Page 62 of Jeweler to the Blessed
His eyes danced with mirth. “Whatever you want it to.”
Scoffing, I turned back to the gem. It was almost hot to the touch. The piece was shaping perfectly. I could only hope the rest of the stones went so well. The imperfection fell off with the next facet line.
“I don’t have all the answers, Chaos. There is plenty that only the champions themselves can answer.”
“So, your original point—the champions don’t need adamas to wield magic. What the Blessed do is a bastardization of the champions’ power—what does this have to do with the imperfection in this stone?” I picked up the piece before it fell to the blade. I held it up to the light again. It was definitely melted.
“Just that the goddesses didn’t create adamas stone to wield the magic of emotion. They created champions with magic. So, maybe we don’t know anything about where the adamas originates.”
20
He promised to take care of your tonic. I trust him with that.
— ALARIC SARE’S LETTERS TO ISABELLE ARKOVA
Hart’s question stuck with me. I certainly didn’t have an answer. What did we know of the origin of adamas? It ruled my life as a citizen of Kavios. I could identify it when others could not, but it was an innate knowing—unexplainable—maybe like how the gem held magic. The discussion with Hart made me miss Alaric. I could see so clearly in my mind Hart and Alaric arguing over the information Hart shared.
Maybe this was what I’d been looking for. Maybe Hart was like Alaric. Maybe he truly worshiped Eris in a kingdom where it was treason to do so. He could have learned about itafter the Blessing. It would explain why he helped the Feared but didn’t want me dead.
With Hart’s help, I finished cutting and shaping the stones over the course of the afternoon. We had three stones from our first trip to the mines. As I finished each one, I felt a more concentrated warmth within. I was confident these gems would hold magic, but that only brought forth my other dilemma: whether to give the finished gems to the Glanmores.
My back ached from leaning over the blade for hours. Hart, for his part, did whatever I asked. His presence was as overpowering as it was steady and familiar. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. It wasn’t as if I grew …used… to his presence. I was always painfully aware of it. But I could admit I trusted him in my space.
I stopped flinching every time he moved closer. To his credit, he did it as infrequently as he could. I turned my thoughts to the Cornucopia tonight, another celebration on the path to the Blessing Ceremony.
Prince Elias would name the Selected since he had been interrupted at the festival. But traditionally, the Cornucopia represented the royal family’s generosity to the city. Tables were set through the center of Cross Street, and chairs were pulled from taverns, homes, and shops. It was a special event, bringing everyone together for a feast.
The foods served were similar to those at the Selection. Vendors from the festival were awarded contracts for both nights, but at the Cornucopia, the royal family paid the bill.
“Do you think the Feared will make another display tonight?” I asked.
Hart indicated they weren’t on great terms, but maybe he knew their plans. I may believe he would keep me safe, but that didn’t mean I wanted to walk carelessly into another event like the festival.
I wasn’t sure Kavios could handle another nightmare like that.
Although, the city did what it did best: forgot anything terrible had happened and moved on. The magicless citizens did this daily when we witnessed theaccidentaltakings by the Blessed. We were used to it, but the Blessed had no such familiarity with trauma.
The Feared appeared to be on a mission to provide that education, no matter who else it impacted. It seemed unlikely the Cursed King would make a statement like he had at the festival and disappear.
Hart parted the curtain that led to the storefront and ushered me through. “It’s impossible to know.”
I didn’t like the answer but understood the truth in it.
“I’ll protect you either way.”
This morning had proved that—again. Hart’s story during our work today further proved his friendship with Alaric. It had to be one rooted in lore, history, and the divine. Hart claimed to be Alaric’s banned book supplier. I didn’t see a reason why he’d lie about that. My hesitations from this morning fell away, and finally, I decided to open Alaric’s storage closet with him present. In all likelihood, he already knew it was there.
“I have to do something before we go.”
Before the Selected had arrived, I’d found a note from Alaric, but I’d stuffed it back into the book in my haste. I needed to read it, and I didn’t want to wait until I could devise another way to be here alone to do so.
Hart shrugged as I padded to the bookshelf. His lip curved into a surprised smile when I reached for the hidden latch. Warmth bloomed in my chest as he held my gaze. There was no doubt in my mind he knew it was there. His surprise was … for me.
Was he surprised that I’d shown it to him? Maybe I was a little surprised at myself. I hadn’t wanted to open it with him earlier, but talking to him this afternoon had felt as familiar as my debates with Alaric.
The book was where I’d left it, the paper stuffed inside. I knew it was from Alaric—knew it was for me. Hart didn’t follow me in. He couldn’t see me from where he stood. I skimmed the note. Water rimmed my eyes and a tear fell on the paper before I finished. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
Alaric had planned to go.
