Niamh refused. “I’m heartily sick of drinking that swill. Let me finish.” Her thin fingers worried a pulled threat on one of her blankets. “Tineroth is still ruled by its king—Cededa, son of Hamarath the Younger.”

The pendant suddenly unfurled from its many knots, and Imogen gasped, nearly spilling the tea when metal ribbons rose to stand at attention in her palm. They began to sway, silver serpents dancing to the unheard tune of a snake charmer. Just as quickly they collapsed and melded for a third time into a new shape.

A tired chuckle escaped Niamh’s mouth. “You see? Even now, the trinket recognizes the name of its master.”

Imogen’s upper lip curled, and she lifted the pendant gingerly by its silver chain. Her hand twitched, an involuntary cupping as if to recapture its treasure. She shuddered and dropped the trinket unceremoniously in the box. It struck the bottom with a thump, and both women heard a soft but clear hiss of protest before Imogen slammed the box closed.

“I can’t concentrate when that thing is constantly jumping up and down in my hand like a trapped spider.” She wiped imaginary dust off her gloves and resumed her seat. “You were saying?”

Niamh’s affectionate smile reminded Imogen of better days. “You were always a squeamish one when it came to insects and worms.”

“It’s the crawly little legs I don’t like. I always have the urge to scratch, like now.” She smoothed the blankets over Niamh’s thin legs and was relieved to see the small blood spots had not spread. “Continue with your tale.”

“It’s no tale, girl, but the truth. Tineroth is real as is her king. His people once called him Cededa the Fair, then Cededa the Butcher, and then they called him no more. Only the carvings on Tineroth’s gates remember him and not by name. He drank the Waters and became the Undying King.”

Chills spread across Imogen’s body despite the room’s stifling heat. She knew the story of the Undying King, an emperor desperate to retain his throne and his power who drank the Waters of Eternal Life. That which should have been a blessing had become a curse.

His true name had been lost in the passage of time and the births and deaths of generations. The idea that a man so old still lived and lingered in an ancient city seen only by ensorcelled eyes raised goose flesh on her arms. That Niamh knew his true name and wanted to send her daughter to him made her shiver.

“He is a great warrior, but most importantly, a great mage,” Niamh continued, ignoring her daughter’s growing unease. She reached for Imogen who clasped her hand. “He can break your curse, Imogen. I know it!” The fervor in her voice was reflected in the glitter of her eyes. “When I am gone, you must find Tineroth and Cededa. Tell him you’ve come to call in a debt owed. The Waters have cursed him with long life and blessed him with great power. He can do for you what I never could, no matter how hard I tried.”