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Heather let herself be led away, still looking back at the two chests. Graeme pulled her through the doorway, and they went down more stairs, all the way to the bottom, into the treasure cave. Heather was silent as Graeme inspected the piles and stacks of gold and other precious metals and gems. Rhen’s gold had not all been packaged—some stayed behind, and the rooms were full of more treasure. Some was Graeme’s, some belonged to others, and all seemed in order.

Back up the steps they went, until they were again standing in front of the chest.

“Go on, then, open it,” Graeme said, releasing Heather’s hand.

She approached the large chest, then reached her hand out to touch the metal lock of the small chest on top. It clicked open as soon as she touched it. Heather made a noise of disbelief, and then she lifted the lid of the chest, revealing a leather bag atop a closed compartment. Graeme recognized the bag at once, and knew what was in it. He felt a strange mixture of anticipation and apprehension as Heather opened the bag and pulled out a golden, filigreed diadem Graeme knew well—when his mother had been alive, she’d worn it several times in her human form, mostly in rituals. In the very center of it was a burning flame smaller than a dime—an everlasting flame.

Heather’s expression took on a rigid cast, and she raised the diadem to her head immediately, dropping it down over her hair. It settled into place with the flame centered slightly above her eyebrows. Purple flame licked across Heather’s irises, startling Graeme, but then it was gone.

Is it a crown? she asked, and her mental voice sounded different—colder somehow.

A diadem, he said, watching her closely. Worn like a crown, but meant for a dragen.

Heather took the diadem off her head and examined the flame.

Is it magic? she asked.

Aye.

She put it carefully back in the bag, then looked at Graeme, eyes wide. Is it for me?

Graeme nodded. It used to belong to my mother. She traveled to a distant fire world, killed the fire priestess who ruled there, and stole the everlasting flame the priestess kept. She had the diadem made from Rhen’s gold, and she fixed the everlasting flame to it with powerful magic, calling it a tribute to Rhen. As such, I ken it belongs to Rhen more than it belongs to me, and your dream from last night says it is a gift to ye.

Heather gripped the bag tighter, still looking at him, but he had no more answers.

Graeme motioned for her to keep looking in the chest, saying, I see a second compartment.

***

Heather turned back to the small chest, her heart beating faster than normal, as it had been since she’d seen the diadem. The thing called to her even now, wanting her to wear it. When she’d put it on, power had coursed through her, from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. She’d felt pinned in place by the intensity of it, and it had scared her. It had taken all the strength in her to take it off, but once she had, she’d been able to breathe more easily, and when she put it back in the bag, the call of it had been weakened, leaving her relieved. She didn’t know if she wanted the diadem but she also didn’t think it was a good idea to refuse a gift from a goddess.

She put it aside, patting her belly with one hand—the baby felt like she was doing jumping-jacks in there—then, with trembling fingers, Heather lifted a cloth divider in the chest and revealed the lower compartment. It contained a red velvet bag, which Heather picked up. Below it was a wooden jewelry box. She opened the top and there were 12 lined compartments, and each compartment except the second held an arced gold circlet, smaller than the diadem, slightly bigger than a bracelet. Each circlet was etched with a repeating design. She looked closer, discovering that each design was a different plant. The first had a fern frond, the third, a flower, and the fourth, two cherries with connected stems. Confusion stirred inside Heather as she thought she almost knew what this meant. The next band designs were a lily pad and flower, a willow tree, an exotic-looking flower, a cattail, another tree, a bouquet of upright leaves and flowers, one more tree, and then another bouquet of hanging leaves and flowers.

Heather looked up at Graeme and didn’t know what to make of his expression. He’d leaned in close, studying the etchings on the bands. He stuck his finger in the empty second compartment, then pointed at the bag in her hand.

She opened it and found one more beautiful, arced circlet of gold, this one etched with countless tiny bell-shaped flowers, clustered at the end of leaf-covered stems.

So pretty, Heather said.

That one’s yers, Graeme said.

Heather turned it over in her hands then slid it up her hand like a bracelet but it went up to her elbow.

For me? Do you really think so?

Graeme slid the gold piece off her arm. He traced the engravings with his thumb, saying. This is Scottish heather, d’ ye see?

She nodded, enchanted with the beauty of it. Graeme unclasped it and it opened on a hinge. It’s an anklet. This curve sits on top of yer heel, and this one on top of yer foot.

Heather looked at her mate, sensing that he wasn’t telling her everything.

What aren’t you saying? she asked.

His expression tightened. He pulled another gold band out of its compartment and held it up. Anklets like these were battle attire for female dragen .

Heather looked over the row of compartments again, and it clicked for her. She pulled the anklet out of the first compartment, speaking out loud in a rush.

“A fern. Ella’s real name is Fern.”

Graeme also switched to speaking out loud. “Aye, and that flower is a dahlia flower, and those cherries are for Cerise.”

Heather pulled the rest of the anklets out of the compartments, looking each one over.

“Battle attire?”

He nodded, his face contemplative, speaking softly. He tapped on the golden band above her left arm, making a slight, metallic plinking sound. “The anklet is meant to be worn on the leg opposite of the arm the binding ring is on, to provide counterbalance in case yer mate falls in battle.”

Heather stared at him, horrified. “I don’t want it,” she said. She shoved it in the bag and tossed it on top of the diadem, but then she thought better of it. She took the anklet out of the bag and put it with the rest of the anklets, in the second compartment where it obviously belonged. She felt like throwing the whole bunch of them in the Atlantic Ocean on the way back to Serenity.

Graeme must have seen her intention on her face. He touched her arm and spoke soothingly. “Mayhap I was wrong to tell ye how it was used in the past. Rhen may intend nothing more than unique, valuable gifts.”

Heather nodded at him, then picked up the bag with the diadem in it, meaning to put it on top and then close the small chest and… and what? Maybe give it to Graeme for safe-keeping. Her horror at being given battle attire as a gift was already fading. The diadem called powerfully to her. Irritated, she shoved her hand into the bag and pulled it out, then placed it on her head. Power surged through her, and she wanted to use it. She snatched up the jewelry box with the 12 anklets in it and held it in one hand then, feeling like she could do no wrong, she placed her other hand on the small chest until it flared into flame and burned to nothing. She ran her hands over the ash to clean it, deliberately not looking at Graeme, even though she could tell he was staring at her. The chest was gone, and she didn’t know why she had destroyed it, but she kept moving. She crushed the jewelry box between her hands like an accordion.

Heather gasped and dropped it, then ripped the diadem off her head and flung it to the top of the large chest.

“I broke it!” she cried. “I melted them!”

Graeme shook his head and picked up what Heather had dropped. He placed it back in her hands, then cupped them with his.

“Nae broken,” he said, smiling reassuringly at her. “Only compressed for travel and fully recoverable.”

In their hands, the box opened back up and returned to full size, with the anklets fully intact inside.

Heather stared at them, then looked at her man. “And the chest? Is it…”

Graeme gave her a lopsided smile. “That, you destroyed. Nae bother. It was a very dragen thing to do. We destroy what we have no more use for.”

Contemplating that, Heather pressed her hands together again, not sure what she was doing or how she was doing it, but willing the jewelry box and anklets to ‘compress’ again. They did, into a neat little package about the size of her phone. She held it up, disbelieving, and Graeme smiled at her. She smiled back, then put the thing in her left cargo pocket and buttoned it closed.

She picked up the diadem and shoved it in the bag quickly, cinching it tightly closed, and holding it by the strings, ignoring its call.

“Right, then,” Graeme said.

He touched the large chest and the lock popped open. He lifted the lid and they both looked inside. Heather whistled in amazement. The thing was packed full, up to the very top with crates full of gold bars, and one more small, closed chest.

Graeme closed the lid. He motioned for Heather to stand back, then he transformed into a dragon. He wrapped his wings around the chest full of gold, and when he released it, the chest was small enough to carry. He transformed into his human self, looking strong and handsome, picked up the chest, and nodded to Heather.

“We’re done?” she said.

“Aye.”

Heather carried the lantern, and together, they headed up the stairs.