“They used to meet in the conservatory at Fellsmarch Castle, right over Hanalea’s bedchamber,” Lucius said. “Maybe it’s still there. There was a secret passage from her room to the garden.”

“The conservatory,” Han repeated. “And what did he give Hanalea?”

“It was a ring, moonstones and sapphires and pearls,” Lucius said. “Because he only ever saw her by moonlight, he said. Hanalea wore it the rest of her life.” He shuddered. “Imagine what it was like for him—trapped in that amulet while Hanalea grew old and died.”

Strange, Han thought. It wasn’t just that Lucius thought Crow’s story was possible—he seemed convinced already that it was true. Like he’d been waiting to hear it for a thousand years. Like it was inevitable.

“What are you going to do, boy?” Lucius asked, breaking into Han’s thoughts.

“Me and Dancer are going to Aediion tonight,” Han said. “I’m going to find out if he is who he says he is.”

“Look,” Dancer said. “Even if he is who he says he is, and even if Lucius is willing to vouch for him, how do we know we can trust him? A thousand years locked in an amulet can change a person. He may be planning to finish the job he started during the Breaking.”

“Boy—does he know who you are?” Lucius asked. “Does he know you’re his blood?”

“No,” Han said. “He doesn’t seem to know much that’s happened while he was—ah—locked up.” Han shrugged. “I didn’t know whether to tell him or not.”

“You should tell him,” Lucius said. “He deserves to know that his line didn’t die with him. That could make all the difference. He can help you. He’ll want to help you. Believe me, you want him on your side.”

The old man stood, grabbing up his bottle and cups. “Call Willo,” he said. “I’m ready to go home.” And he refused to say anything more.

C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y - O N E

BACK IN
AEDIION

After Lucius left, Han asked Willo’s healer apprentices to keep any other visitors away. He warned them that he and Dancer would be using dangerous, unstable magic, and laid magical barriers around the perimeter to prevent their being interrupted. Then he and Dancer sat down on adjacent sleeping benches in the corner of the room.

“You sure you want to do this?” Dancer said. “Lucius seemed to think that Alger Waterlow is capable of almost anything. He seems frightened of him, almost.”

“In a way, it supports his story,” Han said. “If we can believe Lucius, Alger was powerful enough to conceal himself in an amulet for a thousand years.”

“Why would anyone want to do that?” Dancer said.