Mock still huddled by the fireplace, toying with the prayer beads braided into her hair, as Kildare got up. He jerked his head, motioning for the others to join him at the other side of the room. Only Serene and Fir moved with him. Snitch stayed where he was, leaning against the wall beside the couch, arms crossed over his chest, his head bowed so that his limp hair hid his expression.
Kildare scanned Fir's and Serene’s faces. The tension showed in the lines by their eyes and mouths. He knew they were all thinking the same thing. Mock would fight anything they suggested, as long as she thought that it would put her daughter in danger.
Kildare honestly couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he had children and someone threatened them.
“We could run,” Fir said quietly. “Just take our chances and leave.”
Serene shook her head. “I keep telling you. We’d be in the same situation that Mock says she would be in if she ran. Eras would track us down. And trust me, if we try to run, Basalt’ll make us wish we’d just been sold as slaves when he catches us. He lets Eras have free rein, and she’s cruel. It’s how he keeps his people from revolting against him.” She shivered.
Kildare reached out and grasped her hand. Her fingers were cold. She looked up at him, eyes slightly too wide, nostrils flared.
He squeezed her hand gently. “So what do we do?”
The spark in her eyes was dim. “I don’t know.”
Kildare pressed his lips together. He hated seeing Serene beaten like this. He twined his fingers between hers. He wasn’t going to let this stop him. They’d figure it out. Somehow.
“What’s in that stupid box, anyway?” Mock muttered from her corner.
“They’re collectors’ items,” Fir said. “That box is made by—”
“I know, I know, but that in and of itself doesn’t make any sense. Why are two Alfaren crime lords fighting over it? Are they really going to get into a war with each other just for a collector's item?”
“I felt a strong thread of ley in that box,” he said. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
She frowned. “Not the puzzle box itself?”
Kildare thought back to the buzzing ache that had rattled through him when he’d touched the box. “Fir says you can’t bind ley to items like that.”
“Well, he’s only partially right.” Mock swiped at her cheeks, brushing away the last of her tears, and glanced over at Fir. “What about ley-gems?”
Fir frowned. “Ley-gems are like the puzzle boxes. There’s some ley bound to them as a result of their creation.” He glanced at Kildare. “It’s the Knocken version of puzzle boxes. Gems sculpted into fine, impossible shapes using ley. But you’d still be able to hold it. It would barely tickle a wyvern’s ley-sensing ability.”
“I know you two are telling me that it’s impossible, but I’m telling you, I felt a lot of ley in that box,” Kildare said. “I’m not wrong about this. So, for the moment, let’s just accept that it actually is possible. Can we do that?”
He glanced around the room, taking in his team’s nods of agreement.
Snitch said, “Question is, what do we do about it?”
Kildare smirked. “I, for one, would like to know what is it we’re really supposed to steal.”
“I feel the same way,” Serene said. “And I don’t really want to hand over something powerful to a crime lord—Oak or Basalt.”
Everyone was looking at him.
Kildare released Serene’s hand. “Let me think a minute.” He stepped to the side of the room, pacing back and forth, watching the shadows in the room flicker thanks to the candle and firelight.
Everyone else settled back to where they were—Mock beside the fireplace, Serene perched on the back of the couch, Snitch leaning against the wall, Fir sitting on one arm of the couch. No one spoke. They all looked lost in their own thoughts. Kildare gnawed on the inside of his lip.
Even if they did find out what the item was, what would they do with it? Maybe if it was as powerful as Fir seemed to think, they could hold it for ransom. Basalt would have to release Serene’s contract and swear to let them go. But how to get to it without getting Mock and her daughter in trouble?
Kildare ran his hand through his hair. “Fir,” he said, “out of curiosity, how hard is it to use ley to create puzzle boxes and ley gems?”
Fir scratched his hair. “Hard. The material has to be flawless, and the process takes a long time—not only because it’s difficult to use ley to create something like that, but because it takes ley from the manipulator. And too much of that—” He made a slashing motion across his throat.
Right. Kildare vaguely remembered one of the thieves he grew up with losing their life to a sapper—a ley-user who could pull ley from people. The problem with that was that ley was closely tied to someone’s soul, and if a sapper or a manipulator pulled too much, it would break the person’s soul and kill them. Thank the Aspects that sappers were rare.
“And what would be the purpose of a ley-gem?”
Fir shrugged. “Art? To show off? Some gems can maybe hover a bit, or fade a little, but they can’t take on the full abilities of the ley they’d bound to. Unless...”
Fir raised his hand to his lips and tapped them. To anyone else it looked like a nervous habit, maybe something he’d picked up from Mock, but Kildare recognized the subtle differences—the way Fir used all of his fingers, not just his index finger or thumb the way Mock did. He was calling for Kildare’s attention.
Fir dropped his hand to his side, and Kildare followed the motion. Fir quickly flashed the talk later sign.
He had something he didn’t want to say in front of the others?
Kildare kept his arms loose by his sides but moved his fingers in the understood sign.
The inklings of an idea niggled at the back of his mind. Kildare fiddled with the charm bracelet again as he resumed pacing.
Finally, he stopped. “I don’t see a way to get the puzzle box without bringing Oak down on Mock,” he announced. “We couldn’t make a copy of it quickly enough.” He glanced at Serene. That was one of her areas of expertise.
She shook her head. “I don’t think I could make a copy of a puzzle box without months’ of notice. They’re far too intricate.”
Kildare nodded. “But to me, it makes sense that Oak and Basalt both want whatever it is in the box. So, we make a replica of that, swap it out, and take the real thing to Basalt.”
“If it’s not something that could break the world,” Fir said.
Kildare raised an eyebrow at the phrasing. “Sure,” he said hesitantly. Blight. What does he think is in that box?
“How do you propose to find out what it looks like? And to even be able to swap it in the first place?” Mock asked.
“This is where it gets dicey.” Kildare rubbed his hands at the back of his neck.
Fir shrugged. “Things are already dicey. Whatcha got?”
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