Just as he asked, Doran's gaze drifted to the hilt at Kael's hip, and something shifted in his expression.
He flinched as recognition flashed past his pupils.
"The throne," he said slowly. "Lucien's throne. There are veins of black stone running through the bone and steel—the same color, the same strange way it seems to drink light instead of reflecting it. I never thought much of it. I thought it was just decoration, a show of power."
He shook his head, his brow furrowing. "But now that I see the dagger up close... I think whatever made your blade and whatever built that throne came from the same place. The same thing."
Silence settled over the camp, heavier now than before, like a silence that pressed down on them like a physical weight. Even the night insects had fallen quiet, as though the forest itself was listening.
