Page 8 of Horn of Winter

“I don’t know, but there was an odd sort of desperation emanating from the other shooter. There was also a spellcaster in his vicinity, though I had no real sense of him or her.”

“Where’s your shooter?”

I motioned toward the trees. “It sounded like he fell down the embankment and then, rather than being caught, blew his own brains out.”

“Which implies they were ordered to avoid capture at any cost.” His expression was grim. “And that sort of compliance is generally only brought about by some sort of leverage or pixie magic.”

Said magic was a so-called blessing given to pixie women by an ancient goddess who had given us the so-called six gifts of womanhood—beauty, a gentle voice, sweet words, wisdom, needlework, and chastity. The women in my line somehow managed to avoid most of those—thank the gods—but we did have a variation on the gentle voice and sweet words theme andcould either calm people down or control them with voice and touch. It worked on humans, shifters, and most fae, but not elves. Maybe if ithad, I wouldn’t have wasted so many years with Mathi.

Though, in truth, it probably wouldn’t have mattered, because our split was the result of him breaking his promise totellme if he took other lovers rather than the fact he actuallyhadother lovers. Honesty was the key, not monogamy.

“It would certainly explain why our shooters appeared to be deliberately missing, as ordering someone to kill in a situation like this risks evoking the blood curse, and that’s something sane pixies avoid.” Though that did lead to the possibility we were dealing with aninsanemind. “But I’m currently the only Aodhán woman in Deva, and there’s very few Tàileach.”

“That’s presuming it’s a Tàileach or Aodhán woman involved—are no other branches of pixies capable of mind enforcement?”

“It can technically be found in the other lines, but it’s mostly the two taller branches that have the variation.”

“But there’s also no indication the person behind this attack or indeed these two men come from around these parts.” He paused. “What about your aunt? It’s certainly possible she holds you responsible for her daughter’s death.”

“Vincentia’s dead because she ignored my warnings and worked for the wrong people.” I rubbed my arms lightly. “And it can’t be Riayn. She’s also dead.”

“No, she’s presumed dead,” he replied. “They never actually found a body, did they?”

“No, but it’s not like she could have left the property, given she was under the red knife.”

The red knife was the most serious of all punishments given out by the pixie council, and only applied for the most grievous of offenses. It was both a symbolicandphysical cutting of ties, meaning not only were you excommunicated from pixie societyand bound in one place for a period of ten years, but your ability to hear and use the song and power of trees was ripped from you. I’d feared a similar punishment after I’d deep mind read—and controlled—Vincentia, but had instead been tasked with working for Deva’s council for a period of two years.

As much as I hated being bound to them, it was certainly a far better option than the red knife.

“Dead doesn’t always mean dead,” he said, rather darkly. “There are ways and means of faking it.”

“Not when it comes to the red knife.”

His soft “hmmm” was loaded with disbelief, and in many respects, I couldn’t say I blamed him. If the gods were intent on causing chaos, then throwing my aunt into the mix would certainly be an excellent option.

“Did you have a chance to pat down the other man?” he added.

I shook my head. “You go do that; I’d better ring Sgott.”

Sgott Bruhn wasn’t only the head of the IIT’s night division, but had also been my mom’s lover for nigh on sixty years, and the only real father I’d ever known. He’d always treated me as one of his own, though I suspected I’d caused him far more grief than any of those born from his loins ever had, especially of late.

I dragged out my phone, noticed I had a message, but ignored it and made the call. As the phone rang, I trailed after Mathi, my gaze scanning the night. I couldn’t sense anything untoward, but that didn’t mean we were entirely safe, given the soft pulse still emanating from the knives. Our spellcaster was still out there somewhere.

Sgott answered after a couple of rings. “And what has happened now for you to be ringing so early in the morning?”

There was a decided edge of resignation running through his Scottish brogue, and I couldn’t help smiling. “I’m afraidsomeone decided I was the perfect subject for a little target prac?—”

“You’ve not been hurt?” he cut in sharply.

“No, thanks mainly to Mathi knocking me out of the way in time.”

“Given the Dhar-Val line has more lives than cats, I take it he’s also okay?”

“Yes, and before you ask, I haven’t questioned either shooter. They topped themselves before either of us could get to them.”

“That is rather unusual behavior for a professional. Or indeed, anyone I would judge as sane. Where are you?”

“The old Deva cemetery, up near the Grosvenor’s Road embankment, several hundred yards past the gate on that side.”

---