Capture the Crown (Gargoyle Queen #1) -Jennifer Estep Page 0,13

that had just sunk its teeth deep into my arm. Her guilt and fear also punched into my stomach as hard as a gladiator gutting a hated rival in an arena.

I could understand Penelope’s fear. No one wanted to die down here. But why would she feel so guilty about Clarissa’s death? Especially when she had just said it was an accident?

Penelope shivered again. Before I could question her further, one of the other miners called out to her, and she went over to him.

I stayed behind, though, staring down into the black abyss and wondering what other murderous secrets the mountain contained.

Chapter Three

Penelope finished her conversation with the other miner, and we grabbed some pickaxes and headed over to the back of the chamber.

Thick seams of tearstone ran from the top of the rock wall all the way down to the bottom, and the miners would be working in here for months to pry out every last shard. The larger, more common light gray chunks would probably be shaped into swords, daggers, and shields, while the smaller, rarer midnight-blue pieces would most likely be used to add sparkle, flash, and beauty glamours to rings, necklaces, and bracelets.

I dug my axe into the surrounding rock, then chipped away at it so that I could get to the embedded tearstone. A few minutes later, I pried a dark blue, fist-size chunk out of the wall.

This wasn’t the first time I had dug tearstone. Even pampered princesses were required to learn about their kingdom’s industries, and a good portion of my royal education had focused on mining, since it was such a large part of Andvarian life, as well as how my ancestors had made their fortunes. Plus, I had served as Alvis’s informal apprentice for years. The metalstone master had taught me everything he knew about shaping precious metals and gems into beautiful jewelry, just as he had taught Everleigh Blair before me.

“Gemma?” Penelope asked. “Are you okay? Why did you stop working?”

“Sorry. I was just admiring the stone.”

Penelope eyed me like I’d grown a second head, so I dropped the tearstone into the bucket at my feet and went back to work.

Rock by rock, bit by bit, piece by piece, Penelope and I chipped, chiseled, and cracked chunks of tearstone out of the cavern wall and placed them in the buckets. The other miners did the same. Every hour on the hour, the mine steward would stroll by and mark our progress on his clipboard. Two men trailed along behind the steward, grabbing the full buckets and setting out empty ones.

While we worked, I studied the other miners, who were a mix of ages, shapes, sizes, and abilities. Several were mutts, a common, if somewhat derogatory, term for those with relatively simple, straightforward powers, like enhanced speed or strength. Like the man who was chipping tearstone out of the wall twice as fast as anyone else. Or the woman who was hauling around boulder-size rocks as though they were as light as loaves of bread.

Some of the other miners were masters, those who could control a specific object or element. Like the metalstone master who was moving his hand back and forth, using his magic instead of a tool to dig into the wall.

There were also a few morphs, those who could shape-shift into larger, stronger creatures. Like Reiko, the woman standing next to me.

Reiko was a couple inches shorter than me, and much more slender, with high cheekbones, emerald-green eyes, golden skin, and long black hair pulled back into a fishtail braid. Unlike the other miners, Reiko wasn’t wearing gloves, and a dragon face with emerald-green scales and black eyes adorned her right hand, indicating the creature she could shift into.

Reiko didn’t so much as glance in my direction, but the tattoo-like dragon on her hand must have sensed my curious stare because it winked at me. Reiko had partially shifted and was using the long black talons that had sprouted on her fingertips to pry pieces of tearstone out of the wall.

I was the only magier in the chamber, though. Having someone who could conjure fire, lightning, or some other raw power was extremely risky in a mine, since you never knew when you might hit a pocket of gas that the smallest spark—magical or otherwise—could ignite.

As the morning wore on, the miners shared the latest gossip to break up the monotony of filling bucket after bucket. I listened to everything they said and used my magic to