He grimaced. “Neither, please. If you like, I’ll provide you with several other more acceptable alternatives for later. But first ... I believe we have a blight to deal with.”

Dorian stretched out his hand, and the marble bust floated to him, compelled by his power over stone and earth. He held the bust in his hands and gazed admiringly at himself. “Such a fetching likeness, isn’t it?”

And with that, he hurled the bust to the tiled floor. The marble sculpture smashed into a hundred fragments and shards. Far away in the Otherworld, the Oak Land woke up.

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

It didn’t take long for the Yew Land to be claimed. The same magic users that had aided Varia with the blight were all quick to scramble and seize a piece of her former land. As a result, the kingdom ended up reshifting into three smaller kingdoms. I’d been told that was possible in the Otherworld, but I’d never seen it happen. The three kingdoms shaped themselves to their new masters, becoming the Cork Land, the Cottonwood Land, and the Hickory Land. The Yew Land was no more.

Despite their involvement in Varia’s schemes, the new monarchs—two queens and one king—were quick to make pledges of peace and friendship to my party and the Hemlock contingent. These offers were legitimate, unlike Varia’s absurd “friendly” offer. The new monarchs were concerned with consolidating their power and establishing a rule. Alliances were far more beneficial than conquests.

The new monarchs would’ve hosted us for a while, but my group was anxious to return to our own lands and begin the healing there. We declined all the offers, promising to send ambassadors soon to set up trade agreements and treaties. Considering it might take a while before food production was back up in my kingdoms, this was actually a pretty solid plan.

Before we left, however, I had a very interesting conversation with Magia, the newly crowned Hickory Queen. As someone born and raised in the Yew Land, she was well versed in its history and legends.

“Of course I know about Volusian, Slayer of Souls,” she told me.

Dorian was with me, sitting with Magia in an inn that she’d made her headquarters until a castle could be built. I exchanged surprised glances with him.

“Slayer of Souls?” I asked.

“Definitely an impressive title,” mused Dorian. “I might start calling myself that.” He looked tired but had recovered by leaps and bounds, thanks to Alistir and a healer lent to us by Hadic of the Hemlock Land.

“I admit,” Magia added, “that I thought most of it was legend. According to the stories, Volusian was one of Onya’s most trusted advisers.”

“Onya?” Moments later, I remembered the portrait I’d seen in the throne room, depicting a queen of the same name and her two daughters.