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Corin paused in his pacing and touched his chin. “In all honesty, Ezekiel, I’m stumped. I mean, I’ve encountered quite a few oddities in my long life, but a rusty sword that implants foreign memories in people’s minds is new. And that is what the vision felt like—a memory—like it was my own memory. At first, I truly thought I was simply recalling something that actually happened to me.”

“What language was Green Eyes speaking in your memory?”

“I don’t know.” Corin spoke the foreign words out loud, somehow knowing their meaning—This is your last chance, Beli. Submit—but unable to place the dialect or recall any other words or phrases from that language. “It wasn’t French, or Romanian, or Latin …” He thrummed his fingers on the handle of his cane. “The current owner mentioned the sword being Romano-British in origin, didn’t she?”

“She did, and if Green Eyes was an ancient Briton, perhaps he was speaking Welsh.” Ezekiel leaned against his desk. “My father was Welsh. I wonder what he would have made of all this.”

“I thought Blake was an English name.”

“It is. Blake was my mother’s family name. My father didn’t have a surname when they first met, because most Welshman back then used patronymics instead. My father was born Deiniol ap Rhys, or Daniel, son of Reece.” Ezekiel smiled. “If I had been born and raised in his home village, I would have been called Eseciel ap Deiniol.”

Corin moved closer to the spatha and regarded it with a pensive look. “You told me when we first met that you were born in the sixteenth century.”

“I did. What of it?”

“Based on how Green Eyes was dressed, he looked like he lived well before your time, which means the language he spoke in my vision was likely a much older form of Welsh than what your father spoke.” Corin closed the lid of the spatha’s protective case. “Normally, if I stumble across an object that does peculiar things like this, I steer clear. There’s no telling what other effects it might have on people.”

“I don’t think I’m in a position where I can just ‘steer clear.’ I agreed to help Ms. Ambrose appraise and sell this item.”

“Of course, I understand you’re professionally obligated, and while I’m leery of you loaning it to the museum for appraisal, I imagine it would raise questions from the owner if you suddenly refused to let anyone authenticate it.” Corin thought for a moment. “All right, here’s my advice. Go ahead and lend it to the museum for authentication, but once it’s returned to Bloodstone Antiquities and you’ve nailed down a price, buy this sword from Ms. Ambrose and store it somewhere secure until we determine its nature.”

Ezekiel pushed off his desk and picked up the case. “Will do.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t provide more insight into this matter.”

“Don’t say that. Your counsel has been most helpful. At the very least, it’s nice to know I’m not delusional.” Ezekiel opened the office door and ushered Corin out ahead of him.

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t think you were delusional in the first place.”

“Thanks for that. Why don’t you join the others in the meeting room while I take the spatha back to the storage area?”

They strolled down the hall and found the others already gathered in the conference room, enjoying the tea and pastries Ezekiel had provided. Corin paused when he noticed a newcomer in a business suit chatting with Prudence. He was a nice-looking fellow, around thirty years old, with a round angelic face, button nose, and light rosy skin.

Ezekiel started past the conference room to return the case to storage, but he halted when he, too, saw the new arrival. “Hugo,” he greeted, setting the case down by the door and sweeping into the room to draw the newcomer into a hug. “So good to see you. Keiko said you’d be stopping by.”

The cherubic fellow returned Ezekiel’s embrace and patted him on the back. “Good to see you too, Eddie. Prudence was just introducing me to your guests.”

“Yes, of course, introductions.” Ezekiel waved Corin closer. “Corin, meet Hugo Vollan. He’s the art and antique appraiser our dealership consults. Hugo, this is Corin Lacroix.”

Corin shook Hugo’s hand and was about to exchange pleasantries, but Honorato interrupted him. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the protective case Ezekiel had set down.

“Oh,” Ezekiel replied. “That.”

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