Page 76 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
“Does Zion have it? In the Upperworld?”
Silence stretched between us. His gaze darkened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was cautious. “I’m not supposed to say, Thea. House Zion has never revealed the location of the sword since the Veil went up.”
He didn’t need to say anything else.
His hesitation told me everything I needed to know.
The Sword of Zion was here, in this realm. And whoever had raided the archives hadn’t done so at random. They were looking for it.
And I had a pretty good guess why.
A bubble of laughter rose in my chest, bitter and mirthless. The laughter turned into a groan as I let my head fall back against the wall, the implications crashing over me like a tidal wave.
My secrets had finally caught up with me.
Who would want Zion’s weapon? A weapon only usable by Zion himself—or perhaps by another God of similar power?
Perhaps his twin brother.
I looked at Clay, feeling sensation slowly return to my fingertips as my magic stirred weakly in my veins. I couldn’t avoid this confession any longer.
“I have to tell you something,” I said, my voice shaking with the weight of what I was about to say.
The words came easily. Once the first one escaped my lips, the rest tumbled out in a flood—an endless, unrelenting waterfall of tragedy and secrets that I had locked away for far too long.
I told Clay about the night I first arrived in the Underworld, about the eerie stillness of that awful lake and the chilling welcome from Hyrax’s hound. Then, I told him about meeting Hyrax for the first time, and then about every meeting afterward. I described the way Hyrax spoke, the calculated grace of his mannerisms, the subtle power behind his words.
Through it all, Clay sat quietly, his golden eyes fixed on me as he slowly regained enough strength to prop himself against the stone wall. His face remained unreadable, save for a flicker of emotion when I admitted to going to see Camilla while he had been in the infirmary. By the time I recounted the prophecy, however, that fleeting expression had disappeared, his features once again impassive.
In that dimly lit prison cell, our bodies still weighed down and immovable, I told Clay everything. Every detail that had been buried deep within me spilled into the stale, dusty air. And when I finally purged the last of it from my system, I met his steady gaze.
“You think Hyrax is behind this somehow?” he asked after a pause.
“He’s trapped in the Underworld,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t know how he could be, but this all feels a little too coincidental, don’t you think?”
I wasn’t sure I believed in coincidences anymore—especially not ones involving my godly ancestor.
Clay was silent for a moment, his gaze distant as he worked through my words. “Do you know what he would want the sword for?”
Caldrius’ past had made it clear that no one but Hyrax could wield his Bident safely. But perhaps that restriction applied only to those with Mortal blood. Maybe the Gods weren’t bound by the same limitations.
“Maybe he’s able to use its magic somehow?” I suggested.
“Why wouldn’t he just go after his Bident?” Clay countered, frowning. “That’s in the Mortal Realm too.”
The question stuck in my mind, its implications unraveling. The Bident was Hyrax’s chosen weapon, the ultimate symbol of his power, and it was currently sitting unguarded at Hyrax Manor. Why wouldn’t he seek it out first? Why would he want his brother’s sword instead?
I shook my head softly, unease coiling in my chest. Maybe I was reading too much into this. Maybe Hyrax had nothing to do with any of it.
Then again, there was an easy way for me to find out.
I could always just ask him directly.
“When exactly were you planning to tell me about all of this?” Clay’s voice cut through my thoughts like a blade.
The air in the room shifted. While I had gotten lost in my own theories, my confession had settled between us. Clay had taken it all in, processed it, and come to terms with how he felt. And from the fire in his eyes, I could tell exactly what that feeling was.
He was furious.
