“Now it is your turn to be brave,” he told his father. “For this night I go into battle.”
For a long time Thierry said nothing. Then he sighed, and said, “You have always been a warrior in your heart, my son, and if now you must take up the sword, I know you will be the same in the field.”
“Then if I may, I will ask you to protect my stepmother, and the men and women of the household,” Jamys said slowly. “Please tell Jema that I love her as the mother of my heart.”
“That will make her smile and weep,” Thierry predicted. “Will you forgive me my harsh words, and my foolish fears?”
“I have, and pray you will do the same for mine,” he assured him. “For everything in me that is good and strong and wise, I owe to you.”
Thierry made a rough sound. “And will I see you again, Jamys?”
“Here or in heaven, Father. Farewell.” He switched off the phone, and looked up to see Garcia driving into the alley behind a row of buildings.
“We have arrived, my lord.” The tresora parked the car in front of a steel door marked COBURN FINE JEWELERS and retrieved a case from the floor.
At the door Jamys watched him pick the lock in seconds and, once inside, disarm the security system with a quick bypass circuit. “For a policeman, you have the skills of an accomplished thief.”
“Often Lord Alenfar requires me to work on both sides of the law.” Garcia nodded toward the interior. “The shutters have been lowered so you will not be seen from the street. I will stand guard here.”
Jamys went to the front of the shop, where the Persian rug Stryker had described had been laid out in front of the display cases. He knelt down and rolled it aside to reveal the large decorative tiles beneath, and ran the tip of his dagger along each one before he found a seam, and used the tip of his blade to dislodge the tile over the floor safe. A keypad set into the safe’s door was the only access point, but he punched through it and gripped the side of the hole left behind to wrench open the steel lid.
A large black velvet case lay inside, and when Jamys removed it and opened the lid, he found it filled with trays of glittering emeralds in every shape imaginable. Yet when he came to the very bottom tray, which had three deep, fist-size impressions in the cloth, he found it empty.
Lucan had been correct; Coburn no longer possessed the Emeralds of Eternity. Jamys sat back on his heels and pushed the trays aside, eyeing the safe and the dull metal at the very bottom. He frowned and reached in, taking out the false bottom to expose a layer of bricks sealed in plastic, a thin electronic device, and coils of wire.
Like most Kyn, Jamys trained in the use of weapons of every era; he knew exactly what it was and how to employ it.
He reached for the trays of emeralds, and sorted through them until he found three round specimens that were only slightly smaller than the recesses in the empty tray. He glanced around the shop, rising to go to a display of golden jewelry cases, and chose one large enough to contain the black velvet tray. He then placed that and everything he needed in the bag, closed the safe, and recovered it before joining Garcia at the back door.
“Did you find what you needed, my lord?” the tresora asked.
Will you die for her? the monk’s voice mocked inside his head.
“Yes,” he told them both.
Chapter 19
Chris followed Sam back into the garden, where Werren stood alone by the fountain. “Where are the other women?”
“It matters not.” She bent to pluck a white rose and twirled it between her fingers. “If you wish to escape, I will not stop you. But you will not use any of us.”
“I forgot, she has Kyn hearing,” Samantha said as she walked up to the other women. “As long as you maintain whatever illusion is cloaking us right now, they won’t see or hear us.”
Werren smiled. “I will protect them from anything you do.”
Samantha walked past her, turned, and brought her fist down on the other woman’s nape. “Not if you’re taking a nap.” She caught Werren as she and the garden fell, and eased her down to the deck.
Chris glanced at the hostile faces of the other women surrounding them. “Your friend is okay; Sam just knocked her out. Werren wouldn’t let us talk to the rest of you.”
An old woman stepped forward. “Werren takes care of us. We cannot have the garden without her. We are not interested in what you have to say.”
“You want to rumble, Grandma?” Sam asked. “Bring it over here.”
“Look, we’re all in—on—the same boat,” Chris said. “As long as you stay here, things will only get worse.”