Page 18

Mia

“Really? A Templar cross?” Blaze asks, shifting from his knees to a crouch. Dillon is standing next to him, and I hear a skirmish behind me, then a loud splash. “What the hell, man?” Blaze says accusingly.

“Has Mia been wrong yet?” I can hear the unspoken asshole that Dillon omits.

“It is , though,” I say. “Look.” The sword is heavy and cumbersome as I turn it so the guys can get a better view. “Here, at the top of the handle.” They all crowd around and see the weathered, but unmistakable cross. I run my thumb over it absentmindedly, awed that I am in fact holding a sword that once belonged to a member of the Knights Templar. The gravity of it settles over me.

Was this placed here when the Knights arrived on Cyprus in the thirteenth century? Or was it part of a pirate’s cache and hidden here during one of their seafaring journeys? There’s nothing else in the slim cubby the sword has rested in for centuries, which leads me to believe, that regardless of who put it here or why it was concealed so well, it was done so because of its importance.

“The sword’s badass, but it’s not the cuff,” Phantom says neutrally. I obviously agree with him, but I can’t help but think that this isn’t linked somehow.

“Phantom, you are correct,” I say under my breath, but he catches it and laughs. They’re rare, his bursts of outward amusement, but they suit him.

I get to my feet, bringing the sword with me. The lighting is better toward the opening, and Dillon follows as I make my way over. “Hold this?” I ask, offering it to him. He obliges, taking the weight equally in his hands. The blade is spackled with age and exposure, while the handle is a deep brindle color. My palm glides over it, feeling the coarseness and occasional bite of the rust. Spiral grooves run down the grip, and even in its most rudimentary design, the purpose of a better grasp remains undeniable.

I glance up at Dillon, across from me. Dutifully, he’s got the relic in a relaxed hold. The weight of it clearly isn’t a burden for him, but his biceps pop nonetheless. Before I can allow myself to get distracted, I return to the sword.

“What are you thinking?” Dillon asks, catching my eye.

I bite my bottom lip, contemplating. “It has to have some sort of significance if it was hidden here so well.”

“Makes sense.”

I nod. “But I feel like I’m missing something here. Do you see any engravings anywhere else or a symbol or…anything?” My eyes and fingertips rake over the surface, a desperate attempt to maximally use my senses.

“I wish I did,” Dillon says, looking over the sword industrially.

“Maybe it’s got a secret compartment or something,” Legion says reasonably. He shrugs his shoulders at his suggestion.

I’m looking and looking. The sword is flat. How could it conceal anything? Unless it too was flat.

Blaze comes over, heavy footfalls in the water a clear indication of his whereabouts. “Let me see it.” He holds his hands out and Dillon looks to me for confirmation. I acquiesce, and within seconds, Blaze is turning it over in his hands.

“This isn’t the time to play Camelot,” I remind him as he attempts to bring it up and over his head like he’s about to deliver a mighty blow.

“Seriously?” he asks. But as he lowers the sword, I hear something.

“Wait. Do that again,” I say. He looks at me like I have split personalities. “Move it again.”

He does. Then he seems to hear what I had, and shakes the sword like it’s a twig.

Reaching for it, I go for the handle while Blaze continues to hold the rest of it. I wiggle the top and hear it. A distinct clink clink .

Phantom and Legion have joined us. We all look to one another with confusion, but inexplicable curiosity.

“Something in the hilt?” Dillon asks.

I shake it again. The jingle is coming from higher. “The pommel,” I say, baffled. I touch the small circle at the topmost part of the handle. It doesn’t budge or give way. But then an idea strikes me. “I need something thin and flat.”

Dillon pulls the diving knife from the strap around his leg and places it in my hand. I use the backside of the blade and place it in the groove of the engraved cross. I twist it to no avail.

“Careful you don’t cut yourself,” Dillon warns with concern.

I twist again. The cross begins to rotate, if only marginally. With a little more effort, I’m able to budge it a complete rotation. Two more revolutions and the cap is no longer bound to the threads. It now sits crookedly, teetering on the edge. Nobody dares to speak as I remove it.

Inside a superficial cavity lies an oval, pale red stone. “A cabochon,” I say breathlessly.

It fits perfectly in my palm, its size no bigger than a quarter. Like its holder, the gem—a ruby if I had to guess—seems to have been affected by the elements as well. Splotches of dirt mar its brilliance. I rub it away and find that there are small lines in the center of it.

“What the—” Holding it to the light reveals the lines—or grooves—to be on the flat backside of it. But I can’t make out what it is. Before I can ask for a light, Dillon produces his, flashing it on the stone.

The cave isn’t dark, but it’s not well-lit either. When the beam hits the cabochon, a red reflection hits the whitewashed lime wall.

“Whoa, what was that?” Legion asks, evidently seeing what I did.

“Over here,” I say, sloshing through the ankle-deep water to the back of the cave where it’s darker.

I take the light from Dillon and repeat the motions. There, against the otherwise dim wall, is a projected image, bathed in maroon. I steady my shaking hands. Everything around me grows deathly quiet as the waves repeatedly collide against the rocks and the blood steadily rushes in my ears.

“A castle?” Phantom says, leaning forward slightly. “What does that mean?”

“It means we need to get back to the boat,” I say urgently. The structure in question appears to be medieval by design, and from the looks of it, Cypriot. I just need to get back to my phone and have access to the internet.

“I’ll take the sword,” Blaze says, happily volunteering. I have no qualms; I’d probably sink if I tried to swim with it.

I hand the flashlight back to Dillon, cupping the stone in my hand. “Here,” he says, holding his hand out. “I have a zippered key pocket in my shorts.”

“Perfect.” I smile at him, not for the first time realizing how lucky I am to have him on this journey.

We exit the cave one by one, Dillon and I going last. With the adrenaline running through my veins at our discovery, I’m not even reluctant to swim through the low opening.

As we approach the boat, Midas is still at the helm. Even though he’s been standing under the hardtop roof, his skin has deepened a shade. “Find anyth—” He stops his inquiry when he sees Blaze place the sword on the back swim platform. For someone as sturdy as Blaze is, he hops on the edge of the deck gracefully and proceeds to show Midas our find.

“That’s not even the coolest part,” Dillon tells him, joining in. He removes the cabochon from his pocket and grabs his flashlight. “Watch this.”

The guys demonstrate the hidden image to Midas as I grab my phone. Immediately, I type castles of Cyprus and wait for the results. I scroll through, trying to glean any similarities between them. Some are tourist destinations, some are in ruins, and one is even inside an archeological park in Paphos.

But none of them look like the one from the stone.

“Guys,” I say quickly, a thought hitting me. “We need to make a list of all the Cypriot castles and fortresses and the years they were built. From there we can eliminate the ones that are not medieval. Midas, write these down,” I say, already naming a few.

“Copy that.”

Under his breath, Dillon says, “Is it weird that your bossiness turns me on?”

“As long as it’s not weird that your thigh holster turns me on.”

“Duly noted.”

Within minutes, we’ve compiled a list. “There’s nine,” Midas says.

My mind is already on the next thing. I tap my front tooth with my fingernail. “Cross off any that were built after 1450.”

“That only eliminated two,” Midas says grimly.

I get up to pace the back of the boat, the sun radiating off my skin that is tightening from the salt. “Okay…” I say, flummoxed.

“How about architectural style?” Phantom asks.

“Yes!” I scroll through Google’s image results and start dictating to Midas which others to cross off the list. “Wait, hold on…” Each castle is unique in its design, but similar with the basic anatomy as far as citadels go: battlements, moats, keeps and the like. I squint at my screen and am grateful when Dillon sidles up beside me, blocking the sun.

And every structure has the same features, especially a tall tower. All except one.

“ In 1210 ,” I say, reading from my phone, “ Gastria Castle was first mentioned as a Knights Templar fortress. The Knights Hospitaller took possession of it a century later, where it eventually deteriorated .”

“But the castle in the projection is round, and this shows nothing ,” Blaze says, holding up his phone, referring to the state of ruin it’s in today.

“You’re right,” I say evenly, “but did you notice another feature in the projection?” He shakes his head while he scratches at his chest. “It doesn’t have a tower; it’s a defining feature for the Templars—like building round churches.”

Dillon crosses his arms. A sliver of pale skin under his watch is proof that he’s tanning as much as Midas is. “So this Gastria Castle checks all the boxes then. It’s the right date, the Templars built it while they had ownership of the island, and it’s shown in the projection. Supposedly, at least.”

“Correct. You guys,” I implore, “this has to be it. Why else would the sword have been hidden so well?”

No one can answer me.

Phantom scrubs a hand down his face. “No rest for the wicked, huh?”

I wink at him. “That’s a negative.”