Page 16 of Dark Bringer (Lord of Everfell #1)

They walked from broker to broker. Each yielded the same result: the stones were striking but held no ley. By mid-afternoon, they stood on a street corner, hungry and dejected.

“We need enough for a hostel,” Kal said. “Let’s try the jewelers.”

They’d never dealt with jewelers, who only bought cold stones. In the end, they chose one at random called D’Amato’s. The proprietor was middle-aged and paunchy, with thinning dark hair. It was combed over his bald spot with scented pomade. Kal thought he had soulful eyes, like a friendly dog.

“These are unusual,” he said grudgingly, examining the kaldurite. “I haven’t seen this color shift before. No ley, of course, but the aesthetic quality isn’t bad.”

“Not bad?” Kal exclaimed. “Look at them! They’re exceptional.”

He arranged five stones in a row and eyed them critically. “I suppose I could create a pretty necklace with these. Twenty-five for the lot.”

“Forty,” Kal countered.

D’Amato laughed. “Thirty, and only because I’m in a good mood.”

It was a fraction of what they’d hoped for, but enough for a bed and ale to drown their sorrows. Durian glanced at Kal, who nodded reluctantly.

“They came from a larger deposit,” Durian added as he handed over his mining license and filled out the requisite forms. “We could bring more.”

Kal shot him a warning glance. They’d agreed to lie about where they found the kaldurite. The Clear Creek Mine might be abandoned, but it was still owned by a wealthy witch family, or a conglomeration of them. Better to say as little as possible.

But the words were already spoken. D’Amato’s eyes gleamed. “I’d be very pleased to see more,” he said, handing over the bills. “Very pleased indeed.”

They found a cheap hostel near the river and spent the evening at the bar. Durian, who was never down for long, managed to convince her that they’d picked a bad sample and the others would be brimming with ley.

“It doesn’t make sense, does it?” he said. “I mean, why would they be empty?”

Kal stared into her glass. “Who knows? It also doesn’t make sense that they were just lying out like that. Not in a seam. Not raw. It’s like someone dumped them there.”

“But no one goes down there.”

“The Sinn do.”

“So what, they stashed a bunch of old rocks in that cavern?” He twirled a finger. “Bitch, you’re losing it.”

Morning brought clear skies and fresh determination.

They left the hostel early, walking along the riverside Corniche.

The plan was to try a few brokers they’d missed the day before, but they’d only gone a short way before two witches in long white coats approached from the opposite direction.

Kal knew they were witches because of the way the sun turned their eyes into mirrors.

The woman had spiky blood-red hair and piercings all over her face—lips, eyebrows, nose, both ears. The man was big with dark beard stubble and a heavy brow. When he smiled, she saw that his front teeth were capped with silver.

“Good morning,” he said, moving to block their path. “We’d like a word.”

His accent was pure Kievad Rus. Kal heard it all the time in the hills, which straddled the border.

“Um, about what?” she asked, her stomach fluttering.

Were they in trouble? Did someone figure out they’d been trespassing at Clear Creek? But only she and Durian knew. They’d put fake coordinates on the jeweler’s forms.

“We heard you found something interesting,” said the pierced witch. “If you’ve got any left, we’d love to buy them from you. We’ll pay a good price.”

A warning buzzed in Kal’s head, but Durian looked thrilled. “How good?” he asked.

“How about fifty per stone?”

“Sure! We still have a bunch.” He reached for his pouch, but Kal laid a hand on his arm. The offer made no sense.

“Why would you pay so much for depleted gems?” she asked.

Durian jabbed a hard elbow, which she ignored. The witches would know the moment they touched the stones that there was no ley inside. And they must know that anyway.

“We’re always interested in new varieties,” the man said. “To study. But we’ll need to see them first.”

“Durian—” Kal hissed, but he’d already handed the pouch over.

The woman opened it with caution as if there might be a scorpion inside.

Her face gave nothing away as she studied the stones.

But then she did an even more peculiar thing.

She didn’t toss the purse back or tuck it into a pocket.

She set it down on the street, next to her white boots, as if she didn’t want to touch it.

“Tell us exactly where you found these,” she said, “and we’ll complete our transaction.”

Kal scowled. You never gave up the exact location of a claim, not for anything.

“That’s not part of the bargain,” she said.

The male witch’s glinting smile evaporated. He raised a fist and Durian floated off the ground. A sudden wind whipped the sandy around his face, which wore a look of sheer terror.

“I’ll ask again. Where did you find these?” the woman demanded.

Without thinking, Kal reached down and pried up a loose paving stone. She hurled it with all her might. It clipped the witch on his beetled brow. Durian dropped to the ground, gasping. Kal grabbed his hand and dragged him down the Corniche. It was deserted except for a dog-walker across the river.

“I can’t—” Durian panted, his bad leg twisting.

“You can!” Kal gripped his hand tighter. “We’re not far from the market?—”

An invisible force tore him from her grasp. Time slowed as Durian sailed over the stone embankment and into the river. He went under and didn’t come up. The witches sprinted down the Corniche. The man was bleeding and furious, the woman livid.

“You idiot,” she snarled. “We need them alive. Get the girl!”

Kal took off like a jackrabbit as chips of stone exploded from the walls on either side.

Each moment, she expected to be hurled into the river like Durian.

Yet somehow none of the spells seemed to hit her.

She ducked into a side street, then another and another, zigzagging through smelly stalls.

The fish market. Kota’s morning crowds were thickening now, and a glance behind showed no white coats.

Only when she was certain she’d lost her pursuers did she slow to a walk, lungs burning. Her fingers found the pouch hidden in her pocket. The witches had Durian’s kaldurite, but not her share.

What did they want a bunch of worthless empty stones for anyway?

And Durian . . . Guilt stabbed her. It was her fault. She should have just let them have it.

Kal skulked through the shadows, trying to decide what to do next. She couldn’t go to the authorities and file a complaint, demand a search of the river.

The witches were the fucking authorities.