Bailey Baz's Arc

Chapter 16 of 44

Bailey wore the purple cloak and held the sword, but the crest over his heart felt like a target now. A thousand-year King did not lose his throne to a boy in mud-caked feet. Bram had said it plain: this King erased his rivals. If Bailey walked into that hall to claim his name, he would vanish like the heirs before him. He needed to know what kept the old man alive and unbeaten. A crown alone would not save him. "You can't fight what you don't understand," Cora said. She stood at the forge, wand tucked in her stained robe. "A man doesn't live a thousand years for nothing. Something holds him there." Bailey nodded. He thought of the old tongue in the carvings, the words that had unlocked so many secrets. "Then I ask the one who lived that long," he said. "The one who taught me the swamp keeps records of its debts." Bram set down his hammer. "You mean your uncle." He crossed to the chest and lifted out a broken totem half, its carved bird worn smooth. "I kept this from the mud too. Old thing. Speaks the old tongue." He pressed it into Bailey's hand. Bailey's fingers closed around the wood. Malachar was bound in the deep water, but his voice still crawled through carved things. Bailey held the totem and spoke into it. "Uncle. The King who took my throne. How does he live so long?" For a moment nothing came. Then the bird's carved eyes seemed to darken. A dry voice threaded from the wood. "Clever nephew. You want his secret." Malachar's tone slid warm and cruel. "He is no true king. He drinks the years of the heirs he kills. Their stolen lives feed his own. That is his throne magic. Cut the source and he crumbles." Bailey's grip tightened. "How do I cut it?" The voice laughed, thin as reeds. "You already know, boy. You wore a debt of stolen years yourself. You broke it at the altar. His is the same rite, only larger." The bird's eyes dulled. The totem went silent in Bailey's palm. He set it down, hands shaking. Cora stared at him. "He drinks the dead princes," she whispered. "That's the magic." Bailey looked at the sword, the runes bright along the blade. Now he understood the King's throne. Not a crown. A theft, the same one that had frozen Bailey for a hundred years. "He isn't a god," Bailey said. "He's a thief with a debt like mine. And debts can break." Bram folded his arms. "So you know his secret. Knowing it and cutting it are different roads." Bailey pulled the cloak tighter. The fear was still there, but it had a shape now. He could name the enemy's power. He could plan against it. "I know what holds him," he said. "Now I can bring it down."