Daeron let out a single, sharp laugh—a dark, contemptuous sound that echoed off the wet limestone walls. "Cedric is an insect playing with wildfire! He thinks the Heart is a simple weapon to win a petty border dispute among country lords!"
"And what do you know it to be?" Aurelia pressed, taking another step toward the grid.
Daeron leaned his face back against the silver-iron, coming so close she could smell the cold copper of the magic-runes reacting to his skin.
"The Heart of Nythralis is no Valecroft heirloom, Aurelia," Daeron whispered, his green eyes gleaming with absolute, terrifying clarity. "It was forged centuries ago during the First Alignment. It is no mere amplifier of mortal ambition. It is a key."
Aurelia's breath caught slightly in her throat. The answer validated the quiet dread that had drawn her down into these dungeons in the first place. "A key to what?"
Daeron's dark smile returned, slower this time, filled with a quiet, horrifying satisfaction.
