“I can hold it later.” Dorrin fought her magery, that wanted to hold it now, fill it with wine now, drink from it now. “There’s more—we should get it all out, and somewhere safe.”

Paks set the goblet on the table. “Do you want me to take the things out?”

She did, but it was her own heritage. “I will,” Dorrin said. The box, when she touched it, sent the same thrill up her arm, but this time she did not flinch and the box did not change shape when she took it from the vault. It was heavier than it looked; she carried it to the table and set it down. She and Paks stared down at the designs on the upper surface.

“It reminds me of the designs in Luap’s Stronghold, in Kolobia,” Paks said after a long moment. “Not just beautiful, but powerful.”

“Yes,” Dorrin said. Her finger wanted to follow the lines, her thumb wanted to press there. She did not realize she had done so until the box opened, not like an ordinary box but like an intricately folded paper, flowerlike.

Glittering in the clear light Paks gave were jewels—sapphires and diamonds—fashioned into pieces Dorrin instantly recognized as someone’s crown jewels … a ring like a ducal ring, only larger, a pair of earrings, broad bracelets large enough for a man’s wrists, a pin such as might hold a cloak to a shoulder, a belt clasp as large as her hand.

Yours. The voice in her mind was clear as her own. At last. A tendril of light rose from the goblet, arced over, and touched a sapphire on the ring, big as a grape.

“I didn’t do that,” Paks said mildly. “Did you?”

“Not intentionally,” Dorrin said. “What—what have we found?”

“What have your family kept hidden is the better question. A coronation goblet, jewels like these, whatever else is in there—have they been thieves or—or what?”

“The stories—family stories—say we were once kings. I never believed them.”

“When, in Gird’s day?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to know, Paks. I wanted to get away and never come back.”

“The box opened to your touch. The urn changed—”

“In your hands, not mine.” But it would have, she knew. “If it is true—if these are crown jewels from Old Aare—that doesn’t mean Verrakaien are royal. We might be thieves only. That would explain hiding them, wouldn’t it?” Dorrin looked at Paks, then at the open vault. “I begin to think I was foolish to start this in darkness, without a troop of Marshals, Captains, and another paladin or two.”

Paks shook her head. “The gods sent me; they must think we can do it. Whatever it is.”

Dorrin touched her ruby for luck and reached into the vault once more. The bundle that had been hidden behind the box felt stiff to the touch like old dried leather. She shuddered at the thought that it was also human skin, but as she drew it out, it changed into a cloth embroidered in brilliant blue, gold, and silver, soft and unworn, wrapped around something heavy—she knew without unwrapping what it must be.