Snake Heart (Chains of Honor #2) -Lindsay Buroker Page 0,48

of the cabin would have sensed the trap being destroyed even if she had been too busy with the battle to sense him drawing upon his power.

His ability to destroy the device surprised him, since he hadn’t rationally known how to do it. Magic was supposed to be an intricate science, requiring analysis and study. Sure, some skills, like hurling fireballs, came easily for someone who had done so a thousand times, but there was still science involved. One wasn’t supposed to merely be able to think destructive thoughts and have things explode.

Something to ponder another time. Yanko raked his senses across the cabin, then stepped in, feeling he should lead the way in matters of magic.

“I don’t detect any more traps around the door,” Yanko said, his voice almost drowned out by another round of cannons firing. “I do sense several Made items in that corner.” He pointed, not surprised to find bags and chests from the cave stacked on the deck. They hadn’t yet been secured for sailing, but they looked to have been rifled through.

“That’s my chest of coins,” Lakeo blurted as soon as she stepped into the cabin.

She headed in that direction, but Dak grabbed her shoulder and kept her from getting close.

Lakeo scowled at him. “I wasn’t going to touch anything yet. I don’t have Turgonian urges.”

“No?” His eyebrow twitched. Maybe he had hunches about her heritage too.

“No,” she said firmly.

“This is her room, isn’t it?” Arayevo said, her voice almost reverent as she looked around at the furnishings and the walls, barely noticing the treasure.

Yanko did not care about the neatly made bunk, the sheepskin rug on the floor next to it, or the various weapons and artwork hanging on the walls. All of those items had probably been stolen in raids that had left ships adrift, with the crews stranded—or worse. He scoured the treasure pile, looking for a magical signature that might indicate the lodestone. Most of what he felt seemed to be trinkets, items not dissimilar to the charms Minark carried on his belt. They might be useful and even valuable, but he could tell as soon as he brushed them with his mind that they weren’t what he sought. There was a small wooden chest sitting atop the pile that had a more powerful magic about it. A wintry scene was carved into the top with plump birds perched upon branches.

Dak pointed at it. “That’s the box she was hand-carrying in her rowboat.”

“There is some magic about it,” Yanko said. Another trap?

The ship heaved again as a huge wave thrown by magic crashed into it. Yanko nearly stumbled into the treasure pile. He caught himself by gripping a ceiling beam, but winced, imagining falling on a trap and activating it. Nobody here would be able to help him if he was caught by magic the way Dak had been.

Voices sounded in the passageway. Arayevo had shut the door as soon as they all entered, but someone must have been sent to investigate the triggering of the trap.

“Company,” he said.

“On it.” Dak strode to the door, his short sword in hand.

Arayevo grabbed a wicked-looking scimitar off the wall, replacing her machete. Yanko almost chided her for touching things in a mage’s room, but he turned his attention to the chest instead. The men charging down the passageway did not burst straight into the cabin. They hesitated, probably afraid of Pey Lu’s door trap. Dak waited in a fighting stance, like a panther poised to spring.

The magic protecting the chest seemed old, rather than something his mother had recently laid upon it. It reminded him of the power of the soul construct, and he suspected the same mage had placed this trap. Nerves of anticipation danced in Yanko’s belly. This could mean that something valuable lay within, maybe the very artifact he sought. With the magic protecting the chest, he couldn’t see inside with his mind. Mentally, he prodded around the latch and hinges, trying to get a sense for the trap, to find a weakness and a way to remove it. Then he remembered how he had destroyed the door trap. With anger and pure power. Could that work again?

He imagined the trap being obliterated and tried to hurl a blast of energy at it. Atop the booty pile, the chest shivered and almost fell to the floor. The trap remained in place. Sighing, Yanko tried a more careful analysis. Maybe anger was required for him to destroy things without thought,