Fir stood at the door to Kil and Serene’s room. It was open, but the two wyverns hadn’t noticed him yet.
Kil sat on the window ledge, his legs hanging over the sill, head angled so he could see the sky. “It would be cloudy tonight, and not for any of the nights we’ve actually needed clouds,” he grumbled good-humoredly to Serene.
She sat on the edge of the bed, adjusting the laces on her sandals. “That’s always how it is when you’re on a deadline.” She set the shoes aside and leaned back, bracing her hands against the bed. “Mmm.”
“What?”
“I don’t get to look at you from this angle enough.” Serene’s voice dropped to a husky lilt. “You wouldn’t mind taking your shirt o—”
All right, best get this over with before he heard something embarrassing. Fir knocked on the door.
Serene’s head whipped up, and a slight blush darkened her cheeks.
Fir pretended not to notice. “Can I talk to you two for a minute?”
Kil turned, swinging his legs back into the room. “Sure. Come in.”
Fir glanced over his shoulder. Snitch was in the room he and Fir were sharing, but Fir couldn’t see him from where he stood. He stepped into the smaller room. “Should I—”
“Nah, leave the door open,” Kil said. Then he added, in a tone so low that Fir could barely hear him, “Unless you really think this is something Snitch shouldn’t hear.”
Fir closed the door.
Serene and Kil both raised their eyebrows. Fir wondered who had picked up the habit from whom. It wasn’t really something he’d ever noticed Kil doing before, but then again, he’d grown up with the guy, so he guessed that he was probably blind to a lot of Kil’s habits.
“All right then.” Kil spun around so his feet hung inside the room. “What’ve you got for me?”
Fir sat on the trunk at the foot of the bed. He licked his lips, deliberately didn’t look over at Serene. If Kil trusted her, he needed to, as well. But the fact that Basalt held her contract—it just made him nervous. “I remembered something while we were talking about the ley-gems. Just stories that Alfaren tell each other. I don’t even know if they’re true—I’d mostly forgotten about them, until we started talking about the ley-gems last night, and it made me remember a part of this.” He showed them the book he held.
Serene raised an eyebrow. “Legends of Jakan Roliwyn? Who even is that?”
“He’s a Leremite hero. As in, he actually lived. There’s historical proof of that. But some of the stories told about him are... fantastical.” Fir flipped the book open and started turning pages. “Supposedly, Jakan Roliwyn is the one responsible for splitting apart the mountains that held back the sea in Lerem. It wasn’t always half swamp—most of that used to be rich farmland. Early in his kingship, he was dethroned by a guy named Qeris—Do’orite, or Erminian, no one’s really sure which. Jakan fought a great battle with Qeris at the seaside, and it’s said that their battle tore the mountains and flooded Lerem.”
“Sounds... yeah,” Kildare said. “You’re right. That sounds fantastical.”
“Right, but here’s where it gets interesting.” Fir turned the book so they could see the picture he’d found, a print of an old woodcut. In it, a man stood on the slope of a mountain, clutching a stone in his fist. Wiggling, stylized ley lines emanated from the stone. He tapped the stone. “The story goes that Roliwyn found what’s known as a felsic stone. It’s the only stone known to us that can actually hold ley as well as anything with a soul.”
Serene leaned forward eagerly. “And that would account for the amount of ley that Kil felt in the box?”
Fir nodded.
“What’s it look like?” she asked.
“It’s white, kind of glossy.”
Serene glanced over to Kil. “I… might be able to replicate that.”
Kil rubbed his temples. “Felsic. How have I never heard of this before? I mean, not knowing something about ley, that doesn’t surprise me. I’ve never paid a ton of attention to it since I can’t utilize it. But something that’s rare, you’d think I’d have heard about it.”
Fir shrugged. “Like I said, most of the knowledge about it is just stories. I doubt I would’ve thought of it, if I hadn’t already been reading about Jakan. Most people don’t actually think felsic stones exist. But—like you said earlier—we have to start considering the impossible here.”
Kildare sighed. “Well, hopefully, we’ll be getting an answer soon.” He looked up, making eye contact with Fir. “You’re sure you’re all right with our plan?”
Fir swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. “If this is a felsic stone, we can’t let Oak or Basalt have it. What other choice do we have?”
Kildare stood up and stretched his hand out. Fir grasped it, then Kildare pulled him forward into a hug, his free arm wrapping tightly around Fir’s shoulders. Fir returned the embrace, slapping Kildare’s shoulder gently.
As soon as they stepped back from each other, Serene slipped between them and hugged Fir as well. “From what the others have said, you’ll do fine.”
“Thanks, Serene.” Fir stepped back and grinned. “This trust…it means a lot to me.” He tucked his book under his arm and turned to go, then said over his shoulder, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Fir!” Kildare said in exasperation.
Fir swung the door shut behind him quickly. Something soft and heavy—probably one of the down pillows from the bed—thudded into the door. Fir laughed and felt his heart rise a bit as he heard answering laughs from inside the room.
###
A few hours later, the tension was back. Fir clutched the bedsheets under his hands. His entire body felt stiff from hours of tension. No matter how he tried to relax, no matter how many long, low breaths he took, every time he closed his eyes, he saw every possible way Kildare’s madcap plan could go wrong.
Some ways were even worse than going back into that cage in the slave market.
He sighed and rolled to his side, deliberately putting his back to the window even though it made his skin crawl.
Fir sighed and cradled his head on his pillow, watching the faint moonlight between the curtains shifting on the opposite wall over the other bed. Snitch wasn’t sleeping in here tonight, so the bed was weirdly empty, the blanket and sheets lying in a tangled mess from last night’s rest.
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What he hadn’t told Kil was the other name of the stone—the one that was slightly more well-known.
Sapstone.
If the puzzle box did indeed hold felsic, and that felsic held ley... None of the old stories about felsic were good. They always accompanied evil wizards and the world being broken. Sure, Jakan Roliwyn was remembered as a hero—but even the story where he fought with Qeris and broke the mountains claimed that he went temporarily insane with the power of the felsic stone.
Something scratched against the outside wall.
The moonlight on the wall opposite his bed shrank as one, then two shadows blocked the light.
Fir stiffened and curled into a tight ball on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. His pulse pounded in his temples and fingertips. Every nerve of him was screaming for him to fight, to run, to yell for his friends. But this was Kil’s plan. To get a look at the stone, this was what he had to do.
A hand curled around his mouth, pressing a damp cloth tight to his nose and lips. Fir yelped and jerked. Whatever was on the cloth smelled sweet and sent his vision into a dizzying blur. He shoved upward, trying to shake off his assailant. The man clung to his shoulders. Fir clawed at his hands.
The second intruder moved in front of him, catching his wrists. Fir kicked, weakly.
That was all he had time to do before his vision swirled into darkness.
***
He came to in a dimly lit room. The chair he was curled up in was overstuffed and plush so that he sank into the cushions. There was a disgusting taste in his mouth and his head pounded. Fir coughed and sat up, wincing, and looked around.
The room was about the size of Mock’s little suite, but it was furnished with overstuffed chairs and couches, all arranged in little groups of two or three, with plenty of room to walk between them. A fireplace, empty of all but white ash, stood on the wall beside Fir’s chair. There was a pitcher and a pottery cup on the table next to him.
Fir sat up and winced as his headache intensified. Curse Kil and his schemes. He looked into the pitcher. It was filled with water that, as he poured it into the cup, looked clear. It didn’t smell either. Of course, Kil would be able to smell it better, but there was nothing that was off about the drink, so he chugged one cup and filled another to slowly sip.
There was no one else around in the room, so he leaned back in his chair, clutching the cup with both hands and closing his eyes. The rough pottery under his fingers helped keep him grounded, helped him keep back the panic pushing at the back of his mind. It was all going according to plan so far, but as the museum heist had shown them, it only took one thing for the entire plan to be chaos.
The door opened.
“Fir?”
Even though she’d been the one to set the plan in motion, the concern in Mock’s voice sounded genuine. Fir opened his eyes and squinted. Mock stood at the doorway, clenching the door with white knuckles.
Before he could answer, someone outside the room said, “He’s awake?”
Mock was shoved aside as a burly Alfaren man entered the room. He marched up to Fir, looked him up and down, and then grabbed his arm, hauling him up to his feet.
“You look like you’re well enough,” he said, pushing Fir toward the door.
Fir tried to squirm free of his grip. “Hey, what’s this about? C’mon, what’s going on?”
The burly Alfaren snorted as they pushed past Mock. “She didn’t tell you?”
“She didn’t have time to say anything. I don’t even know where I am!”
“That’s not important. What’s important is that you’ve got some work to do.” The guard looked over his shoulder at Mock. “You’d better come along too, since you were the one who recommended him.”
Fir clenched his hands. “Mock!” The frustration in his voice was a perfect way to release some of the real frustration he’d felt ever since Mock had shared her story.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she muttered, looking down at the patterned rug under her feet. She must’ve picked up on the real frustration underlying his tone.
The Alfaren guard steered Fir done the hallway. They hadn’t been in this section of the house last night and Fir didn’t see anything he recognized. One side of the hallway was dotted with windows, and he caught glimpses of the rich yard beyond as they marched him past.
At the end of the hallway, Fir caught a glimpse of a richly furnished, well-lit living area, but just before that, the Alfaren stopped and knocked on a closed door. A voice muttered something from within and the Alfaren pushed open the door.
Two more Alfaren men sat in the dim room, one behind a simple desk and the other off to the side, immersed in a book. The Alfaren behind him planted his hand in the middle of Fir’s back and pushed him into the room. Fir stumbled a few steps and stopped in front of the desk, hands involuntarily clenching.
The Alfaren behind the desk was stockier than Basalt, and he wasn’t missing any fingers. He didn’t have needle marks up his arms either. He leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of him and gazing over his fingers with moss-green eyes, sharp and cunning. Fir felt a trickle of sweat roll down his back. This guy looked clever. Would they be able to fool him?
He sent a quick prayer up to the gods, just in case. Please let this work.
“So. You’re Fir, one of Mockingbird’s old associates.” The Alfaren looked around Fir. “Get in here and close the door, Mockingbird. You’re making the man nervous. And bring a chair for your friend here.”
Mock obeyed, and Fir heard the latch click into place behind him. A second later, she slid a chair into place behind him, then retreated behind the desk, standing at the man’s right hand. She fiddled with the beads in her hair.
The Alfaren motioned for Fir to take a seat. “Do you understand why you’re here, Fir?”
Fir shot a glare at Mock. “I’m assuming it has something to do with her.”
In answer, the man reached under his desk and set the puzzle box in the middle of the desk, just out of Fir’s reach. Fir stared at it, again captivated by the intricacy of the box. The vines almost seemed to sway in an unseen breeze. He couldn’t discern any joins or seams in the thing—it looked like one solid block of wood. His fingers itched to get hold of the box and begin to work on its mechanisms, to unlock the secret of what it held.
“This box—” The Alfaren put his hand over the puzzle box— ”contains something very valuable. But we cannot get to it despite our best efforts. I don’t have much time to devote here, and our dear mutual friend Mock suggested you engage your…services.”
“My services?”
“She told me you were good with locks and puzzles of this sort.”
Fir looked up, catching the man’s eyes. “I don’t come cheap, you know. I’ve been working with Kildare Wingard for the last five years and that’s gotten me used to a certain amount of luxury.”
“Of course, of course,” Oak said. He leaned his elbows on his desk. “Let’s say twenty goldmarks for opening the thing, eh? Does that sound fair?”
Fir widened his eyes. Twenty goldmarks was not only fair but generous. He looked to Mock. She bit her lip and looked at her feet. Fir narrowed his eyes. “Is this a trick?” he asked Oak.
Oak raised one eyebrow. “Do you have reason to think it would be?”
“It just doesn’t seem like something someone’d do, you know?” Fir said. “Here I am, basically a rival, and you’re just asking me to open this thing for you and accept twenty goldmarks for it? You know we were stealing the thing for Basalt, right? You don’t think I’d just go tell him where it was?”
Oak raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that’s what you plan to do?”
“No!” Fir spluttered a laugh. “Gods, no. I’m not about to turn down gold right now. Kil’s off with his lover and Snitch is pissed at all of us, so my future’s about as solid as water at the moment.”
Oak nodded to something over Fir’s shoulder.
The hair on the back of Fir’s neck prickled, and he slowly, reluctantly turned. The other Alfaren, the one who had been reading, stood behind Fir, knife drawn and poised a handsbreadth away from the back of Fir’s neck. The Alfaren knife wielder looked down at Fir, nodded, sheathed his knife, and stepped back to his chair, where he picked up his book and casually resumed reading.
Fir felt another bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face.
“If you wouldn’t accept the gold, I would’ve still gotten my box opened, but you would’ve done it at knifepoint and then Whisper there would’ve stabbed you through the heart and dumped your body in the bay,” Oak said. He tapped the top of his desk. “Sounds like the gold is the better bargain, eh?”
“Yes sir,” Fir said quietly. “I just…gift horses and all that.”
Oak pushed the box over the desk to him.
Fir’s fingers tingled—not from ley, but from excitement—as he picked up the box and ran his thumbs along the curves of the vines. The golden wood was as smooth as satin under his calloused fingers, even in the dips and whorls of the vines. He’d held some fine things in his time as a thief, but never one as beautiful as this.
Oak stood. “Take all the time you need. We’re in no rush.” He stepped around the desk and Fir’s chair and walked toward the door. “Mock, come along.”
Mock scuttled after Oak. The door shut behind them, leaving the room silent as their footfalls faded away outside in the hall. Fir glanced to the side and found the Alfaren assassin still sitting in his chair, still seemingly engrossed in his book.
A shiver spidered up Fir’s back, and his hands shook as he turned the box, searching for a hairline crack, a bit of a scuff, anything that could tell him where to begin taking the box apart.
As much as he’d wanted to get his hands on the puzzle box, this part of the job couldn’t be over soon enough.