The curse was powerful, and if left to the curse, the boy would die, not of body but of soul. It was not as he had originally liked—he would gladly see the young brat dead at his feet—but Klavon smiled as he envisioned Darius, alive yet a reflection of the one he’d learn to call Father—no longer a legacy to Thyre but to Klavon himself. And Miora would see her son, his living body, and her smile would return.
The loyalty of Darius would ensure her love…and respect. But the final conversion still needed to happen. And while the curse strongly drew Darius to him, there was still the matter of the Valley.
If Klavon could convince the boy, somehow, to search for him instead of returning to face the ancestors, it would make his task much easier.
Sira walked up behind him, and he turned to face her.
“He fought well,” she said.
“He did, and for that I am pleased. I am also pleased that despite his training, he is still no match for me—not that he ever would have been.”
“But?”
Sira was perceptive, and he reached over and cupped her chin in his hand.
“You are very beautiful,” he said. “I believe you could easily convince Darius to pursue his quest to find and destroy me.” Klavon released her chin and nodded. “Yes, I believe he should come straight here instead of returning for his final evaluation.”
“Will that be possible? With Prydon, I mean?” she asked.
“The boy is recovering, and his mind is more vulnerable to your suggestion. Not that you aren’t sufficiently able, otherwise.” Klavon turned away from Sira and looked out into the dark sky. “And, as I said, you are beautiful. Surely you have that to your advantage.”
He said nothing else, but he knew that Sira vanished behind him, always eager to do his bidding. His eyes narrowed as a thin smile creased lips. Soon….