Elswyth moved toward the case. “An amulet. That’s what all the fuss is about?”
“It’s a remarkable piece of Sumerian craftsmanship,” Silas said.
“And you discovered it?”
“Locked away in the darkest tomb of a ziggurat. With a quite explicit curse upon the door, I might add.”
“Is that why the government saw fit to confiscate it? I never thought parliamentarians would be superstitious types.”
Silas shook his head. “No, the government did pay for that expedition, however, and so I suppose it was rather rude of me to hold on to the amberheart for so long.”
“Amberheart?”
Silas seemed fixated on the stone. “Hm? Oh, yes. It was written on the tomb.Ninbár-émuqqu, the Amber Heart. Poetic, isn’t it?”
“I suppose. But what makes the amulet so unique? Look around you. There are hundreds of similar pieces here.”
It was true. On the wall to their right was a whole display of Sumerian jewelry: jade pendants and golden bangles, bronze rings and coral necklaces.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
Silas reached for the case’s lock.
“You can’t seriously steal this, Silas. Won’t they know it was you?”
“How will they prove it? Plausible deniability, Miss Elderwood.”
He pointed the tip of his finger at the lock’s opening. From it, a black thorn sprouted and then branched into spindles. It snaked into the lock, and Silas concentrated, willing the thorn on his hand to move. In a moment, the lock clicked once, then twice, and then fell open.
“AndthatI learned in Marrakesh,” Silas said. He opened the glass case and reached inside, lifting the amberheart from its place on the bust. He avoided touching the stone but held the gold chain with utter reverence. He exhaled and then offered the amberheart to Elswyth.
“You want me to wear it?” Elswyth said.
“Do you want to see what makes it special or not?”
“It feels wrong to wear it. It’s a relic.”
Silas smiled. He moved around Elswyth until he was standing behind her. She felt him there, and then heard the click of a chain unfastening. He lowered the amulet over her head until it rested, cold, upon her breast.
“Think of it as a lord gifting you a jewel,” he whispered.
Elswyth caught her own reflection in the glass case. The amberheart, shining upon her chest, the ancient bronze chain around her throat. And Silas, leaning over her, his hand on her shoulder, his dark hair falling over his face.
“It suits you,” he said, meeting her eye in the reflection. For a heartbeat, Elswyth just stood there like a deer faced with a hunter. She was aware of the warm mass of him behind her, his hot breath in her ear. She wanted to press her body backward, and feel all of him there, the strong sureness of him.
Still, she pulled away. Her heart raced.
“The point is not to look beautiful, is it? It seems to me like an ordinary stone.”
Silas looked her up and down, reading her expression. His hand still lingered in the air where it had touched her shoulder. Then he straightened up. “Reach into it,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Reach into the amberheart. With your floromancy.”
“It’s a stone. It won’t respond, obviously.”
“It is amber. And what is amber made from?”
