“No,” Alōs agreed. “Remember we need them pliable, not knocked out.”
Niya nodded before taking a deep breath in. Rhythmically fluttering her fingers, she sent red tendrils of her magic along the ground. They traveled like silent serpents on the hunt.
With a quick twirl of her hand, her powers wrapped around each guard.
Their wills gave a soft tug of resistance before sighing to sleep.
“They’re mine,” she said, pulse quickening.
The soldiers didn’t move at their approach but merely stood rigid, eyes forward.
“What did you do to them?” asked Alōs.
“I made their minds blank.”
“How long will it last?”
“After I remove the connection to my magic? About a half sand fall.”
Alōs nodded as he shot out his own green magic through the lock in the door.
A soft click sounded, and they quickly slipped inside.
Niya took in Princess Callista’s cavernous chambers. They stood in a massive receiving room made up of dusty-rose-and-orange detailing. Five other anterooms appeared to split off from where they stood. With a nod, she and Alōs turned from one another to search separately.
Time seemed to fall too quickly as Niya ran hands over rough painted walls, looking for a trick latch, and pulled books and moved away hanging tapestries, hoping one would reveal another hidden room or safe, something cloaked where valuables would be stored.
The fear of more servants or guards entering set her nerves on edge, especially since the walls were so thick in this caved palace, cutting off her senses from motion beyond what was closest. She felt like half a person without these aspects of her gifts, and she hated it.
It was like only being able to take in half a breath, rather than a large, satisfying inhale.
“In here,” Alōs called softly from Callista’s bedroom. Niya found him in the back of the princess’s large wardrobe, where rows and rows of beautiful garments were folded and hung at either side. Alōs stood before a heavy gold door set into the back panel.
Niya’s magic pulsed with her whoosh of relief.
“You found it,” said Niya, coming to his side.
“Not necessarily. But whatever is in here holds value. I only hope that includes the Prism Stone.”
Niya glanced to the round-dialed lock beside its handle. It gleamed with complicated markings—a spelled lock. Crisscrossing fingers wove together, appearing to each need to be individually opened for the clasp to give.
“Will this be a problem?” asked Niya.
“Thankfully, no.” Alōs crouched before the door, taking out a leather pouch from his pocket and opening it on the rugged floor to display an array of thin metal picks. Alōs bypassed the snake rake, long hook, and other standard lockpicking devices that Niya knew to select a thin straight rod that pulsed white at the tip.
“Is that a magic lockpick?” asked Niya.
“It is indeed.” Alōs grinned as he placed it next to the dial. “A mirror pick, it’s called. It can get through most locks.”
“Where did you get such a thing?”
Turquoise eyes glanced up at her, a mischievous twinkle in their depths. “I’m a pirate, Niya. And captain to the most notorious and successful ship—”
“Oh, by the love of the lost gods,” she breathed in exasperation. “Never mind. Just get on with it, will you.” She waved an impatient hand.
A soft chuckle rumbled out of him as he turned back to his task. Alōs’s attention refocused as he placed the glowing tip close to the interwoven locks.
Niya dared not breathe as she watched him angle the tip into the first latch, his adept fingers twisting and curling it to bend and weave into the second and then the third, down the row of entwined fingers.
Her nerves cascaded down her skin, too convinced someone would enter the princess’s chambers at any moment, see the stunned guards at the door, and raise the alarms.
All they had done to get here, her kissing Alōs, it would be for naught. They would never get the stone and—
Clink, clink, clink.
The individual locks snapped open one by one. Alōs stood in a whoosh beside Niya and pulled the door open.
All her tension fell from her like leaves dropping in autumn as utter splendor replaced her worry. “By the lost gods,” muttered Niya as she stepped into a small room lit by a hanging chandelier.
Every inch, shelf, and hook sparkled with treasure. Diamond necklaces. Gold leaf masks encrusted with sapphires. Niya ran her hand over rows and rows of jeweled bracelets, the softest leather shawls that slipped through her fingers like water, and earrings woven out of silver spider silk. Niya’s mouth watered. The part thief that she was itched to have a few of these items find their way into her pockets.
Niya turned from her shelf of fine treasure to find Alōs approaching the far end, his attention pinned to a crown on a plush white pillow. Even at this distance she saw the brilliant red glow from what was resting in its center.
Her heart gave a thrilled pulse as she went to his side, each of them staring down at the gleaming Prism Stone. It was an alluring red siren in the center of the gold-tipped crown.
This was it!
Niya smiled wide as every part of her wanted to spin and twirl and dance in the utter elation.
Her freedom rested a touch away.
Her home, her sisters, her family—everything was wrapped up in the glistening jewel before them.
And no one was around to stop them from taking it.
“It’s ours,” whispered Niya as she glanced to Alōs. He had not moved or uttered a sound in some time. He stood rigid, tense, as though . . . but no, why would he be frightened? He finally had what he had hunted for so long. The final piece of the Prism Stone. “Alōs . . . ,” she began, pinching her brows together.
“We must be quick,” he said, shaking off whatever ghosts had clung to him.
With nimble fingers, he removed a new pouch from his pocket, revealing the fake red gem his brother had given him. Though rough, it was just as red and rich in sparkle as Niya remembered from when she’d first seen it in his captain’s quarters. But now with the real one in front of them, Niya could see, right there in the center, it didn’t gleam with a hint of power and history like the real Prism Stone.
She watched as Alōs studied the gem in the crown before holding up the fake. He shot a stream of icy-green magic from his fingertip, deftly carving the rock down to become an exact replica.
“Hold this,” he instructed when he was done, handing Niya the imitation gem. She turned it between her fingers. It was just as rough along the surface, but more oval now. A smoothed purpose to its shape.
Using a thin blade, Alōs bent forward to carefully pop out the Prism Stone and, spreading a bit of sticky durberry paste in the empty pocket, took the replica from her hand and settled it into the crown. He stepped back, admiring his work.
If Niya hadn’t seen the switch, she wouldn’t have known it was done.
She leaned close to Alōs as they each studied the prize in his palm. She had a strong urge to hug him in that moment, not out of any comradery but because it was done! They had it! Her magic soared through her veins, a warm barrage of triumph.
Alōs remained quiet, pensive, as he turned the stone over and over.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“This isn’t all of it.”
His words were a cold ice bath to her joy.
Nonono, she thought quickly, he’s forgetting. “Of course it’s not all of it. The stone in your ring fits into this part here.” She pointed to the small groove in the side.
“No.” He shook his head, brows pinching in. “There’s another cut . . . at the back. See?”
Niya leaned in; a sizable chunk was missing on the other side. Her stomach twisted, the small amount of food she’d had at dinner threatening to come up. “So . . . what are you saying?” she dared ask.
Alōs’s hard gaze met hers. “This isn’t the final piece of the Prism Stone.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO