The Dragon’s Treasure

The lock on the Ashen Crown’s case had not been broken. Neither had the glass, the gilded hinges, or the fine red thread sealed into the door with Lord Leontes Vaur’s signet.

Lady Ottilie Bellacour showed Sabine Orlet each of these things before she showed her the crown.

“The guards found no disturbance,” she said. “The gallery was closed at the usual hour. At this morning’s inspection, everything was as you see it.”

Sabine bent to examine the seal. The wax held a wing curved around a mountain peak. No whitening at the edges, no fracture where someone might have warmed and lifted it. Below the case, four clawed feet rested on a black marble plinth. Dust lay in a narrow, unbroken line where the plinth met the floor.

“And yet you sent for an appraiser.”

Ottilie’s expression remained courteous. She was a handsome woman in a dark green gown whose only ornament was a chain of small gold keys. Even that appeared to serve a purpose.

“We sent for you.”

A distinction, apparently. Sabine straightened.

The public gallery of the Gilded Aerie occupied a long room overlooking the valley of Veyr. Morning sunlight passed through windows tall enough to admit giants and fell across cases of treaty silver, enamelled weapons, and vessels fashioned from stones Sabine had previously encountered only in illustrated inventories. Gold leaf climbed the ribs of the ceiling. Between the windows, dragons carved in pale marble watched over the treasures with expressions of hereditary dissatisfaction.

It was a room designed to make a visitor feel fortunate to have been admitted.

Sabine set her worn leather case on the nearest empty table.

Ottilie’s eyes moved to it, then to Sabine’s charcoal wool dress and sensible boots. If she found either wanting, she kept the discovery to herself.

“Your journey was comfortable, I hope.”

“Your carriage has better springs than my bed.”

“I’ll see that your rooms do not disappoint you.”

“First the crown, please.”