Page 27 of Horn of Winter

He gave me a stiff, somewhat perfunctory nod. “Bethany, it is a pleasure to see you again, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

A comment that made me wonder what he would consider ideal. A dark alley where a body could be disposed of easily,perhaps? Which was a totally inappropriate and unwarranted thought, but still...

I replied politely, then touched Sgott’s arm. “I’m going to get a refill. Would you like something?”

“No, I’m right thanks, lass.”

I glanced at Ruadhán and raised my glass in silent question. He shook his head and, as I left, began talking shop with Sgott. There were a number of white-clad waiters circulating around the room with drink trays and nibbles, but I made a beeline for the bar, wanting to avoid being in the same airspace as Ruadhán for as long as possible. Which was something of a new development. Granted, I’d never liked the man, but I’d always been able to at least tolerate him, if only for Mathi’s sake. Was the fact I no longerhadto a contributing factor to the increasing intensity of my dislike? Possibly.

A tall pale woman with short bright yellow hair took my order and empty glass, then filled another and slid it across to me. As she did so, a small bell chimed, and silence instantly descended.

I swung around, the drink forgotten behind me. At the far end of the room, on a small stage sitting in front of white curtains on which the Lùtair family crest—a hammer and anvil—was emblazoned, three people appeared. The first was a man I didn’t know, but likely the long-term business partner Sgott had mentioned. The second was Treasa, looking stunning in a white pantsuit, her long dark hair curled on the top of her head like a crown. The third...

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart ached.

Cynwrig.

Looking divine in a white suit that emphasized his wide shoulders and classic V-shaped torso that tapered down to legs that were long and perfectly muscled. His chiseled features, so achingly familiar, were set into hardness, and though I couldn’tsee his eyes from this far back, I knew his gaze was withdrawn and unseeing. Knew, because that indefinable connection between us flared briefly to life, a wash of awareness and heat that only made the ache in my heart that much fiercer.

The unknown man stepped forward to the single mic standing at the front of the stage, and without preamble, began speaking about Gethen Lùtair, listing his contributions to Deva and the arts, the differences he’d made to the lives of so many within the business world. When he finished, there was a small spattering of applause before silence fell again. Treasa stepped up. Her speech was more personal, a remembrance of family life, and while there were no images shown, she crafted them with her words, leaving no one in the room any doubt that their father had been an active part of their lives, and a man who had loved and been loved.

Then it was Cynwrig’s turn. He spoke more to the official side and his father’s life of duty as king, his deep, velvety tones clear and concise, showing little of the emotion I could feel bubbling underneath that calm, beautiful exterior. He finished with assurances that he and his sister would follow in their father’s footsteps, strengthening existing connections and contracts while enacting their father’s plans for new operational ties going forward. Then he bowed lightly and stepped back.

But as he did so, his gaze rose and, with unerring accuracy, hit mine.

The world stilled and faded away. There were who knew how many too-rapid beats of my heart where nothing and nobody existed but me and this man. The emotions that swirled between us were thick, strong, and all-encompassing, filled with desire and need even if nothing showed in the smokey silver depths of his eyes.

I was suddenly glad we weren’t close, that I was tucked at the back, well away from any sort of scrutiny, because I rather suspected my gaze would reveal all the things his did not.

Then the first man stepped up to the microphone again, blocking our line of sight and severing the connection, enabling me to breathe again. I turned, picked up my water, and gulped it down. It didn’t ease the tumbling in my stomach or the deeper down ache. The waitress behind the bar refilled my glass without being asked, and I picked it up, holding it with a too-tense grip as I turned around again.

The speeches had ended, and the stage was empty. I scanned the room but couldn’t see either Cynwrig or his sister. I made my way back to Sgott, spotting Mathi closer to the stage, talking to his father and a tall, statuesque woman with glorious golden hair, a somewhat pert nose, and large breasts. Or at least, large when it came to Ljósálfar elves. I didn’t go over. As much as I would have liked to talk to Mathi about what I’d discovered this afternoon, I wasn't up to confronting Ruadhán again, for however brief a period that might be. Besides, I could hardly talk about the hoard, given Ruadhán was not privy to council information in that regard. Even Mathi couldn’t talk to his father about it—all councilors had undertaken a blood oath not to talk to anyone outside the limited circle who were already aware of it.

Sgottdidknow, because no one had forced a blood oath on me, and it was far too late to do so now, given I’d already blabbed to everyone I trusted.

I found Sgott talking to the tall, elderly elf who’d been the convenor at the meeting this morning.

“Bethany,” Sgott said. “I take it you haven’t been formally introduced to Dhruv Eadevane?”

“Formally, no, though we have met.” I inclined my head. “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Eadevane.”

“I wagerthatis something of a lie,” he said, in a soft echo of the statement I’d made earlier. “Tell me, how did your meeting with Liadon go?”

“It was... interesting.”

“Interesting is such a non-informative word.”

I smiled. “I requested any and all information she might have on the horn. She replied that it would take some time to go through all the records. That was about it, really.”

“And you weren’t... startled by her appearance?”

“Well, it’s not every day you come across a demigod, but I’ve certainly confronted worse over the last couple of weeks.” I hesitated. “Tell me, is a Nagi also what guards the scrolls that were kept near the hoard? Because if that were the case, I’m surprised the thieves were able to steal anything.”

“They were in the company of a bibliothecary, remember, so that likely explains it. As to the other part of your question…” He paused, expression contemplative. “I have not personally seen the scroll guardian—there would be few alive today who have—but I cannot remember her being described as a Nagi.”

“Which doesn’t mean it isn’t some other kind of demigod.”

“No.” He eyed me speculatively for a second. “This line of questioning is troublesome, given you were expressly forbidden to seek out those scrolls.”

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