We arrived in Jedburgh with the setting sun, and despite my misgivings, I was glad to be on the ground again. Jedburgh was a charming, provincial town with half-timbered buildings, roads paved with perfectly cut square blocks of stone, and charming bridges that arced over the small river. It was smaller and quainter than Zuar City, but that also meant fresher air and cleaner streets, which I was grateful for.

“After taking your concerns into consideration,” Salcombe said as the crew unloaded our luggage, “I have decided we shall pose as a Warosian couple, rather than Elantian. I suggest you speak as little as possible and let me do the talking, since your knowledge of both Warosian and Zallabarian are passable at best.”

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I sneered as he reached into one of his pockets. I'd actually improved my Zallabarian quite a bit, but I saw no reason to tell Salcombe. But I quickly forgot all about that when he pulled out a jade-handled fan.

“Hey!” I protested as he snapped the fan open. He waved it once, and when he lowered it, he’d transformed himself. His graying hair was jet black now, his skin swarthy with a stubbled jaw, and his eyes a deep blue. “That’s the fan Rajek tried to steal from me.”

“Indeed, it is.” Salcombe smiled, showing off his new dimples. He looked like a Warosian man in his early forties, and the sight of Salcombe wearing the face of a handsome man was surprisingly disconcerting. “I wanted it, so I had a middleman purchase it from your shop. I’m surprised you didn’t decide to keep it for yourself—it’s a useful item.”

“Only if you make a habit of being two-faced,” I sniped.

I half-expected Salcombe to insist I use the fan to disguise myself as well, but he didn't. I wondered if he worried that I would use it to make myself deliberately ugly—with the mood I was in right now, I was tempted to do it.

We finally disembarked from the airship and took a cab straight to the best hotel in town. Salcombe spoke to the front desk attendant in perfect Zallabarian, and we were immediately given a two-room suite that had been reserved in advance.

“You’ll find more suitable clothing waiting for you,” Salcombe said before he disappeared into his room. “Change into something more befitting your role and be back in the salon at six o’clock sharp. We will be dining with my contact in the private dining room downstairs.”

“Fine.” I entered my bedroom and slammed the door shut on the guard waiting outside. Salcombe was taking no chances—he’d assigned two guards to follow me around at all times. They would sleep in the salon area of the suite, ready to escort me at a moment’s notice.

Wanting some fresh air, I threw open the double doors on the far side of my bedroom and stepped onto the veranda. Flowering vines wrapped their way around the white balcony, lending a heady perfume to the evening air that soothed me, despite the frustration and despair eating at the corners of my mind.

Part of me was tempted to climb up onto the roof and run until my head was clear, until I was far, far away from Salcombe and his henchmen. But dinner was in less than an hour, and I had to be presentable. Besides, there was no point in running so long as Salcombe had the ability to track me. I needed to find a way to steal those locks of hair back from him. He undoubtedly had some stashed away in whatever hidey-hole he'd crawled into, but if I could take away the ones he had with him, I could evade him long enough to seek help and get to safety. Lessie's life was the only leverage he had, and if I wasn't within striking range of his men, he couldn't force me to do his bidding.

Back inside, I opened the closet to find several boxes of clothes waiting for me. There was an outfit similar to what I usually wore—a corset, leather pants, and boots—but the others held dresses and accessories. I grimaced at the soft pastels—unlike the gown Tavarian had once made me wear, these didn't even have pockets. How did Salcombe expect me to go hunting for treasure wearing these getups?

In the end, I decided to don the robin’s egg blue one, which was a close enough match to the color of my eyes, and the least ridiculous. I pinned my curls to the top of my head with some gold hairpins I found in one of the smaller boxes, then slapped some color into my cheeks and headed out.

Salcombe waited for me in the salon, and he gave me a critical once-over. “You’ll do,” he said briskly, offering his arm. I took it reluctantly, and grimaced as I detected a hint of cologne on him. It was a sharp scent, and not one I was used to—Salcombe didn’t wear perfume. But then again, he didn’t wear sharp suits either, like the one he had on now. I guessed this was all just part of the façade he wanted to present to the man we were having dinner with.

When we got downstairs to the private dining room, a middle-aged man with silver-blond hair already waited. He wore a crisp three-piece black suit with a dark purple tie, and a thick walrus mustache that made him look stern and distinguished.

“Good evening, Mr. Trentiano,” the man said in Zallabarian. “Is this your lovely wife?”

“It is,” Salcombe said, giving the man a warm smile. Salcombe could turn on the charm when he wanted to, and the handsome façade he’d chosen for himself would only help. “Zara, this is Mr. Dieter Siegler, the property agent I spoke to you about. Mr. Siegler, my wife, Zara.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said demurely.

“And you,” Siegler said. “She is quite the beauty,” he added to Salcombe. “You have done quite well for yourself.”

“Indeed,” Salcombe said with a laugh. “I am quite lucky.” He squeezed my waist, a bit harder than necessary, intended as a warning.

I did my best to hide my annoyance as we were seated—I wasn't used to being talked about like a prized horse, especially not by Salcombe. While it was true that I was mostly a commodity for him, he had, for the most part, still treated me like a human being. As a child, one of the reasons I had liked him so much was because he'd treated me like an adult—someone with a working mind and skills that could be honed, rather than suppressed and scolded as the women at the orphanage had done. He had encouraged me to spread my wings and learn to fly.

Unfortunately, that encouragement had ended when I’d chosen to fly in a different direction than he’d wanted. And now he wanted to cage me, just like everyone else in my life had done. The reminder brought with it a sharp stab of betrayal, and I blinked back sudden tears.

How was it that things had gone so wrong between us? What would life have been like if Salcombe had been a bit more tolerant, and I a bit more flexible? Could we have had a real familial relationship? Would Salcombe still have gone to the dark side, seeking help from a god whose sole purpose was to bring death and destruction to our world?

Maybe, I thought, but if things had gone differently, you might never have met Lessie. And bringing Lessie into my life was something I could never regret, regardless of the circumstances.

Clearing my mind, I did my best to listen to Salcombe and Siegler's conversation. My Zallabarian wasn't perfect, so I couldn't quite understand everything they were saying, but I managed to get the gist as Siegler told us a bit about the properties Salcombe was interested in touring. I gathered from Siegler's tone of voice and the look in his eye that he was a bit suspicious of us as foreigners, but Salcombe affected the attitude of foolish but wealthy man who was willing to spend almost any sum on a property, "so long as my wife fancies it," he said, giving me a fond pat on my arm.

Oh, if only it were really up to me.

Convinced that there was an excellent chance that he would make a sizable profit, Siegler agreed to arrange a tour for us. Tomorrow, we would visit a country house with a garden and several large fields, and three townhouses in various nearby cities.

Two days, I thought as I ate. The food in my belly, which had been empty for close to forty-eight hours, was rapidly improving my mood, and I started to feel a bit more optimistic. Perhaps I could figure out a way to lengthen the time we spent here and give Lessie more time to catch up to us. I had no doubt she would risk the dangerous updrafts at the top of the cliffs to get to me, and I hoped she was strong enough to make it over the top safely. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if anything happened to her on my account.

Sure enough, when I woke up the next morning, Lessie’s presence was a bit stronger. Could it be that she made it over the cliffs? I tried to reach out to her, but she was still too far away to communicate with. I sincerely hoped I wasn’t just imagining things.

I donned the same blue dress from the day before, and after a light breakfast, Salcombe and I set out in a carriage with Mr. Siegler. Two of the guards accompanied us as well, and while they wore more respectable clothing that hid their weapons, they still emanated an air of menace. Salcombe explained to Siegler that they were his bodyguards, and I briefly wondered how the man would react if I told him they were here to make sure I didn’t escape.

He’d probably laugh it off as a joke, I thought morosely.

We started off with the townhouses first, the first two of which were a bust. There were plenty of valuables, but nothing even remotely approaching the value of a piece of heart. The third one, however, was far more interesting—as we passed through a parlor room on the second floor, I immediately sensed something valuable in the wall, and even though the distinct chime it gave off was nowhere near the powerful GONG I associated with the pieces of heart, I still itched to investigate it.

Salcombe immediately noticed the change in my mood. “Would you mind giving us a moment?” he asked Mr. Siegler. “I’d like to discuss something with my wife.”

“Of course,” Siegler said courteously. He withdrew to the lower floor, leaving us alone in the parlor room.

“Tell me what you’ve found,” Salcombe said sharply.

“It’s not the piece of heart,” I said. “It’s not valuable enough. But I sense something behind here”—I pointed to a nearby bookshelf—“and I have a feeling there’s something magical about it.”

Briefly, I called up an image of the object in my mind. It was an ancient wooden box with steel locks, and though I couldn’t actually see inside it, I sensed there were some spelled items within. I wondered if there was anything useful that I could use to escape Salcombe and his guards, if only I could get my hands on the items before they did.

Salcombe’s face lit up, but before he could say more, a quavering voice cut him off. “Excuse me,” the elderly lady who resided here said as she entered the room. “But will you be done touring the house? I have guests coming over soon.”

“Mrs. Towins,” Mr. Siegler said sternly as he bustled back in, “the property owner assured us that we would be free to tour the place from ten thirty until—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Salcombe cut in, giving the tenant a genial wave of his hand. “We’re just finished anyway.” Out of the corner of his mouth, he added to me, “We will come back later to retrieve this object. If it is magical, it could prove helpful in our quest.” I could tell from the zealous glint that he hoped it actually was the heart, even though I’d told him otherwise.

We finished touring the townhouse, then visited the country house next. This was the place Salcombe had been certain the mage family had last resided, and he drew out this last tour as long as possible so I could scour every inch of the grounds, growing more and more frustrated when I turned up nothing.

"You'd better not be lying to me," he growled at one point when he'd taken me aside, his fingers digging into my upper arm. I'd had to hide my wince at his bruising grip—I kept forgetting how strong he was. How was he managing to keep up his strength like this if he didn't actually have the piece of heart with him? Was it some kind of spell? Or was possessing it enough to produce an effect on him?

By the time we finished, Salcombe was in a black mood.

Mr. Siegler said, “If you like, I’m sure I can find other properties for you to tour tomorrow—”

“No need,” Salcombe said abruptly. “We have seen all we need to see. My wife and I will discuss, and let you know in a day or two which property we’ve decided on.”

We returned to the hotel and immediately retired to the suite. “Rest for a bit,” Salcombe ordered me, “and change into your normal clothes. We leave in an hour.”

I didn’t bother to ask where we were going—I already knew Salcombe wanted to head back to that townhouse. He ordered one of his guards to go out and fetch supplies, and he returned with hammers, pickaxes, and lanterns. Luckily, the townhouse was in the same city as our hotel, so it only took us thirty minutes to get there on foot.

“How are you planning to get around the old woman who lives here?” I whispered as we stood in the narrow alleyway on the south side of the building. “Are you just going to knock on her door and hope she’s okay with you breaking down her wall?”

“Of course not,” Salcombe said. He unhooked a small pouch from his belt and handed it off to me. “You’re going to go up to the roof and drop this down the chimney.”

I snatched the pouch from Salcombe’s spindly hand and opened it. Inside was a black powder, and one whiff of the heady scent made my head swim. “Sleeping powder?” I asked, yanking the drawstring shut.

Salcombe raised an eyebrow. “It’s either that or kill her. Which would you prefer?”

"You're despicable." Shaking my head, I hooked the pouch onto my own belt, then made for the nearest window ledge and hoisted myself up. My skin crawled as I climbed up the side of the building, and I hesitated for the merest instant as I passed by the tenant’s window. I could see the outline of her slight form as she slumbered in her bed, utterly oblivious to the fact that her home was about to be vandalized.

But it was better that she wake up to a giant hole in the wall than not wake up at all. So I gritted my teeth and climbed the rest of the way onto the roof. It wasn’t hard to find the chimney flue, and after untying the pouch from my belt, I fished out a book of matches from my pocket.

Lessie could have lit this with a tiny snort, I thought as I lit the match and dropped it inside the pouch. The bag immediately began to smoke, and I quickly dropped it down the flue before I inhaled any of it and accidentally knocked myself out. My heart ached fiercely with longing at the thought of Lessie. I wished she were here now, so I could jump off this roof and onto her back, and the two of us could swoop down together and smite Salcombe where he stood. Feeling for the bond, I thought she seemed a bit closer, but it was hard to tell.

“I did it,” I muttered to Salcombe once I reached the ground. “Now what?”

“Now we wait.”

We loitered outside for a good thirty minutes, waiting for the smoke to clear enough for us to enter the house safely. Even so, when we finally approached the door, one of Salcombe’s goons handed out damp muslin cloths, and we tied them over our noses and mouths to block out any residual soot still in the air.

As we climbed up to the second floor, where I’d sensed the object the first time, my nerves began to ease, replaced by the familiar thrill I always felt when I was on the hunt for treasure. I could hear the object’s call as clear as a bell in my head, and knowing it wasn’t a piece of the dragon god’s heart made me eager to find out just what it was, despite my misgivings about this whole thing.

“Zara.” Salcombe’s voice pulled me back to the present. He indicated the wall with his bony forefinger. “Where should he strike?”

I looked at the goon standing by the wall, holding a pickax in his meaty hands, and sent a silent apology up to the resident for what we were about to do. “Here,” I said, indicating a spot in the middle of the wall. “The box is just below this spot, so be careful.”

The man swung the pickax, and the wall crunched as it caved in. Bits of dust and plaster clouded the air, and I was thankful for the cloth covering my face that shielded me from the worst of it. Waving our hands to dispel the debris, we waited until the cloud cleared before we approached.

“Looks like some kind of chest,” Trolbos grunted. He took the pickax in his other hand and used it to widen the hole, then reached in and pulled out a wooden chest. It was the size of a small dog and secured with steel locks. Trolbos set it on a table, and Salcombe eagerly fished his lock picks out of his pocket.

"Let's see what's in here," he murmured, his eyes gleaming. But his delight quickly soured—the moment he tried to insert the lock pick into the keyhole, the hole disappeared. He pulled the pick back, and the hole reappeared, then disappeared again when he tried to insert it once more.

“Blast it,” he growled after the third try. “There is some kind of spell on the chest. We’ll need to take it back to the hotel so I can work on this properly.”

We packed up and headed back to the inn, where Salcombe immediately set to work on breaking the box open. Sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace, he set the box on the low table in front of him and called for one of his henchmen to bring a leather satchel that turned out to contain several magical items and ingredients. While Salcombe wasn’t a mage, he often bought temporarily spelled items from mages that could be used in situations like these, to break open a resistant chest or vault, amongst other things.

Settling on the couch across from him, I decided not to tell Salcombe I already knew what was in the box. Closing my eyes, I called up my mental image of the contents—a red leather-bound book, some jewelry, and a few trinkets. The magic on the box prevented me from seeing exactly what the trinkets were or what jewels were inside, but it didn’t matter—my treasure sense told me that the book was by far the most valuable object inside.

"Aha!" Salcombe cried as the lock opened. It landed on the table with a heavy thud, and I sat up to peer into the box as he flipped the lid open. His eyes flickered with disappointment that there was no dragon heart inside, but open curiosity quickly replaced the look as he removed the leather book.

“This is written in ancient Zallabarian,” he said, flipping through the pages. “A kind of diary.”

“Hmm.” I made a noncommittal sound in the back of my throat, trying to seem disinterested, and picked up the dagger instead. If Salcombe thought I was interested in the book, he would immediately start to scour every inch of it, and I was hoping he wouldn’t look at it too closely. “This looks like one of those athames.”

Salcombe looked up from the book and nodded. “Used in ritual ceremonies.” He took the jeweled blade and studied it for a moment, then handed it back to me. “You could probably fetch a pretty price for it in your shop.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You really think that after all this is over, I’m just going to go back to my shop and pick up where I left off?”

“Of course not,” Salcombe said with a snort. “I was merely making conversation.”

I rolled my eyes at him before examining the rest of the items—a small, magical mirror that showed only swirling colors on its silvered surface, a matching set of ruby and gold jewelry, and a purse full of old gold coins that would also fetch a nice price from the right collector. Salcombe gave these cursory glances, but to my dismay, he was far more interested in the book than anything else. He settled back into his chair and started to pore over it, hoping it would contain clues as to where to locate the other pieces of heart.

Sighing, I settled back on the couch again and stretched my legs across the cushions. A servant came in with glasses of warm, honeyed milk, and I took the one she offered me. Salcombe wasn’t going to let me get my hands on that book until he was good and finished with it, so I took a deep drink and let the warm, sweet liquid flow down my throat. A drowsy feeling immediately swept over me, and I set it down on the side table, closing my eyes for a few minutes. Salcombe could wake me if he needed anything. After the day I’d had, I deserved a bit of shut-eye.