Page 44 of Claimed By the Depths

“Oh, I have done that. Plenty.”

A groan left me, but the corners of my mouth curled upward at their back-and-forth. “As much as I would love to sit here and listen to the two of you verbally obliterate each other, we should probably get back to what we were doing.” I looked at Rohen. “Are you okay to stand?”

“I don’t know, future king; you’re the one who prevented me from so much as sitting up. So you tell me. Am I okay to stand?”

With a roll of my eyes, I nudged her out of my arms. Helping her upright once more, a soft grunt came from her as she placed her palm back against the wall. Eyes sweeping between us, she opened her mouth to utter something vulgar, but the curse that tumbled from me as soon as I fixated on the stone Syoran mentioned prevented her from doing so.

“What the fuck?”

“What?” Syoran followed my line of sight, a satisfied hum coming from his chest. “See. I told you. She has a hard fucking head.”

“Hand,” Rohen corrected. “It was my fucking hand, idiot.”

“You said a deep ache settled in…”

Their banter dissipated as I moved toward the dislodged stone. Curling two fingers around the side of it that had shot free, I yanked. It rubbed against its surrounding neighbors, the grind only temporary, before it slipped free as if it had always been meant to. I tossed it to the side with indifference, too drawn in by the darkness that welcomed me. No, not the darkness, but the gold bag that sat propped up like it had been staged.

Syoran’s timbre flooded my senses as I blinked a handful of times, testing to see if what I found was a mere illusion. “...So not only have you elected to damage this place, but now Kael is tearing it apart.”

When I remained silent, Rohen’s voice filled the gap. “Kael? Are you okay?”

Reaching into the newly created hole, I snatched the bag and pulled my arm out. With a quick brush, I cleared the dust from my shirt before I glanced over my shoulder at them. “I think Rohen may have unintentionally found what we needed.”

“Wait, that was in there?” Rohen asked as I untied the silk ribbon that kept it closed. “A coin pouch?”

Syoran blew out a breath. “I swear to the gods if her colliding with this wall is all it took for us to find the first artifact…”

Not waiting for them to begin exchanging taunts with each other once more, I opened it, and what peered out at me caused my breath to hitch.

Glistening with an otherworldly quality, the seven coins nestled against one another as if fearful of their discovery. Polished to perfection, their gilded gleam seemed even more potent than that of pure gold. They had not been carved by a human hand; their edges had been refined to the point that only a smooth, flawless circle remained. But it wasn’t its shape nor quality that stole the air from my lungs. It was the ship etched into its face and the identifying flag it flew.

The Scarlet Tempest. Alastair.

Part of Lorelie’s statement crawled back to me. “...the strongest way to link himself to his Child.”

“Holy shit.”

“What?” Rohen and Syoran chimed in simultaneously.

Fishing into the bag, I pulled a coin free and held it up for them. “Not only have we found the artifact, but very evident proof of who Jaskor’s Child is.”

Rohen closed the gap between us, plucking the gold from me to examine it herself. “I fucking knew it.”

“Knew what?” Syoran questioned from his unmoved position.

“Alastair,” Rohen answered. “Alastair is Jaskor’s Son.”

His eyes widened. “Which is probably the reason he…”

“Survived his clash with Caspian?” Dipping her chin, Rohen dropped the god’s coin into its rightful place. “Yep. Which means we need to get these to Alastair, because if what Lorelie said is true, then his connection with Jaskor will open⁠—”

The steady ding of a bell slipped from the staircase we’d wandered down, penetrating the library with an echo of its rhythm. Continuing five more times, it slowly lulled the darkened night back into silence.

The three of us exchanged confused glances, and when I started to speak, it was not my voice that came, but Lorelie’s. “Where the hell are you guys?”

“Over here,” Syoran called with little effort, his timbre rolling across the stone to meet her wherever she was.

Her footfalls became audible before she rounded one of the bookshelves, her pupils blown with unease. “We need to⁠—”