CHAPTER THREE

Tyr

Stopping at the faded brick alleyway between the art gallery and some pseudo-New Age shop full of pointless crystals and sticks of herbs, I breathe in deep and center myself.

This is it. This should be the place.

So, why isn't the gateway here?

Frowning, I walk along the cobblestones and into a small courtyard. It's quiet, nothing but the gurgling of a fountain fills the air. Even the sounds of the city are muted here.

"Damn it," I hiss.

Apparently, you can't trust the word of someone you met in an underground werewolf bar. The entrance to Dyad Marketplace should be here, right past the—

Something glimmers in the bricks on the other side of the fountain. Something bright and shiny.

Striding across the courtyard, I approach the bit of metal stuck in the wall. A grin breaks across my face.

"Perfect." Placing my fingers on the thin strip of metal—something that would appear completely innocuous and meaningless to any basic person walking by—I speak the incantation. "Aperta obidier."

The ground beneath my feet rumbles, and a huge, stone door takes shape from the bricks. As I stare, transfixed, the door slowly slides open, revealing a large, stone room. A staircase spirals down into the darkness, and I take a deep breath.

This is it.

I descend the stairs, my footfalls echoing in the darkness. A few turns later, I'm standing in a grand room, its ceiling twinkling with starlight, a huge golden door at its center.

This is it. This is the Dyad Marketplace.

I approach the door, and it slowly opens with a creak. A huge room—no, more like an underground arena—stretches out before me. It's filled with merchants and shoppers, a bustling center of activity. I take a deep breath and step inside.

The smell of exotic spices and perfumes fills the air, and a cacophony of noises assaults my ears. Everywhere I look, there are strange creatures and objects.

Tall, hulking figures move between the stalls and shops. Some are dressed in robes and cloaks; others wear fearsome metal masks. They're all hairy, with sharp, gnarled teeth, claws for nails, and yellow eyes.

In the middle of the room is a large tree, its branches and roots curving up and out into small, wooden homes, shops, and offices. Strange creatures move about the tree, some even walking on its branches. Their scaly bodies, huge claws, and long tails are made of stone. They move along the branches and walk on them, climbing from one shop to another, their tails swinging behind them.

My eyes are drawn to a small booth manned by a gaunt man with a long, gray beard. I approach, and he looks up at me with a wry smile.

"Ah, a new customer. What can I do for you?" His gaze lingers on the scar running up the side of my neck, but I don't mind. It's clearly from a knife, and it makes people think twice before engaging with me.

"I'm looking for someone who's an expert in ancient artifacts," I tell him.

He nods, his eyes twinkling. "Ancient artifacts? Like what?"

Already, my patience is wearing thin. "The kind that are of historical value. Can you help me or not?"

He pulls out a small card and hands it to me. "This is the address. Go there and you'll find what you seek."

I take the card, my heart pounding. Finally, it seems like I'm getting somewhere. "Thank you," I say, slipping the card into my pocket.

"My pleasure," he says. "But be careful. You never know who you might encounter in the Dyad Marketplace."

I snort. "I'll be quite fine, thank you very much."

Clearly, he has no clue who I am. No clue just how far I've already come in life. If I didn't know how to handle myself, I would have been crushed years ago.

But here I am, so close to the top. So close to having what was already meant to be mine.

I study the print on the card. Station Nine. 323.

That's it. No name. No title. It's better than nothing, though—more information than I had a minute ago.

Tucking the card into my pocket, I set off through the vast underground. Station numbers appear on boards along the high, dirt walls, though a "station" appears to be nothing more than another compartment in this immense underground network.

I keep walking, determined to find what I'm looking for.

Finally, I round a corner and see a small door. 323.

Station Nine.

My heart races. This must be it.

Lifting a fist, I knock. There's no response.

I knock again, louder this time.

"Enter," a feeble voice calls.

I open the door and step inside. The room is dark, and a single candle flickers in the corner. Sitting at small table is a small, slender man with a long, white beard.

In the opposite corner is a bed draped with a dark green blanket. The floor is smooth and made of stone, the walls made of dirt and rock.

The candle's flickering flame casts wavering shadows around the room. The light creates a sense of unease, as if the shadows are alive and moving around me like a predator stalking its prey.

The man coughs, playing with a half-eaten apple and taking a bite, then wipes his mouth with his hand and places it on the table. "Can I help you?"

I pull the card from my pocket and hold it up for him to see. "I heard you're the person to talk to about ancient artifacts."

He looks up at me, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "What are you looking for?"

I hesitate, knowing I can't trust him—I can't trust anyone—but I need his knowledge in order to take the next step. "The Golden Coin. Have you heard of it?"

The man's eyes grow wide. "Yes, I've heard of it. It's said to be a powerful artifact with the ability to grant wishes. But it's also said to be highly dangerous, and many have sought it out only to meet a grim end." He shakes his head sadly. "Be careful if you pursue it. Make sure you know what you're getting into."

My jaw sets tight. "I'm well aware of what I'm getting into."

He stares at me for a long moment, and I return the gaze. If he's trying to intimidate me, it won't work.

"Do you know where it might be?" I ask. "I can pay you well for any information."

I pull my wallet from my pocket, showing him how thick it is. He seems unaffected, though. Hands laced on his lap, he only continues to gaze at me.

"Well?" I growl.

I don't have all day, and unless the old man starts talking soon, things are about to take an unpleasant turn for him.

The man blinks up at me. "And what do you intend on doing with the Golden Coin, should you find it?"

Slowly, I bend forward, place my hands on the table, and stare him down. "Whatever I intend to. That's none of your business."

There's chatter behind my shoulder, and I realize the door is open a crack. Going to it, I nudge it closed and then lock it. "Well? I'll be getting the information from you one way or another. You might as well make it painless on yourself."

His face pales. Good. I've gotten my message across.

People like to act tough, but once they get the message that my bite is just as bad as my bark, they straighten up real quick. The few people who have insisted on still antagonizing me have lived to regret it.

Well, that's if they lived at all.

The old man's throat rolls with a swallow. "It's at Hawthorn."

My laugh echoes in the room. "The school? Bull."

"The headmaster there has been keeping it safe in the wishing well."

I snort and straighten up. "I already know for a fact that the Silver Hunters are there now, looking for it—"

"And then I'm sorry, young man, to report that they probably found it."

I fold my arms. "They didn't find anything. They might think the coin there is the real deal, but I already know it's a decoy. You can fool them, but you can't fool me. Where is it for real?"

The old man's eyes dart side to side, but he knows he's trapped. No one is coming to save him.

"Listen," I take a seat in a chair along the wall and rest my boots on a barrel, "you're not protecting anyone. One way or another, I'll find out where it is. If you—"

"No one knows where it is, including myself."

My eyes narrow, and I casually flip open my coat, showing him the knife there. I didn't come down here for violence, but I'm capable of doing what I need to when it comes down to it.

"It's true," he hastily says. "There are thirty-eight hundred possible locations. Many people have searched for it, and none have found it."

"Thirty-eight hundred?" I feel my upper lip curl. "And do you know what they are?"

"I don't." His jaw tightens. "I swear."

I chew that over. Someone has to know.

Hawthorn's headmaster, maybe? Why else would he, or whomever is protecting the coin, work so hard to create a decoy? They would only do such a thing if they knew someone was close to finding the real coin.

Fire crackles along my skin. Are they on to me?

I stand. "I'd tell you thank you, but you haven't exactly been helpful."

He glares at me. "You do know what you're getting into, right? A relic with that amount of power could change the world. It could destroy the order of everything."

I grin. "Why do you think I'm looking for it?" I open the door, then pause. "Oh, and don't tell anyone else about this. I'll know if you do."

With that, I let myself out and stride back into the marketplace. I haven't found the exact information that I came here for, but I'm on the right path. I feel it in my bones.

The future is mine. I just have to be patient.