what they’re thinking. About me and the city, of course, but keep an ear out for anything related to the Sanctuary.”

  “Are the little beasts in trouble?” Kierra asks, though her tone is languid.

  “They’re fine. Most of them are fine?” Does the Ranch still consider themselves part of the Temple? “Just want to keep an eye on a temperamental situation. I doubt they need my help.”

  “My little conqueror,” the elf coos. “Looking after her little people.” Then she giggles.

  Giggles.

  Carefully, I leave my seat and move behind her. “You feeling alright, Kii?”

  “Mm. Very alright, my love.”

  “Her meal agreed with her.”

  My wife does not giggle. Chuckle, yes. Full-bodied guffawing, occasionally. Slightly offensive little snerks, rarely. But she never giggles. I catch her face, taking in her dopey grin and her unfocused eyes. If I saw this look on anyone else, I’d say they’d had too much to drink, but this isn’t her drunk.

  “Did you check her? You know, after you two ate some strange, talking parasite? Who thought that was a good idea?”

  “Of course. More importantly, she checked herself. As you know, her magic is infallible.”

  “Is it?” I’ve never doubted before, but…

  “A pure affinity is not venerated for no reason. The only thing that can stop her is lack of mana. If her gift says she’s healthy, then she is. One can be…silly, without negative connotations.”

  “You can relax, my daughter-by-choice.”

  Is it embarrassing that Morgene’s assurance does make me calm down? Geneva is knowledgeable, but I will always doubt her words, just a little, wondering if she slipped some false information past some infinitesimally small loophole in her orders. However, there is nothing to doubt in the older elf’s confident stride. She takes one look at her daughter before taking her seat with a shake of her head, utterly unconcerned.

  “I suppose the cravings have started.”

  “Cravings?”

  “Mm. Are they not common for human women?”

  I turn to Alana helplessly.

  “They are,” she answers, giving me that pitying look again. “Though it’s not for unidentified sea creatures. Just regular food.”

  “Matriarch cravings strongly depend on the bloodline of her offspring, but one thing remains consistent—nourishment. She gains a sense for what can benefit the child, and so long as it does, she will eat it, whether that is tree bark or literal shit.”

  My lips twist in disgust. “Really?”

  “Really. There is an entire clan descended from corpse eaters. Ugly things with foul habits but immune to poison, even the horrors concocted in Twilight.” Morgene casually stretches her legs over the side of her chair. “Matriarchs have interbred with every manner of creature, great and putrid, in this world and beyond. In all those countless generations, their instincts have never failed them. They haven’t this time either.”

  “…okay.” I gently run my fingers through Kierra’s silver hair, grinning at the way she leans into me. “Haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “Mm. My mountainblood has kept me…preoccupied.” Orum is a lucky elf. “We have also been discussing leaving soon.”

  “What! Why?”

  She gives me a look one gives to a slow child. “I followed him here anticipating a grand battle that could sunder mountains and divert great rivers. Instead, the two of you talked about your feelings.” That statement does not need to be spoken with such disgust.

  “Would you prefer we tore each other apart?”

  “Yes.” Not even a second’s hesitation. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Between him and Kii, you’d both have lived. Your little spar was amusing, but far more blood could have been spilled. All that holding back you both do is unnatural. Unhealthy.”

  “Yeah, well, letting loose without a care doesn’t feel too great either,” I mutter, images of a grave atop a hill squeezing my heart.

  “Your face tells me that you had a care, which is your mistake. Truly unburdened violence is freeing. A shame you don’t seem capable of it.” She flicks a finger, physically dismissing the subject. “If you recall, I refused to become queen of Dusk because I find the tediousness of rulership insufferably boring. No, I have no interest in watching you feed and house the masses. Besides, it’s better we leave before my daughter forces the issue.”

  “Eh?”

  “She’s going to get defensive and territorial. There’s a large range in behavior, but one thing she won’t tolerate is another matriarch anywhere near here. By that, I mean this entire city wouldn’t be safe.”

  “Is there a book about this?” I ask plaintively. I am not copacetic about my only source of information regarding my wife’s startling changes wanting—or needing—to be so far away.

  “No. It would be pointless. I can give you general knowledge and stories passed down by my mother, but each matriarch is different. I certainly never felt the need to eat a parasite.” She smirks at the thought. “No, you’ll have to roll with the blows, dear daughter. You are the mate she chose while knowing this could happen. Have faith in yourself and your clan.”

  Saints. What has the world come to when Morgene of all people is comforting me? Still, I can’t say I hate it.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, patting Kierra’s hair as she nuzzles my side. “…but I’m putting a ban on eating random sapient parasites.”

  Got to draw the line somewhere.