“You have been tasked with retrieving something of great value. A stone. It is located in a sacred garden where outsiders are not permitted.”
So, I need to steal something after all. “What does it look like?”
“You will know when you see it. The sacred garden is guarded, and there is only one way in.”
“Guarded by who?”
She hesitates. “Soldiers, of a sort.”
My eyebrows pop. “Soldiers?” I’ve only ever dealt with basic security guards and bouncers.
“You will have to earn your way in, and that will take time.”
“And you’re going to distract them, right?” With her deadly sword and daggers.
“I am able to get you there, but we are unable to go with you. The only aid I can offer is this.” She slides the ring off her finger and, with a long, lingering look at it, she seizes my forearm, her nails digging into my flesh as she slips the ring on me. “Do not remove it under any circumstances.”
The gaudy piece is lighter than I imagined. It must have some sort of tracking device in it, though I don’t know how that will help me. “And when am I doing this?”
“Tonight.”
My mouth gapes with shock. “Are you insane?” Tonight! “I need at least a week to case this place, probably more, so I can figure out entries and exits, numbers, shift changes—”
“It must be tonight!” she yells, all semblance of composure vanishing.
That can only mean one thing—that her husband will die otherwise.
I’m beginning to see why she isn’t retrieving this stone herself—because it’s an idiot’s mission that will surely get me killed.
She inhales deeply, and when she speaks again, her calm demeanor has returned. “I wish I could better prepare you, but we do not have time, and I’m afraid no amount of planning would help the situation we both find ourselves in.”
She’s speaking in riddles again. I need concrete answers if I have a hope in hell of pulling this off. “Where exactly am I going?”
“To Cirilea, in Islor.”
“I’ve never heard of it.” Not that I’m an expert with European geography.
“Most have not. It is far from here.”
“And how are we getting there? Flying, I assume?”
“I will take you there.” She stops in front of a broad wooden door strapped with iron bands. “Once you have taken the stone, Malachi will ensure your freedom.”
“How?” I don’t even know what he looks like.
“You will know when the time comes.” Sofie yanks on the handle and the door swings open with a screeching grind. A single torch ignites ahead, bathing the walls in a dim glow.
I promise myself I will figure out how Sofie is lighting those. “What’s this room?”
“My sanctum. Where I hold what is most precious to me.”
From the threshold, I see only more of the same crumbling walls. Ahead, the dirt floor gives way to cobblestone. An enormous rectangular block plays centerpiece. A much smaller table sits nearby.
Sofie walks to the block. Her fingers smooth across the surface as she slowly walks the perimeter, seemingly lost in thought. “I have waited an eternity for this day,” she whispers, her voice taking on a pleading tone. “You must not fail.”
It’s almost guaranteed I’m going to fail, but she warned me to paint myself more valuable than less, so I keep that thought to myself. What will happen if I do? What will a woman like Sofie—who cut down men like they were errant branches on a sculpted bush in some twisted quid pro quo bid to win me over—do if I don’t retrieve this stone for her?
I probably don’t need to worry about that, though. These soldiers will kill me before she has a chance.
But even as the weight of my impending doom settles firmly on my shoulders, a familiar excitement thrums in my core. I wish I could say I feel only guilt for my thievery, but there’s also a part of me that thrives on the addictive adrenaline that surges with the challenge. It’s always been the case.
I could even go as far as convincing myself this is for a noble cause—I’m saving a man’s life. How, exactly, I still don’t understand. There are major pieces missing from Sofie’s plan.
I edge forward. “So, if I get this stone for Malachi, you’ll get your husband back?”
“Oui.” She reaches out to gingerly touch something. “He will give him back to me.”
“He’s the one holding him hostage?”
“In a manner.”
I’d expect a woman like Sofie would want to kill the person holding her husband hostage, but the way Sofie talks about Malachi, she seems to adore him.
Curious to see what has Sofie’s attention so riveted, I close the distance.
A sinking feeling tugs at my insides. A man lies in the hollowed-out center of what I now realize is an enormous coffin. He looks to be in his thirties, tall, with wavy hair the color of black coffee and a clean-shaven, square jaw. He wears a navy-blue suit that looks new and custom fit. “Who is that?” I ask, though I fear I already know.
What I hold most precious.
Sofie skates her knuckles across his lips. “This is my dear Elijah.”
“I don’t understand,” I stammer, even as cold realization washes over me. “He’s dead.”
“He is not dead!” Her green eyes are bright with rage as she glares at me, looking ready to lunge. “He is trapped, and you are going to help me free him.”
It all becomes clear then—the urgency, the fragmented plan, this mysterious Malachi.
Sofie has lost her bloody mind.
Swallowing my growing panic, I back away slowly.
Her deep, wicked laughter echoes through the chamber. “You truly deem me mad? You think you see something I cannot?”
“I honestly don’t understand what I’m seeing.” Besides the aftermath of a dangerous woman who is grieving and in denial. How long ago did Elijah die? It couldn’t have been long. Did she leave his body here while she went to retrieve me?
“But you do.” Her eyes narrow. “You’ve known the truth for years, Romeria. You’ve simply refused to accept it.”
She said something similar last night, in the warehouse. “What are you talking about?”
She rounds the coffin and stalks toward me.
I instinctively shift backward toward the doorway. I need to get out of this crypt now. She’s unarmed, and I’m fast. If I start running now—
A thunderous bang sounds behind me, throwing us into darkness save for the single torch.
Sofie lifts a hand, and a flame ignites from the tip of her index finger.
“How did you do that?” I search her palm for a hidden lighter or match.
“You assume it to be some cheap parlor trick, no?”
I stare, dumbfounded, as the flame hops to her middle fingertip, then her ring finger. It moves back and forth like a tide, from finger to finger, the reflection dancing in Sofie’s emerald eyes.
“The truth is right in front of you, and yet you still search for reasons to not believe. Malachi warned me about you.” She casts her hand toward a wall. Just as in the main corridor, every torch erupts with fire.
My eyes widen as I take in the room bathed in light. Where the four pillars surrounding the coffin simply blended into the stone before, now I can see the elaborate carvings on each.