I stayed curled in a protective ball until the worst of it was over, then carefully lifted my head and eyed Magoth.

His eyes were lit with a glow that left me terrified. ‘‘Where is the Lindorm Phylactery, May?’’

‘‘I don’t have it,’’ I said quickly, my gaze darting around the room for a possible escape.

Magoth eliminated that idea by simply grabbing my neck in one hand and lifting me a good two feet off the floor. ‘‘Where is the Lindorm Phylactery, servant?’’

‘‘I don’t know.’’

He shook me as effortlessly as if I were a dish towel. I clutched at his hand, trying to ease its grip enough to allow air into my lungs. ‘‘Where?’’

‘‘The L’au-delà has it!’’ I cried as wavering black blotches appeared before my eyes. ‘‘They took it from me. It’s in their vault.’’

He opened his hand, allowing me to plummet to the floor. I lay stunned for a few seconds, rubbing my neck as I dragged in huge, gasping breaths. Before I could do anything else, he jerked me onto my feet, his eyes boring twin holes into me as he spoke.

‘‘You will find the phylactery and bring it to me.’’

My voice came out as a croak. ‘‘You can’t possibly want it. It’s a dragon artifact—’’

‘‘You will find the phylactery and bring it to me,’’ he repeated, but this time, the power he put into the words stung my skin like a million little snakes.

‘‘Why?’’ I cried, ignoring the pain.

He released me, strolling back to the chaise, where he took up a reclining position. He didn’t answer for a few minutes, but finally he turned his head to me and gave me his usual sardonic smile. ‘‘I want it.’’

‘‘It has no power you can use,’’ I said, still massaging my neck. ‘‘It can have no value to you.’’

‘‘It does not have power over mere mortals, true . . . but it is the basis of all power to dragonkin.’’

I shook my head, retucking the blanket that was wrapped around me. ‘‘If that’s so, the item I saw wasn’t it. I would have been able to feel something with that much power in it, and I’m telling you that this lump of vaguely dragon-shaped gold did not have any sort of emanations other than age.’’

‘‘You are not a dragon.’’ His eyelids dropped halfway, shielding his gaze. ‘‘It has no power for you to feel because it is not connected to you as it is to them.’’

‘‘All right. Let’s say for the sake of brevity that the gold blob was the phylactery—not that it looks anything remotely like a vessel—’’