Page 1 of Jeweler to the Blessed
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Whether it’s a blessing or a curse, she must decide.
— ALARIC SARE’S LETTERS TO ISABELLE ARKOVA
Being Alaric Sare’s niece was a blessing and a curse.
Many would consider the before-sunrise study sessions as falling firmly in the curse column, but an uncle willing to invest in my education felt like a blessing.
“Are you still making your horrid coffee?” Alaric called from the shop front.
A curse—Alaric hated coffee. He was always raving about the soothing properties of his tea. It smelled like mint, but he mixed more than a few herbs into the tiny sachets. I boiled enough water for both drinks, no matter my distaste.
“It’s almostdone,” I said.
A thick, gold curtain that had seen better days hung between his workspace and the front counter. It separated Alaric’s workshop the way I imagined he compartmentalized his mind. The front, where he met with his exclusively Blessed customers, was pristine. Fine gold rings, broaches, and even necklaces with pendant settings were in glass display cases, each waiting for an adamas gem to make them whole.
This space—behind the curtain—felt like the true version of my uncle. Bookcases lined one wall, filled top to bottom with leather-bound tomes. Some he double-stacked, and others, he shoved in horizontally and vertically to maximize space. One of the shelves opened to reveal a small, tightly packed storage room where he kept his more interesting books.
We’d been looking at some of those this morning.
The other side of the workshop looked like it belonged to a frenetic alchemist convinced he was about to crack the secret of a philosopher’s stone. Glass beakers, precious metals, and all manner of tools were scattered across an L-shaped table. Additional books, logs for the fire, and other objects that made me scratch my head were tucked away beneath. I was sure Alaric had precise applications in mind for each one.
My fingers tingled as I reached for a piece of adamas, anticipating the comforting warmth of its weight in my palm. The gem feltrightin my hand, which was odd because all it seemed to do was ruin my life.
It was why I was leaving the city—why this would be one of my last study sessions with Alaric for the foreseeable future. The Library of Linia would have the answers I sought. Few left Kavios, but I had to know why the Blessed’s magic didn’t affect me. It was proving too dangerous not to.
I bounced the stone lightly in my hand while I waited. Due to the nature of Alaric’s clientele, he worked primarily inadamas. Officially, I apprenticed at Father’s jewelry shop, though it felt more like I ran the place these days. We worked in Woodside, a district devoid of Blessed, and dealt exclusively in quartz.
The two gems looked remarkably similar to the untrained eye—well, to nearly every eye except mine and Alaric’s.
Both were hard stones, clear when cut and polished, but one could store stolen emotion, transforming it into magic. The other could not.
The gurgle of boiling water drew my attention. I set the adamas down and searched the room for a towel to pull the pot from the fire.
Alaric parted the curtain and joined me as I filled a cup with his herb mixture. I slid a second cup under my makeshift filter and grounds, pouring over the water and leaving it to drip.
He had an uncut gemstone from the Oldwood Mine outside the city.
“Quartz or adamas?” He dropped the stone into my left hand as I passed him his mug with my right.
This was definitely a curse of being Alaric’s niece.
I must have given him a look because he offered a tentative smile. “Admit it: You’ll miss our game.”
Swallowing thickly around the swell of emotion, I tried to speak. Of course I’d miss my uncle and my parents, but as Mother pointed out in her more lucid moments, this was my life, and I needed to take control of it.
Avoiding the topic, I focused on the cold stone in my hand. I was never sure how Alaric knew the answer. He refused to tell me. We’d started playing this game when I was five. I was now twenty-one and no closer to understanding.
I rolled it between my pointer finger and thumb,lifting the stone to the light. It had a glassy luster, but that, too, was common in both stones, as was the crystalline structure. This was all for show. The answer was quartz. I knew it when he dropped it into my hand, absent the familiar heat of adamas. But as I enjoyed learning history and how things came to be, I desperately wanted facts, reason, and requirements forhowI knew this was quartz.
I’d never been comfortable with gut instinct—especially my own.
Even with all I’d learned about cutting, shaping, shining, and caring for the stones, I was no closer to a concrete method of distinguishment. I could answer Alaric correctly, but I couldn’t teach someone else how to do so, which was maddening.
I hid my frustration with practiced ease. Letting the gem roll back into my palm, I answered as I had for the last sixteen years—with intuition.
“Quartz.” I handed it back to him.
