“I want to understand it,” she replied.

Mamuka set down his knife. He reached into a leather pouch at his belt and pulled out a small, unremarkable object: the rusted iron circlet. Up close, Nino saw that it was not a king’s regalia. It was too small, too crude. But on its inner surface, barely visible, were scratches. Not random marks — letters. Ancient Asomtavruli script.