Page 122 of Merciless Is My Crown

“Well, desperate times and all,” Torin said breezily before she ushered him into the once-grand dining room, the web-covered chandeliers hovering over the long, dusty table like ghostly specters.

“What do you make of this?” She waved her hand at the pendant on the table, the deep red stone at the center glimmering faintly in the candlelight.

The mage worked hard to keep his face emotionless, but greed flickered in his eyes and curled his thin, bloodless lips. “You brought me all this way for a trinket?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “I’d like your professional opinion, Trubahn. Do you happen to recognize the work?”

“It’s a clever piece,” he hedged as he rounded the table, making no attempt to touch the necklace. “See that marking right there?” He pointed to the symbol at the top, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “That’s from Old Valarian, from before the Age of the Fae.”

“So this isn’t a contemporary piece?”

“Gods, no.” The mage couldn’t keep the edge of excitement from his voice now, his eyes brightening as he leaned closer. “This is the oldest relic from that time I’ve ever seen, and in near-perfect condition.”

“Pre-Valarian?” Torin was the picture of innocent curiosity. “Are you sure?”

He sniggered. “Quite sure. As you know, I specialize in anything that predates the Fae arriving on these shores, and this stone…this red stone, sometimes called the gods-stone, hasn’t been seen since the days of Old Valarian when the witches ruled here. Before the Fae even arrived on these shores.”

His eyes glimmered, as if he gazed upon a dragon’s hoard. “That stone is worth more than all the gilder stored in the Shadow King’s coffers.”

Gods, that stone…

I didn’t dare do anything except stand there with a faintly bored expression on my face. Anaria had sat upon an entire throne made out of those crystals, thousands of them. Beside me, Zephryn had painted the same disinterest across his face, but when his eyes met mine, I knew two things.

Cosimo would be free by the end of tonight.

And Trubahn’s chances of surviving until tomorrow were very, very slim.

The mage glared at Torin. “Who did you steal this from? The Fae King?”

“I’m no thief,” Torin countered, her gaze serene.

“That was a gift, a very long time ago, from a lover.” Torin’s white eyes were lined with silver. “But the pendant was cursed, and somehow…somehow, he became trapped inside. I’ve been trying to get him out for centuries.” Tears soaked her cheeks. If I didn’t know she was acting, I would have bought this entire masquerade.

“I would do anything to get him out.” She glanced to the pendant, her lips trembling. “Anything. Please, Trubahn. We’ve been friends a long time. If you undo the spell, the pendant is yours.”

“I just told you that stone is priceless.”

“I don’t care about money.” She shook her head miserably. “I’ve tried everything else, gone everywhere, even to the witches. You’re my last resort. Please.” She swallowed, her delicate throat bobbing. “I’ll give you the pendant. It’s yours if you can get him out.”

“You must truly be desperate to call in a favor to me.” Trubahn’s gloating smile brightened as he surveyed us, his body falling into the swaggering stance of a male who knew he had the upper hand.

“Never in my wildest dreams did I think tonight would offer such riches.” He held his withered hand over the pendant and the pendant—the entire table—trembled. “It’s a simple enough spell to break, given you have some skill. But I’m afraid the pendant won’t be enough.”

“What else do you want?” Torin said quietly, wiping her face. “If I have the means to grant your price, it is yours.”

“Where is Simon hiding?” I wanted to claw Trubahn’s crooning, malicious words from his throat, right before I slit it, ear to grinning ear. “Where is my favorite owl shifter?”

“He didn’t come with us. He’s still in Caladrius,” Torin muttered stubbornly, but her gaze drifted to the doorway, worry flashing in her eyes.

If Simon wasn’t back, if he was still in Blackcastle, then this entire night was fucked.

Trubahn smiled. “You always were a terrible liar, Torin. Tell the shifter to get his arse in here where we can strike a new bargain, or”—he waved a limp, careless hand—“your lover can stay trapped in that stone for another few centuries until you’re more agreeable.”

Torin’s shoulders slumped, the very picture of defeated. “I’ll…I’ll go find Simon.”

Then she was gone, leaving us staring at each other. Or rather, all of us planning how to kill the mage in slow, creative ways, while he preened, so fucking sure he’d owned us tonight. Zephryn was barely even breathing, holding himself back from carving Trubahn’s head off his skinny neck. But Torin was right. We couldn’t kill the mage.

Not yet.

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