Page 50 of A Kiss of Flame

She turned to face him more directly. He knew something, and it was apparent he was withholding. Merlin looked back at her as if he was trying to determine if she were smart enough to figure it out on her own. It was infuriating. It was more infuriating that she’d been thinking about it for months and had yet to deduce a clear purpose, even though her bones told her it was troubling.

“You know more about the Dökk than anyone—what could someone do with them?”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “That could be a compliment or a slight, but I’ll choose the former,” he drawled. With a sigh, he walked over to a table stacked with more papers and books to pour himself a glass of water. “What I said was true,” he pointed out. “A collector would consider any of those items quite prized, so they would likely lock them in a vault. It’s rare for any Folk to be daring enough to attempt to awaken an enchanted Dökk piece, let alone know how.” Merlin shifted back to his chair and sat, setting his glass on a stack of books, picking up his volume once more.

Levian’s ears burned when he looked up at her, clearly not planning to elaborate more. “So there’s no connection to the pieces?” she pressed him. “No spell you are aware they could be used for?”

Merlin lifted his brows. “I don’t recall saying that,” he replied flatly. “Not all Dökk artifacts are quite as dark and deadly as they’ve been made out to be, as you know. It’s a strange mix ofthings, but if I were to guess, I’d say someone might be hoping to find Celaria.”

Levian huffed. “What are you talking about? Celaria was destroyed during The Fall.”

Merlin wove his fingers in his lap and tsked at her. “Is that what all the books have told you? The books written by the Fae who overthrew the Dökk and ‘saved us all from the evils of the Abyss and Shadow’?” he asked condescendingly.

Levian glared at him, and he peered up at her. Clearly, he felt as though it was something she should’ve sorted out for herself a long time ago. “How could it be found?” she snapped, pushing past her insecurities.

He gave that little shrug. “It was destroyed, that is certain,” he replied. “But not even the fae could wipe it from existence. It was blighted and cursed in the eyes of the Folk, so no one would dare claim the lands. So the fae did all they could think to do.”

It hit her like a smack to the head. “They hid it,” she grumbled, furious that it had taken this long for her to sort it out.

Merlin smirked. “Where no one in Sylthëa or the mortal world could ever find it.”

Her stomach churned at the thought, and she looked at her father uneasily. “Did you?”

Merlin opened his book. “Stay away from the Eldreth,” he said again, ignoring her question. “And I would tell you to confide in Council about thisCollectorof yours, but we both know I would be wasting my breath.”

“And yet you did,” Levian sneered, turning to leave once more.

“Vane,” he growled loudly as she reached for the door. Levian stopped, turning her head only. His eyes remained on his book. “Lucian Everard Vane,” he elaborated.

“Is that name to mean something to me?” she clipped.

“A bone ring forged from a dryad’s spine,” he continued, his voice low. “Made when the fae kingdoms were at war over lands in Sylthëa. It has unique powers if you know how to use them.”

Levian swallowed back bile. Nothing forged in such a horrible way could ever be used for anything good. She focused on keeping her voice steady. “This is what was stolen from the Eldreth?” she questioned.

“Vane has the ring,” was all he replied.

She was shocked by his sudden admission. She wasn’t sure what had prompted him to give the name so freely—Merlin wasn’t driven by guilt or empathy—but she wasn’t compelled to ask either. Levian had never heard the name before but committed it to memory. She reached into her jacket, snatched the purple journal, and plopped it on a nearby stack of other books.

“For your troubles,” she snarked bitterly, ready to get out as fast as possible.

“Anar’thal aël, líthiel vulan,” Merlin said in the fae as she reached for the door.Until we meet again, little fox.“And don’t underestimate Vane,” he added, audibly flipping a page of his book.

She stilled, an uncontrollable shudder rippling up her back. It’s what he’d called her as a girl—his little fox. Tears threatened, and she smashed them deep down, along with the overwhelming sadness that came with them.

Levain stepped back into the gaping black abyss, slamming the door to Merlin’s cell behind her, and let out a stuttered breath of rage that fogged before her. She stood alone, the little orb of light hovering nearby. She pressed her hand to her chest and cursed. She loathed Merlin, that he could still have this effect on her after all this time and all he’d done. If Barith was here, he would have snarled curses and threatened to pummel her father into the dirt.

She missed him. She would miss the dragon likely for the whole of her life, but there was no point in indulging in something that would only end badly, even if she was tempted.

Chapter Fifteen

Levian had missed the thrill of crashing a party. She took a glass of champagne from a passing server, carefully sipping it as she moved through the crowded room. It was packed with Folk, mostly witches, all here to celebrate the recent reelection of Minister Bromley, the overseer of northern England’s witch covens. Levian cared little for witch politics, but the party granted her a convenient opportunity to stake out the host’s home.

Lucian Everard Vane was not quite what Levian had expected. Since locating him in Manchester, she’d spent days creating a dossier of sorts. Vane was quite normal for all intents and purposes, arguably too normal—a successful man of trade with a reputation for being arrogant but nowhere near sinister. The only odd thing about him was that he was half fae and half witch—a not particularly common blend given that the fae had a general propensity to dislike witches.

Levian sipped her champagne and glanced about the room. Vane’s large Manchester estate was decorated in a chaotic mix of different eras, cultures, and color palettes, with no sense of cohesiveness. Still, Levian had to admit that the creature’s collection was impressive. She moved to a glass case in thecenter of one of the many gallery rooms and peered at the ornate ceremonial daggers of some old human tribe within. Every room was stuffed with showpieces meant to impress the casual observer, but none seemed overtly magickal from what she’d deduced. Not that Levian had expected Vane to put his best treasures on display for any guest to see.

She’d not had much time to devise her plan, but when presented with such a lucky opportunity, she’d had little choice but to pounce.

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