He made it sound as if she was selling herself into slavery, which in a sense she was. “I understand, Padrone, and I don’t have any doubt about this decision. The Darkyn are my family. I’d do anything for them.”
“I am glad to hear it, for the council has decided to set you one final task with which to prove your loyalty and resourcefulness.” He held up a page of parchment filled with calligraphic writing. “The high lord has sent out this summons to every stronghold in the Americas; it will be delivered by private courier to your master within the next several days. In short, it presents a challenge to every Kyn warrior under rule to recover three jewels known as the Emeralds of Eternity. He who delivers the gems to Lord Tremayne is to be given rule of Ireland.”
Chris frowned. Should she tell him that the summons had already arrived, and had nearly started a small war between the garrison and the visitors? Burke had always advised her that whatever happened in the stronghold stayed in the stronghold. “That’s very generous of the high lord.”
“Were these common emeralds, I would agree with you. But these particular jewels are very rare, and quite lethal.” He put down the summons. “While the council appreciates the high lord’s . . . enthusiasm for this treasure hunt he commands, he is unaware of the grievous threat these gems present. Were they to fall into the hands of our enemies, I assure you, their enormous power would be used to exterminate mortal kind. That is something we cannot permit, so your task will be to prevent it.”
What he was saying made no sense to her. “Sir, how can I stop the Kyn from looking for the gems?”
“You cannot,” Ramas agreed. “But you can find the jewels before the Kyn do, and bring them to the council for safekeeping. I am now transmitting all the data we have about the emeralds; we know that they were stolen from Jamaica in the seventeenth century, possibly by pirates.”
“Pirates.” This was just getting more bizarre by the minute. “Right.”
“I suggest you also make use of the extensive research that has been done by Americans on piracy, shipwrecks, and lost treasure troves,” Ramas said. “Of course you cannot tell any of the Darkyn about this, as it could strain relations between the high lord and the council. It could also result in unpleasant repercussions for you.”
“Unpleasant.” Chris loved Lucan, and was pretty sure he liked having her around, but the former master assassin had a very bad temper. He could also make any living thing he touched literally explode. “Yeah.” A sudden flood of resentment surged through her. There was no way she could outwit the Kyn, and when she failed, the council would blow off her petition. “With all due respect, Padrone, I’d like to request another task to prove myself. Any other task.”
“For tresori, no sacrifice is too great, and no task impossible.” He looked down his nose at her. “Find the emeralds before the Kyn do, Miss Lang, and you will be made one of us. Fail, and you will not.”
The monitor went dark.
Chapter 4
Sam borrowed Lucan’s Porsche and drove to the address sent by dispatch, at the same time calling the station to check in with her boss.
“Sounds like a robbery that got ugly,” Captain Garcia told her. “Do you want me to send Massey down to work the scene with you?”
Jonah Massey was one of the newest detectives assigned to homicide, and unlike her boss, he wasn’t one of the Kyn’s human allies. “That’s okay, I’ll use the uniforms for the canvass.” She pulled up and parked behind the medical examiner’s van. “I’m here. I’ll report in as soon as I have something.”
Sam showed her ID to the patrolman before she ducked under the tape and entered the brightly lit shop. The coppery, sewer-pipe smell of death washed over her as she approached the slight, balding man crouching next to a body sprawled on the expensive carpeting in front of an empty, smashed display case. “What have you got, Evan?”
“Dead guy, multiple contusions, broken bones, stab wounds, impact wounds, defensive wounds, you name it.” The medical examiner straightened and shook his head. “Your basic fucking mess.”
Sam inspected the body. “Any of them cause of death?”
“Pending autopsy, my bet is exsanguination. Throat’s been slashed from ear to ear. Liver temp puts time of death around seven p.m.” He frowned down at the battered body. “Not as much blood as you’d expect. The perp worked on him somewhere else; maybe sliced him there and then dumped the body here.”
Sam pulled on a pair of latex gloves and removed a wallet from the dead man’s front trouser pocket. “The ID reads Noel Coburn, sixty-eight.” She looked up at the small, chiseled golden letters mounted on the wall behind the trashed, empty display cases that spelled out COBURN FINE JEWELERS. “He’s probably the owner.”