Even when he did hit the ceiling, the dirt didn’t stay in his hair. Instead it showered off him, granting him the reverence he deserved—the reverence Rags couldn’t seem to muster, though he knew he should. The only reason he was staring was because there was a living, breathing, definitely dangerous, beautifully deadly fae in front of him.
Probably Rags should have been flat on his face in front of the fae begging for mercy. But the pounding of his heart and the dawning suspicion that there might not be a treasure—or worse, that Shining Talon was the treasure, not an incredible but otherwise unrevolutionary stash of gold and jewels, and Rags was so, so fucked—made anything beyond panic impossible to summon.
This was how he’d felt when Morien the Last had first appeared, only ten times worse. He’d discovered a secret that should have stayed buried. Stolen knowledge he couldn’t put back into the earth, that was now his burden to carry.
Was he sure Shining Talon couldn’t go back into the earth?
New plan. There was no way Morien and Lord Faolan were going to let an unreliable like Rags live. Going out into the world to blab about a living fae among them.
No, the treasure had to be something else. Something less world-changing. Otherwise, Rags was going to die. He was a loose end who’d served his usefulness.
Daring as ravens, Rags reminded himself. The slug that was his heart oozed down into his stomach and sank deeper as he looked back at the fae.
“You speak of the Great Paragon?” Shining Talon asked. Rags’s throat constricted. Shock, then disbelief. Beneath that, wild hope. “The Great Paragon may be considered a treasure.”
“Great treasure.” Rags laughed hoarsely. “Yes. A great treasure would be . . . great.”
Shining Talon’s smile made the X tattoos dance. “A great treasure. It is here.”
Relief making him dizzy, Rags waited.
So did Shining Talon.
Rags waited a few moments more, but Shining Talon wasn’t blinking, had his eyes fixed on Rags with such intensity that something needed to be done to stop him. “Here where, exactly?”
“Here.” Shining Talon touched the wall at his side with veneration. “In this earth and on this earth. A weapon to be found piece by piece by those who are worthy, led by one who is worthiest.” Another blank, impenetrable, yet somehow expectant look. Silver pools of eyes unblinking and fixed on Rags.
Like Shining Talon thought . . .
Like he thought—
“Ha ha ha,” Rags said. “You can’t think . . .” You can’t think any of that applies to me. He squeezed his eyes shut tight—forget that. “What’s this Weapon, exactly?”
“You . . . do not know of the Weapon?” Rags shook his head. “Built as a gift of alliance, given by the fae to humans, only to have them turn it against us?” Again, Rags shook his head. “So that we were forced, in our final days, to scatter it throughout this world, so it could not be used for cruelty again?”
Rags shrugged. Shining Talon gave him a sharp look.
“But you are holding a piece of it in your hand.”
Rags looked down at the lump of—rock? He’d been sure it was metal ore a second ago, but in the dim lighting of the tunnel, he couldn’t be sure. The only rocks and metals he knew were ones that’d already been set and stamped by a jeweler.
“This is a rock.” Rags held it up in reply.
Shining Talon shook his head. “It is but the first piece of a greater whole, my lord Rags.”
Rags shrugged helplessly. “Sounds crazy to me, but—”
Pain in his chest, faint but warning, and Morien appeared at Shining Talon’s back. It should’ve been impossible. Rags hadn’t called him.
Or was Morien able to force his way into any room, so long as Rags opened the door first? Was that the only invitation Morien required?
No time to wonder about that. Shining Talon’s face darkened when he saw who stood behind him, and Rags’s fingers hurt, and suddenly his back did, too, since he’d been thrown to the ground.
Shining Talon’s golden face twisted in a feral snarl. He stood as shield between Rags and the sorcerer. Furious heat rolled in waves off his skin, like the way Cheapside tar streets reflected the burning punishment of a cloudless sun.
He’d thrown Rags away from danger.
“Lying One,” Shining Talon said, the first hint of emotion registering in his voice. Dark as a storm. Darker than Rags had the scope to describe. Fae dark,