After grabbing the tin of cleaning mixture from her supply shelf, she moved to her chair by the fire. Her toe stubbed on a rough place in the stone floor, a bump she’d stepped over hundreds—no, thousands—of times.
But the momentum of her movements, maybe even the unrest in her spirit, knocked her off-balance, pitching her forward. She threw her hands out to catch herself. One knee struck the ground at the same time her palms did. The cup and cleaning mixture flew through the air, clattering across the stone.
Pain burned through her hands and up her wrists. She dropped to her elbows to take the weight from her handsas fire seemed to sear them. A groan slipped out, and she struggled to take in steady breaths.
Little by little, she pulled herself up to sitting. The agony in her hands and knee had dulled to throbbing, and her wrists ached, but nothing seemed broken. She eased out a long breath and glanced around.
The chalice.
She scanned the floor around her feet, her heart hammering. If she’d caused even a scratch to the heirloom, a treasure that had been kept safe for over a century ... Her gaze caught the glimmer of brass, and her heartbeat stalled completely.
The fire. How could the cup have landed in the flame?
She crawled to the blaze and reached in, tapping at the chalice to roll it away from the burning logs. But the cup had landed directly in the center of a leaping flame, and she would have to submerge her hand in the orange glow to reach it. Heat already singed the skin of her palm.
Ignoring the burn, she reached for the metal poker and used it to roll the cup from the blaze.
With the heirloom finally on the cold stone floor, she eased out a breath, though the tension remained in her shoulders. She couldn’t rest easy until she saw for sure no damage had been done to the village’s favorite treasure.
The cup was much too hot to pick up with her hands—her first try proved as much—so she reached for the rag she’d planned to use to buff out a shine on the chalice. Lifting the cup by its long thin neck, she held her breath as she examined the engraving. Smoke had darkened much of the image of the Last Supper on one side, but she should be able to clean that off.
As she turned the cup, though, her middle cinched, burning as though the fire that had melted the face of Jesus now seared her insides. The brim itself had melted into aU, with the metal seeping down to completely cover the image of the Lord at the final meal before his death.
She squeezed her eyes shut. That chunk of meat and bread she’d eaten at midday might have been her own last supper if her father and the council—the entire village, really—found out what she’d done to this treasure.
Panic welled in her throat, clawing and suffocating. She worked the drooping brass with her fingers, doing her best to massage it back into shape. But the metal had cooled too much to be pliable. Her efforts managed only the faint impression of a fingerprint.Lord, no.
Frantically, she used the cloth to scrub the soot-blackened surface. The dark texture began to rub onto the rag. Her belly turned as she worked on the metal, using more of her cleaning mixture and grabbing a clean cloth when the other grew too grimy. This time, though, she kept the chalice nestled safely in her lap as she worked.
She scrubbed until her hands ached, then finally straightened and lifted the cup to examine it. The brass didn’t hold the same shine, but at least it didn’t show black any longer. She would probably be able to bring out the full luster with more effort.
But when she turned the chalice to view the melted side, the churning in her belly rose into her throat. This was so much worse than she’d first thought. Not even Papa, master metalworker that he was, would be able to repair this part, not without melting down the entire cup.
And would he be able to re-carve such an elaborate picture?The first one had been done by Titus Trouvé, a master engraver, as part of a set. The other chalice had been given to Louis Curtois’s brother as an heirloom to pass down among his own family. It wasn’t likely the two cups would ever be reunited. Perhaps differences in technique could be overlooked, should another artisan attempt to fix the damage.
Still, this loss would be a blow to the village.
Voices outside the rear door warned her just before it opened. Papa stepped in first, Andre on his heels chattering on about one of his friends.
She did her best not to look guilty as she sent them a quick welcoming smile, then lifted the cup back into its holder on the mantel. If she turned the melted section to the back, its flaws weren’t immediately obvious. How long before someone noticed?
For now, she needed to build the smoking fire outside, all the while pretending she’d not just destroyed the village’s most precious treasure. And then, she had to figure out how to repair the damage ... before the Discovery Day celebration.
The rumble in the cave’s depths turned into a horrendous screech as Damien pressed himself against the stone side. His bulk filled most of the small opening, no matter how low he crouched.
The awful noise echoed from within the cave, closer and louder, til it thundered through his heart.
Then awooshraced past him. His candle flame sputtered out, so he couldn’t see the creature in the darkness. Yet it kept coming and coming. How long was this beast?
As the sound finally faded, he spun to see the source of the noise in the daylight outside the cave.
Bats. The horde of tiny black creatures separated in the dusky light, swooping in all directions.
He struggled to rein in the pounding in his chest, gulping deep breaths of icy air. He should’ve expected bats, but he’d only seen a couple of caves since he’d begun trapping at the end of summer. None had held a colony of bats.
Rising to his knees again, he fumbled for the tinderbox. Did he really want to see what else lived here? He’d heard the bats long before he saw them, so this passage must extend a great deal farther into the mountain.
The thought sent a wave of curiosity through him. He touched the handle of the knife hanging around his neck, then reached to make sure his pistol was still tucked securely in his waistband. It wouldn’t be enough to kill a bear, but between the two weapons, he should be able to handle any other animal. Besides, a bear couldn’t maneuver the cliff down to this cave. Unless there was another opening, no such creature would be inside.
