The iron corners of the heavy chest thumped against the wool carpet, sending a puff of dust into the lantern light.
Sera wiped a streak of soot from her cheek with the back of her forearm. She stood over the chest, her chest rising and falling from the exertion of carrying sixty pounds of reinforced stone through the tunnels.
“Varga kept this in the secret alcove behind his weapon racks,” Sera said, her voice tight. “The lock is cold-iron.”
Kaelen didn’t move from his mountain of pillows. He took another sip of warm barley tea, watching her through half-lidded eyes.
If someone wants me to get out of bed to inspect ancient heirlooms, Kaelen thought, they should bring something that doesn’t require a crowbar.
“The tea is still hot,” Kaelen pointed out. “Can the burglary wait until tomorrow afternoon?”
Sera didn’t answer with words. She grabbed an iron pry-bar from her belt, wedged the chisel end beneath the heavy lid, and threw her entire weight onto the lever.
With her Iron Bone Mid strength, the leverage was monstrous.
