Morthryn’s shadows wrapped me in an embrace. They writhed around the blade, the hilt, and then my hand that held it—painted with the tangled red ink of the Heir Mark. A responsibility that I had not inherited, but had been given by those who needed me most. Do not fear yourself, Morthryn whispered. You are a queen. Your kingdom stands behind you. I closed my eyes. A million invisible souls, Asar had said once, of the underworld. They needed someone.
