The pendant felt alive, not because of its movements but simply for its presence. Imogen wondered if she held it up to her ear, if it might whisper some dark secret.

“Well?” Niamh’s question interrupted her thoughts.

“I don’t know. It’s strange, touched by magic but none like yours.”

Niamh’s enigmatic laughter ended on a hiss of pain. She waved away Imogen’s solicitous hand. “Stop hovering. The pain will fade soon enough.” Once she caught her breath again, her voice trembled. “That is the map and the key to the gates of Tineroth.”

Imogen frowned, growing more certain Niamh’s suffering affected her mind. Tineroth and her sister city Mir were nothing more than fables, stories to entertain around the fire and moral lessons on the corruptive ruin of absolute power.

A flutter in her palm distracted her. The pendant writhed into a new mold, as if hearing the word “Tineroth” had awakened it from a half slumber. She almost leapt out of her chair when Niamh touched the pendant, and a silver metal tendril rose to wrap around her finger like a living vine.

“This is the key to your salvation, Imogen. And maybe, just maybe, my redemption.”

Imogen overcame the urge to drop the pendant and wipe her hand against her shift. “Mother,” she said evenly. “Where did you get this thing?”

“It was a gift of thanks. From a man to whom I once offered succor during a time of terrible suffering. He said if I ever needed him, to use this key. It would lead me to Tineroth. You must go there.” Niamh’s eyes clouded. “I’d hoped to take you there myself, but it’s too late now.” She rubbed the tendril of silver with her thumb before twirling her finger to release it. It rose in the air as if seeking her and finally coiled back to entwine with its stiller mates.

Whatever mage-born spell had animated the trinket, Imogen was sure it had not been one laid by a local witch. Its power was ancient, and it both drew and repelled her.

Had she not seen for herself the pendant’s strange movements, she might have thought Niamh’s statements regarding Tineroth nothing more than the mutterings of an ill, hallucinatory woman, but she couldn’t deny what her eyes saw and her gloved hand felt.

“The stories say Tineroth and Mir vanished thousands of years ago. You would have me travel to some place that no longer exists?”

Niamh coughed and winced, her once beautiful face haggard. “The pendant will lead you straight there. Those with the Blessed Eye have sometimes recounted sightings of Tineroth when the day is longest in summer and the shadows fall thin on the ground. The pendant will be your Eye.”

Imogen didn’t relish the thought of journeying into unknown lands alone looking for a fabled city. So far, Niamh had only made her swear to read her journal. She hoped she wouldn’t have to promise to set off on some fool’s journey. She offered more of the skullcap and wort tea