“Amazing,” he says with a small shake of his head as he studies me. “I was concerned it might be hiding its curse—much like it hid its ability. Glad to hear this wasn’t the case. Next time you come by, bring it with you—if you still have it—we can study it. I’d love the chance to learn more about it.”
With it sitting in the castle stronghold, I see no reason it can’t be sent to Gladir for further study. Learning more about its capabilities might prove useful.
“I’ll see about having it sent to you,” I offer, giving him a small smile.
“A-and did you ever end up finding the bloodstone you sought?” he asks. “I managed to find a piece. A dagger.”
My jaw falls open.
“It’s the oddest thing,” he says as he straightens himself. “It’s beenat least a century since I’ve gotten a request for bloodstone. But after you left, another came in asking for the same. When you didn’t stop back, I sold the piece to him.”
Ryc…
“If you’re still in search, I may be able to procure another piece,” he says. “I’ve a reliable curator who’s recently returned from Cerwiden.”
Cerwiden?
“How did they travel between lands?” I ask.
If it’s possible to travel between Eldoterra and Cerwiden, I must know how. I may need to make the journey myself. As far as I’ve known, the distance between the two shores is too great to ferry.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much,” Gladir says with a shrug. “It’s not something the curator shared. All I know is it took them a month to get there and a month to return.”
Four weeks of journey in one direction.
Likely by ship then.
That sounds miserable.
And less than ideal. I don’t have that kind of time.
I heave a sigh. “I see. Thank you, Gladir,” I say. “Also, with regard to your offer, no. I’m no longer in need of bloodstone. But I shall keep you in mind should that change.”
“Glad to be of service,” he deigns. “Thank you both for entertaining an old fae’s questions. Now that I’ve stolen precious time from you both, what is it you require?”
As I reach into my cloak pocket, Cyran pulls the newspaper from under my arm and tucks it beneath his. I glance at him as I fish out the necklace and set it upon the counter.
“Cyran tells me you’re skilled in working with spelled silver,” I say. “I’d like to have this reforged.”
Gladir lifts his eyes from the necklace to mine. “I haven’t forged anything in quite some time,” he says, concerned. “Let alone worked with spelled silver.”
Pulling his glasses from his face, he sets them beside the demonic gauntlet and reaches for the necklace. He picks it up by the pendant and, shifting, reaches again, pulling a handle from the wall on his right. A thick, domed piece of glass fastened to anaccordion-like arm stretches across the counter to sit between us.
It’s amagnifyingglass, I realize.
How old is this fae for his sight to be less than stellar?
He studies the piece with creased brows and pursed lips. “What are you wishing to forge?”
“A ring,” I answer.
Brown eyes flick over the glass, meeting mine briefly.
His attention returns to the necklace, turning the pendant over to the side with the engraving.
“A gift of silver?” he asks.
“Yes.” I nod.
