“The gemstone is known as a black spinel,” Thorda explained. “My second campaign after Miquo fell was in a nation called Aethenwald. Their beliefs heavily invoked both day and night, and their goddess of darkness, Anyx, was particularly fond of such stones, as were her priests.”

Thorda removed the ring and held it up before him. Despite the hearth and the two lit candles upon the table, not a hint of light shone off the gemstone’s polished surface.

“I befriended Anyx and fought alongside her, for a time. When the stars were shining and the moon full, she was a terror the empire could not resist. But then the sun would rise, and she was forced to retreat. The Uplifted Church, they… they found her hidden chambers dug deep into a mountain. Magistrates dragged her out to the sun and chained her to a slab of stone.” He closed his eyes and looked away. “I found only what was left. They burned away every piece of her body with torches, and to ensure her death, they smashed her bones to powder.”

Cyrus cradled the ring, already feeling ashamed of his earlier snark.

“How many gods has the Everlorn Empire killed?” he asked.

Thorda stared at the ring, and it was a long time before the older man spoke.

“Too many,” he said. “Far too many.”

Cyrus accepted the ring into his palm. Despite his glove, a spark of energy shot through his body from the silver band. He started to remove the glove, but when Thorda shook his head, Cyrus left it on and slid the ring across the leather, surprised by how well it fit despite the interference. He flexed his fingers, mesmerized by the depth of the black in the spinel.

“I can feel it,” he said. It reminded him of the faint heat on his neck when he’d worn a word-lace for required meetings with Gordian during the first year of the Everlorn Empire’s conquest over Thanet. If that heat was an indicator, then the fire tingling all the way up to his wrist meant an even more powerful blessing. “There’s magic in this ring. What does it do?”

“Priestesses of Anyx blessed this ring with their prayers,” Thorda explained. “And though Anyx may be slain, faith in her lingers, however muted, in the hearts of her conquered populace. Tap into that faith, and you will walk through shadows as if they are doors. Focus on where you wish to go, step into the darkness, and trust the ring to do the rest.”

Cyrus couldn’t deny his excitement. A magic ring, just like a hero’s in a story. And to walk from shadow to shadow…

“You want me to appear before tonight’s crowd using this,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.