if it had been designed to echo Elysian’s powers, then its emissions would be similar. And while accessing the power of the daggers in a way no other De Montfort ever had might not be definitive proof to most, Mo—as she’d already noted—wasn’t most. She’d witnessed both Aldred and Uhtric using the sword and was very familiar with both what it could do and what its energy emissions felt like. She might not have been there when I’d touched the sword on King’s Island, but she’d certainly witnessed me using the deeper energies of the daggers multiple times now.
“Fake or not, the sword in the stone remains a gateway to great power,” Mo said. “Maybe not enough to open the main gate, but certainly plenty to cause mass destruction on this side of it.”
“Perhaps even enough to destroy the protections around the queen and resurrect witch rule?” I asked.
“Possibly.” Mo’s voice was grim.
“So if Mryddin did foresee that Layton would cede the witch crown to human rule,” Luc said, voice again sharp, “why wouldn’t he at least warn those of us who were meant to protect both the crown and its artifacts?”
“Because, as a general rule, mages do not interfere in the destiny of men. We guide where practical and join the battle when necessary, but we don’t usually alter the path fate has decreed.”
Luc snorted. “And yet history is littered with examples of mages doing exactly that. Did not Mryddin disguise one king so that he could seduce the wife of an ally?”
“Well, yes, but with good reason—the child borne of that union was Aldred’s ancestor.”
“What happened to the seducer?” I asked.
“He and his family were slaughtered. They were turbulent times.”
“Then why didn’t Mryddin warn the king and ensure the safety of his family?” I reached into my pocket and drew out the remains of the Snickers. Thankfully, it tasted better the second time around.
“Because to have done so would have ensured the continuation of a line destined for failure.”
“That’s pretty cold,” Luc commented.
“Yes, but sometimes such decisions are necessary when the country tears itself apart with war. That child not only brought peace to his people, but decades of stability.”
Luc grunted. “All of which is interesting but doesn’t address the main question—the idea that Gwen is the heir.”
“Does your disbelief stem from chauvinism, or the fact that it’s Gwen?”
“Chauvinism is an inbuilt characteristic in Blackbirds. Sons are always prized more highly than daughters, as only sons can join the table.”
His gaze met mine; fear stirred deep in the emerald depths. Not for himself or the battle that now loomed way too fast on the horizon. Rather, it came from the realization that my role in all this might be far greater than any of us initially thought.
“We’re all aware of the toll war takes on men,” he continued, “and history tells how close Uhtric came to death when using Elysian. I don’t want either for you.”
“I don’t want them for me either,” I replied softly. “But there may be no other option.”
He cast a dark and broody look my way. “There’re always other options, Gwen, even in the bleakest of moments.”
I reached out and gripped his thigh. His muscles jumped in response, and that connection between us stirred to life. The woman lying at his feet in that hecatomb no longer wore a red dress. Instead, she wore jeans, boots, and a brown mac. She also had pale skin and blonde hair.
He was envisaging me dying. Envisaging me dead.
I hoped, with all my heart, it was a vision born of fear rather than foresight.
“Except there is no one else to draw the sword,” I said softly. “Not now.”
Max and his cohorts had made damn sure of that.
“Which brings me to another point, Mo.” He briefly placed his hand over mine and squeezed my fingers. The vision faded, but not the fear I sensed in him. “You said Mryddin designed the fake to echo Elysian’s reactions to heirs. Max subsequently drew it. To me that states he is the true heir.”
“There have never been twins born in the king’s line before,” Mo stated. “It’s possible the hand that draws one will not draw the other. I actually suspect now that the writing on the King’s Stone will reveal something along those lines.”
“Has Barney said whether his nephew has sharpened the images or not?” I asked.
“No. I think he’s been so totally invested in transcribing the notes that he simply forgot about it. I’ll prompt him once we deal with