Counterfeit III

Daphne's mouth ran dry. Jean Nott's words were in a language she understood, but when they were strung together they made little to no sense at all. The fate of the living world? As far as Daphne knew, the iron meteorites were meant to reverse Silas's dastardly fate. The rest of the world shouldn't hinge on Silas's survival. 

"What are you talking about?" Daphne demanded. "Explain yourself!"

"If you wish, my sweet chickpea, I will oblige," Jean said dotingly, and it sent shudders down Daphne's spine. Jean's terms of endearment were more horrifying than his outright threats. "What does an iron meteorite, a kelpie's eye, a griffin's wing, and your wedding ring have in common?" he asked in a sing-song voice. 

"If I knew, I wouldn't be sitting here waiting for you to explain, would I?" Daphne retorted acerbically.