‘‘It is a vessel,’’ he interrupted. ‘‘It is part of the dragon heart, that which holds the essence of the first dragon. Your wyvern didn’t tell you that when he ordered you to steal it for him?’’ He shook his head in mock sorrow. ‘‘Regardless of what you think, it is of value to me.’’

My head was still reeling from the last few minutes, leaving me feeling particularly stupid. Now it made sense why Porter had wanted me to steal the amulet, but it didn’t explain why Kostya would keep something so precious in an unlocked chest. Nor did it explain why Magoth wanted a dragon relic when it held no power over mortals—over whom he was always trying to gain control—or over any other beings in the Otherworld. Other than the dragons, of course . . . The light dawned at last. ‘‘You’re going to use it against the dragons,’’ I said, horror mixing with bile in my gut.

The long, slow smile he gave me would have stripped a few decades off the lifetime of a mortal.

‘‘You can’t control them,’’ I said quickly, fear bitter on my tongue. ‘‘They’re dragons, Magoth. They do not bow to Abaddon. They never have.’’

‘‘Never before has a demon lord held the Lindorm Phylactery,’’ he said in a soft, sinister voice that left me sicker than ever. ‘‘With it, and with the other pieces of the dragon heart, the weyr will come to heel . . . and I will have the chance to establish a presence in the mortal world.’’

My legs gave out. I fell to my knees, sick to the very depths of my soul with what he was saying.

‘‘Bring me the phylactery, sweet May.’’

I shook my head, knowing full well he might strike out for such insubordination.

‘‘Bring me the phylactery, and you will be rewarded.’’

‘‘There is nothing, nothing you can give me that would make me betray the dragons in that manner.’’

His fingers tilted my head up, forcing me to look into his obsidian eyes. What I saw there scared me to the depths of my being. ‘‘Not even your freedom?’’

I looked at him, unable to speak.

His mouth curved in a wicked, knowing smile. ‘‘If you bring me the phylactery, I will grant you a temporary rescindment of your bondage for . . . shall we say a century?’’

A century. A hundred years of freedom from Magoth and his demands. A hundred years of happiness with Gabriel, untainted by the stain of Abaddon that clung to me. A lifetime of servitude for the dragons.

I couldn’t do it. There was nothing he could offer me that would induce me to betray Gabriel and his sept, of all the septs, in that way. ‘‘No,’’ I said softly, bracing myself for a blow.