The Lapidary of Delhi

The imperial vault smells of cold iron and crushed lotus. Before you, the Peacock Throne's missing eye—a pear-shaped ruby the size of a sparrow's heart—glimmers under the flickering wick of your lantern. Its deep, arterial crimson pulses with a light that seems to feed on the shadows crawling toward the doorway. You have spent your life honing the facets of royal gems, but this piece possesses a weight that drags at your spirit, anchoring you to this subterranean tomb while the sounds of steel striking steel ring out from the streets of Delhi above. Outside, the heavy, rhythmic thud of armored boots announces the arrival of Prince Aurangzeb's men. They have come to silence the rumors of your thefts, their blades sharpened for the throat of any man caught with the Emperor's hoard. The secret decree from Shah Jahan, intended to ignite a loyalist fire, lies crumpled and ignored beneath your heavy leather boots, a worthless scrap of parchment compared to the burning stone in your palm. Your breath hitches as the heavy iron bolt on the vault door begins to slide. A sliver of cold, outside air cuts through the thick, metallic heat of the chamber. You could abandon the ruby and vanish th…