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His eyes were lit with a glow that left me terrified. ‘‘Where is the Lindorm Phylactery, May?’’

‘‘I don’t have it,’’ I said quickly, my gaze darting around the room for a possible escape.

Magoth eliminated that idea by simply grabbing my neck in one hand and lifting me a good two feet off the floor. ‘‘Where is the Lindorm Phylactery, servant?’’

‘‘I don’t know.’’

He shook me as effortlessly as if I were a dish towel. I clutched at his hand, trying to ease its grip enough to allow air into my lungs. ‘‘Where?’’

‘‘The L’au-delà has it!’’ I cried as wavering black blotches appeared before my eyes. ‘‘They took it from me. It’s in their vault.’’

He opened his hand, allowing me to plummet to the floor. I lay stunned for a few seconds, rubbing my neck as I dragged in huge, gasping breaths. Before I could do anything else, he jerked me onto my feet, his eyes boring twin holes into me as he spoke.

‘‘You will find the phylactery and bring it to me.’’

My voice came out as a croak. ‘‘You can’t possibly want it. It’s a dragon artifact—’’

‘‘You will find the phylactery and bring it to me,’’ he repeated, but this time, the power he put into the words stung my skin like a million little snakes.

‘‘Why?’’ I cried, ignoring the pain.

He released me, strolling back to the chaise, where he took up a reclining position. He didn’t answer for a few minutes, but finally he turned his head to me and gave me his usual sardonic smile. ‘‘I want it.’’

‘‘It has no power you can use,’’ I said, still massaging my neck. ‘‘It can have no value to you.’’

‘‘It does not have power over mere mortals, true . . . but it is the basis of all power to dragonkin.’’

I shook my head, retucking the blanket that was wrapped around me. ‘‘If that’s so, the item I saw wasn’t it. I would have been able to feel something with that much power in it, and I’m telling you that this lump of vaguely dragon-shaped gold did not have any sort of emanations other than age.’’

‘‘You are not a dragon.’’ His eyelids dropped halfway, shielding his gaze. ‘‘It has no power for you to feel because it is not connected to you as it is to them.’’

‘‘All right. Let’s say for the sake of brevity that the gold blob was the phylactery—not that it looks anything remotely like a vessel—’’

‘‘It is a vessel,’’ he interrupted. ‘‘It is part of the dragon heart, that which holds the essence of the first dragon. Your wyvern didn’t tell you that when he ordered you to steal it for him?’’ He shook his head in mock sorrow. ‘‘Regardless of what you think, it is of value to me.’’

My head was still reeling from the last few minutes, leaving me feeling particularly stupid. Now it made sense why Porter had wanted me to steal the amulet, but it didn’t explain why Kostya would keep something so precious in an unlocked chest. Nor did it explain why Magoth wanted a dragon relic when it held no power over mortals—over whom he was always trying to gain control—or over any other beings in the Otherworld. Other than the dragons, of course . . . The light dawned at last. ‘‘You’re going to use it against the dragons,’’ I said, horror mixing with bile in my gut.

The long, slow smile he gave me would have stripped a few decades off the lifetime of a mortal.

‘‘You can’t control them,’’ I said quickly, fear bitter on my tongue. ‘‘They’re dragons, Magoth. They do not bow to Abaddon. They never have.’’

‘‘Never before has a demon lord held the Lindorm Phylactery,’’ he said in a soft, sinister voice that left me sicker than ever. ‘‘With it, and with the other pieces of the dragon heart, the weyr will come to heel . . . and I will have the chance to establish a presence in the mortal world.’’

My legs gave out. I fell to my knees, sick to the very depths of my soul with what he was saying.

‘‘Bring me the phylactery, sweet May.’’

I shook my head, knowing full well he might strike out for such insubordination.

‘‘Bring me the phylactery, and you will be rewarded.’’

‘‘There is nothing, nothing you can give me that would make me betray the dragons