Page 33 of Horn of Winter

He answered on the second ring. “I take it the commemoration is over and you survived emotionally unscathed?”

I smiled. “Only because we didn’t talk, but that’s not what I called for—you home?”

“Will be in about an hour. Darby’s there though—she’s got the day off. Why?”

“I’ve a couple of things I need to ask you about, one of them being an old archeological dig.”

“Has the dig got a name?”

“I haven’t got the article discussing it on me right now, but I am on the way home.”

“Why don’t you come over for dinner, then? Darby usually cooks enough to feed an army, so one more at the table won’t make an impact.”

I smiled. Darby was currently working on the “the way to a man’s heart was via his stomach” theory with added spice in the bedroom... and wherever else they happened to be. “Just make sure you let her know. I’d hate to spoil things if she has something special planned.”

“I doubt she has, but I’ll send her a text.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you in an hour or so.”

As I hung up, the Uber arrived. I jumped in the back and, as the driver took off, pulled the velvet box from my purse. I didn’t immediately open it, mainly because I was more than a little scared of what I might find. Which was ridiculous, really, but still...

I ran my finger lightly over the crest, then, after a steadying breath, pressed the small button on the side of the box. The lid sprang open, and a soft gasp escaped me. Sitting in a bed of blacksilk was a smooth stone bracelet the color of midnight and alive with tiny stars that shone like jewels. I hesitated, then carefully ran a finger across its surface. The stone was warm against my skin, and the stars pulsed as if in recognition of my touch. The urge to slide it over my wrist was so strong I’d lifted the bracelet from the silk before caution reasserted itself. There was magic in this thing. I was certain of that, even if my knives weren’t reacting and no awareness prickled my senses. Cynwrig’s note had implied the bracelet would somehow facilitate us meeting in a nonphysical manner, either telepathically or even on what some called the dreaming field, but until I knew for certain what accepting this gift meant, I really shouldn’t. At the very least, I owed it to myself and to Eljin to understand what it fully entailed before making any decision.

I placed the bracelet back in its bed of silk, snapped the lid closed, then returned it to my purse. While I had no true idea what a Bruadar bracelet might be, surely Darby would. And if she didn’t, then she’d probably be able to point me in the direction of someone who did.

It was just after five by the time I arrived back at the tavern, which was not a busy hour for us—in the off-peak seasons, that tended to be after six and generally consisted of locals enjoying the quieter times—so after checking in with Ingrid again, I bounded up the stairs and quickly changed into more sensible, warmer clothes—jeans, ankle boots, and a thick wooly sweater. After dragging the two pieces of paper out of the front pocket of the jeans I’d discarded last night, I made myself a cuppa, then sat down and read the newspaper article.

It was a story about an archeological site in Portugal and the unusual number of accidents that had occurred during the dig, which had eventually led to the site being closed and subsequent rumors that the area was cursed. There was a somewhat grainy picture of the dig team standing in the middle of what lookedto be an Iron Age hill fort, but there were no names listed. It shouldn’t be all that hard for Lugh to track down who’d been involved given museums—or at the very least, all the fae museums—generally kept track of what the “competition” was doing.

I squinted at the picture for several seconds, trying to spot a familiar face without success, then dragged out my phone, took a photo, and did a reverse image search. Google came up with similar images, most of them from foreign reports, and none of them providing any additional information. Hopefully, Lugh might be able to shed some light on the matter, because right now, I was confused as to why Treasa thought this might be of interest. And, in fact, why she’d hesitated about giving it to me.

I picked up the other bit of paper and studied the drawing of the necklace for several seconds. It really was a glorious piece, but I wasn’t sure why Treasa expected me—or even Mom—to succeed where her family had not. Especially when, as I’d already said, I was not my mother.

I finished my tea, then, with a quick glance at the phone to check the time, grabbed my knives from my purse then walked down to the far end of the room. After pressing the button to release the loft ladder, I waited for it to unfold, then scooted up.

After Gran had handed over the tavern’s reins and moved out, Mom had converted this area into a chill-out zone where she and I could escape the noise of the lower floors and read our books or listen to music in peace. Lugh had found a place of his own by then, but even if he had still been living here, he wouldn’t have been able to use the area. Not without some serious modifications to both the hatchandthe loft, and given the council still griped about Gran raising the roof height eons ago, they weren’t likely to grant us permission to lift it any further.

Though night was setting in, enough light filtered in through the three skylights to see. Down the far end of the long room, two bookcases stood on either side of a wood fire, their dusty shelves lined with a mix of old leatherbound classics, Mom’s romances, and the various trinkets and statuettes she’d picked up over the decades. Some of those had been destroyed in the break-in that had ultimately led to Vincentia’s death, but I’d cleaned all that up, along with her blood, which had stained the floorboards and briefly added a note of sadness to their song. Mom’s chair—which, like most of the furniture up here, was secondhand but gloriously comfortable—remained where it had always been, complete with the badly crocheted rug I’d made to warm her knees covering the back of her chair, and her to-be-read pile neatly stacked on the nearby coffee table. I didn’t intend to change that area anytime soon, if only because it somehow made me feel closer to her. Yes, there were still too many memories up here for me to linger too long, but on the other hand, the peace and contentment she’d always found up here also remained, and that was ultimately comforting.

I blinked back the threat of tears, placed the knives and the drawing on the small table beside the cushion-adorned sofa, then walked toward the wood heater. Gran had created a small storage pocket in the back of the mesh to hold her smaller valuables, but I’d needed somewhere larger to not only store the codex, but also the Eye and my knives when I wasn’t wearing them. Cynwrig had reworked the entire flue and its surrounding mesh for me, ensuring the hidden compartment remained unseen and inaccessible unless you knew where the catch was.

I hooked a finger into the small hole that served as a handle, opened the door, and reached down for the codex. As my fingers brushed its glassy surface, energy stirred, a sharp electricity that echoed deep within the stone sitting between my breasts.

The triune was eager to be used.

I drew out the codex and closed the door. When I’d first found this book, it had been nothing more than a worn and very plain-looking leatherbound notebook, but the blood ceremony that had bound me to all three items had changed that, turning the old leather a glassy black. The light that rolled across its surface at my touch echoed the light found deep in the heart of the Eye and the knives, but it held none of their dangerous electricity. Which was something of an illusion, given all godly items had a cost and stepping into the library’s godly realm was no different. If you lingered too long there, you could die, as its price for usage was strength.

I walked back to the old sofa, reorganized a couple of cushions to make myself more comfortable, then grabbed the knives and sat down. Once I’d unclipped the Eye from my neck, I placed it and the knives on top of the codex then pressed a hand against all three, ensuring they all touched, and said, “What can you tell me about Geitha’s Tears?”

Light erupted from the triune, surrounding me in a dizzying whirlpool that swept me up and then swept me away. But it wasn’t a physical departure so much as a mental—or perhaps even spiritual—one. I could still feel the cushions pressed against my spine, could still hear the building’s gentle song, though the latter was decidedly muffled against the sheer wall of noise being generated by the colorful maelstrom I now arrowed through.

I came to a halt in a bright, open space filled with a multitude of different shapes. Long and tall, thin, or thick, some round, but most square or rectangular. Not shelves. Books.

Books that hovered in orderly rows in the nothingness of this place and glowed with an unearthly energy.

It is such a pleasure to see you again so soon, young Aodhán. What do you wish to know about Geitha’s Tears?

The voice was neither male nor female and exuded not only wisdom and knowledge, but also a little more warmth than on previous occasions—though that could undoubtedly change in the blink of an eye. Gods—and the beings who bore no flesh and who served as their gatekeepers—had a long history of smiting first and asking questions later, so it paid to be cautious.

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