Rook had been in the business long enough to expect hyperbole and spot out-right lies. What he was far less accustomed to dealing with was the truth, and that made everything Marek showed him that much more impressive.
“I tried to tell you,” the man said, gesturing towards the storeroom now packed full of open crates containing everything from sculptures to jewelry, “but I guess I can’t blame you for being skeptical. This is the real deal.”
“So it would seem,” Rook commented idly. Rynne had already given him the confirming nod that most of this stuff was indeed genuine, at least as far as she could tell at a glance. Actual Septurian artifacts…outside of temple vaults or wealthy independent collectors, they were almost unheard of.
“You’re welcome to buy whatever else you want, but this is what you came for,” Marek said, leading them over to an open stone coffin. “This is what a lot of people in Haven would kill to see.”
Rook looked down into the coffin, and the knot that had been slowly forming in his stomach twisted like he’d just been stabbed.
Van peered over his shoulder. “You found her in that?”
“Sealed shut,” Marek confirmed.
Rook glanced to Rynne; her face had gone completely white—which meant she had come to the same conclusion he had. Namely, that this was bad. Very, very bad.
The woman inside was tall and statuesque with long red-blonde hair, and she was wrapped in a sari-style dress and halter combination he had only seen in paintings. An intricate pattern of tattoos decorated her bare stomach from beneath her belly up to the folds of cloth covering her breasts, and a striking emerald crystal pierced her navel. It was shaped like a small leaf—the holy symbol of Edeh.
“She’s not breathing,” Van pointed out. “How do you know she’s alive?”
Marek leaned down and placed a hand against the woman’s face. “She’s still warm. There’s some type of magic keeping her asleep. That’s about all I could get from my people—none of them are actual magi.”
Rynne leaned down over the coffin. “Shakissa’s mercy...”
“I’ve heard the Vakari don’t believe in the Kirshal,” Marek said. “I think this just might prove you wrong.”
“There are other explanations,” Rook whispered.
“Really? So I take it I should offer this to someone else?”
Rook bit his lip. “I’ll buy it all.”
The scavenger smiled. “I thought you might. Now, let’s talk price…”
“Fifty thousand,” Rook said. “And your word that you leave the city and don’t tell anyone else about this.”
Marek raised an eyebrow. “Fifty? I think you can do better than—”
“More than fifty and my people take it from you—right before they drive you out of town,” Rook warned. “It’s the best offer you’re going to get. I suggest you take it.”
Marek could have protested. Many men would have in his position, even if they didn’t have the resources to defend their prize. He certainly couldn’t ask the city guard for help—the moment anyone outside this room got wind of this, he would lose it all. And of course, if Prince Kastrius ever found out he had sold all these relics…
“Fifty it is,” Marek said. “And don’t worry: I don’t think any of us plans on sticking around much longer.”
“Start packing it up. I’ll have my people come over shortly.”
Marek nodded. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Rook.”
He stepped away to give his people orders, and Rook knelt down next to Rynne. “You recognize the markings?”
“Of course I do,” she whispered. “She’s real. It’s all real.”
Van grunted. “You can’t know that for certain.”
“No, but it’s all there,” Rook said gravely. “The coffin, the tattoos, the dress, the—”
“The legend,” Rynne breathed, shaking her head. “The Kirshal, the Restoration, Septuria…”
Van sighed. “So you’re telling me this woman has been stuffed in a coffin for a thousand years and somehow survived? I’m sorry, but that’s a load of drek.”
Rynne glanced up to him. “Of course she survived. She’s carrying the soul of a goddess!”
Van wrinkled his nose. “You don’t believe that, do you, Nate?”