Once he was inside, he struck a light and began pulling phials from the rack and placing them in his pack. Some would probably break, but there was no help for that. When he had as many as he could carry, he opened the casket under the table and threw handfuls of jewels in with the phials. Well provisioned now, he pulled the loose stone from the wall and took out the iron box containing his mother’s precious bone necklace and the phial containing the Cavish brat’s ring. The box was too heavy to risk with the bottles, so he tossed it aside and hung the necklace around his neck. As he did so, his fingers brushed the silver chain there, the one on which he’d strung Elani’s brooch and ring. That, and the cool caress of the old bones against his neck, stirred the ever-present hunger from a spark to a flame in an instant. Taking one of the newly completed noble potions from the rack without pausing to check the label—what did it matter now?—he spoke the words over it, and inscribed the final symbol with the copper stylus from the tool box. Hands trembling, he opened and downed it, groaning as the golden euphoria hit. This was a strong elixir, and he felt instantly restored and invigorated.

Invincible.

He pocketed the stylus and was reaching for another completed phial, or thought he was. Instead he found himself holding Elani’s jewels in his hand. Hunger flared to compulsion.

It would only take a moment. It would be his parting shot at Lord Seregil, or at least one, he thought, running a finger over the phial containing the small silver ring.

He pulled an empty phial from the rack, then opened the box of jeweler’s tools and pried one of the emeralds from the brooch. His mouth was already watering as he dropped the stone into the phial and reached for the waterskin hanging from the corner of the table. As he was about to open it, however, he heard the creak of a floorboard upstairs, then another, slow and stealthy and too light to be Brader. He listened for a moment, senses attenuated by the elixir; there was only one person moving around up there, but they were heading for the hidden door.

Cursing under his breath, he pocketed the loose emerald and Illia’s phial, hung the chain around his neck again under his tunic, and picked up his pack. Where was Brader when he needed him?

He left the workroom and hurried across the cellar to the wide staircase leading up to the prop hatch, hoping to outflank his adversary. With the front doors chained shut, there was only one way out.