Page 112 of Realm of Thieves

The lock clicks, to my relief, and I slowly push the door open.

I’m in an office, plain looking yet a little disorganized with a large oak desk piled with loose papers, surrounded by rolls of maps and charts and prayer banners, and shelves and shelves of books, portraits of dragons, Cappus Zoreth, and Magni peppering the walls.

I work quickly, going through drawers and searching among the books, but everything in here is in the open with not a lot of spots to hide things. Besides, I don’t think one of the most valuable commodities in the world would be here, especially when things seem a little unkempt. I wonder if this is her dirty little secret, the fact that her godly order isn’t very orderly at all.

I pop my head back into the hall, making sure it’s still empty before locking the door and going to the next one, all while feeling I’m running out of time and luck. Because the longer I’m up here, the more likely I’m going to be found out.

The next door is also locked, and when I step inside I think I’ve hit the jackpot. It looks like a tiny museum, with tapestries and art on the walls and in the middle a row of glass cases showcasing different items inside.

But my excitement is short-lived. Each glass case displays one item: a knife with a jeweled hilt; a crown made of black lavaglass and diamonds; an aged leather book with the text worn off the cover; a couple of crystals carved into dragons; and a human skull. The last is disturbing, but there’s no plaque to indicate who the skull belongs to.

There are no dragon eggs.

Now I’m really starting to get worried. If the egg of immortality was going to be anywhere, it would be here. What if the rumors were just that: rumors? What if Ellestra was wrong?

I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest, knowing I still have one more door left to try.

I lock the door to the gallery and then try the final one.

The lock puts up a fight. I try again and again, wondering if perhaps the door has been magicked by someone. Then again, magic is illegal here. Magic is the product of suen.

I take in a deep breath, not wanting to throw my weight against the door and attempt to break it down. Doing so would be the quickest route to being found out.

I try again and nothing.

I sigh, resting my forehead against the door, wondering what I should do. Give up? All of this for nothing?

Help me, I think, praying not to the goddesses but to my family.Help me.

It’s a futile prayer, one anchored in wavering faith.

I try the lock again, wondering how quickly I can get out of here if my break-in attracts attention, if it’s possible to scale down the side of the convent or would I fall to my death?

And thenclick.

I nearly cry.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

The lock undoes itself and the door opens.

This is the Harbringer’s bedchamber. I’m lucky that she doesn’t happen to be in here or I’d have no excuse. While the Daughters of Silence, and perhaps the Sisters, all have sparse quarters with thin mattresses, I’m not surprised to see that the Harbringer’s room is the opposite.

I step inside and stare at it in awe. It is as lavishly decorated as any room of the Kolbecks’, but instead of gold, everything is in black, red, and silver. The chandelier; the ornate dragon statues carved from onyx, crimson agate, and fire quartz that flank the large windows that overlook the scrublands and desert and the low hills between here and Lerick; the four-poster bed with tasseled blankets; the velvet tapestries on the stone walls. It’s both gorgeous and evil at the same time.

My focus goes to finding the egg. I hurry across the richly woven carpets, opening jeweled boxes, pulling open drawers, then finally narrowing in on the glass armoire where various stones and crystals are kept. My eyes quickly search each one, looking for something to stand out, when I finally see it.

On the top shelf, almost out of my reach, is a large carving of a two-headed dragon made out of a color-shifting stone that looks both gray and vibrant blue.

The same blue I saw in my vision.

And beneath the dragon is an egg perched on a silver stand. The egg doesn’t look like anything special, a light gray color tinged with muted shades of violet and pink on the scales, about the size of my hand. At first glance it looks like it could be the same color-changing crystal as the dragon, which makes it perfectly disguised, hiding in plain sight.

But I immediately know it’s no crystal.

It’s almost singing to me, emitting an energy that makes me feel like electricity is traveling through my palms, up into my body.

This is the egg of immortality.

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