I walked round the chest, examining it from every angle. Although it looked heavy and cumbersome, the craftsmanship was superb. It was designed to appear deceptively simple. The reality was anything but. I couldn’t help feeling a tinge of admiration for our long-deceased Sidhe ancestors who’d placed it here. They didn’t just want the four strongest Clans to prove they could work together to reach it. They wanted them to prove themselves worthy of it too. They’d obviously decided there was no point in throwing open the source of the country’s magic to a bunch of people who didn’t even have the smarts to open a box.
I ignored the latch at the front and focussed on the left-hand side. I’d noticed earlier that it had a band of faintly discoloured wood.
‘She’s got no damn clue,’ William hissed.
‘Shh!’ Byron admonished.
I hunkered down and carefully ran my fingers across the front. There was a knot at one end, which was out of keeping with the rest of the chest. Pressing into it with my thumb, I kept my body out of the way. A heartbeat later, a long drawer sprang open and brushed against my midriff. The others’ astonishment was audible. Both Kincaids rushed forward but I frowned, forcing them to falter.
I sidestepped, tapping the back of the chest and listening. Then I nodded and went to the right-hand side. The panels of wood here were more evenly coloured. Closing my eyes and using my fingertips, I located the second hidden latch within seconds. As soon as I pushed it, another drawer opened.
‘Chinese boxes,’ Aifric said. ‘Find the hidden latches and open them in the correct order or don’t open the chest at all. Cunning bastards.’
The third panel was at the front, concealed beneath the large rusty latch that Malcolm had been tugging at. My fingers only had to brush against this one and I heard a click. I smiled and returned to the back of the chest and another drawer slid open easily. This one was both wider and deeper and when I pulled it all the way out and peered inside the gap into the centre of the chest, I knew I’d hit the jackpot.
I rested on my heels and gazed up at the others. Even in this dim light, their auras were still clear. Byron’s was a rich purple, Aifric’s was a sharp scarlet. I could see flickers of the same red colour in both Dorienne and William’s auras, although they weren’t so pronounced, and I wondered if red was a chieftain thing. When I spotted it flickering against Malcom’s grey aura too, however, I wasn’t so sure.
I looked at the Foinse. It had an aura as well, as if it were as alive like us. The Foinse, which wasn’t like a fountain at all and was actually more of a sparkly orb, had a sickly yellow aura that wasn’t far off the colour of bile. It was definitely sick; even I could work that one out.
‘What is it?’ William Kincaid demanded. ‘What can you see?’
I reached inside. It was warm to the touch and, when I cupped my hands round it, I felt a flicker of soothing energy. I pulled back and stood up, displaying it to the others. Then I grinned.
‘Take that, bitches.’
Chapter Twenty Three
There was considerable debate about what to do next. Most of the discussion took place between the three Chieftains, William, Dorienne and Aifric, with Malcolm occasionally interjecting his opinion. The rest of us stood back.
‘We don’t have the means to solve the problem here,’ Aifric said. ‘We should take the Foinse back to the Cruaich and deal with it there.’
‘If it goes back to the Cruaich,’ Dorienne pointed out, ‘then by default the Moncrieffes end up with the ownership of it. We cannot allow that to happen.’
‘My dear, the Cruaich belongs to us all. It’s not as if I’m scurrying away with it to the Moncrieffe Clan lands. You’ll know where it is.’
‘That’s all very well, Steward, but the Cruaich is hardly close to Kincaid lands. We have a lot of skilled people in our Clan who will be well placed to heal it.’
‘I’m not giving that kind of power to the Kincaids!’
The argument went round and round in circles. I eyed the Foinse that was now being cradled by Aifric. If I looked closely, I could swear that its sickly aura now had a slightly different tinge.
‘How long has the Foinse been held here?’ I asked Byron in an undertone.
He shrugged, his expression displeased as he watched the to-ing and fro-ing between the Clan heads. ‘A thousand years, give or take.’
I considered the chest. It was an old piece but I’d estimate it was no more than two hundred years old. The aura around the Foinse suggested that it was a living being. And, speaking for myself as another living being, I didn’t think I’d do particularly well trapped inside a box. I’d probably get sick after two centuries of darkness too.