Page 26 of Horn of Winter

Her cheeks dimpled again. “Since when have I ever been afraid to claim overtime?”

I laughed and headed on up. After relocking the door to my quarters, I ran up the remaining stairs, chucking my purse onto the sofa, then stripping off my clothes and dumping them all into the washing machine. I set it on the longest cycle possible, then headed into the bathroom for a shower. Sgott arrived just as I was standing in front of my wardrobe in my knickers and bra, deciding what to wear because I had absolutely no idea what the traditional mourning color was for the Myrkálfar. Humanity favored black, but something within suspected the dark elves would not.

“Bethany?” he called out as he reached the top of the stairs.

“In the bedroom trying to pick an outfit. Any suggestion, color-wise?”

“White. They believe it signifies purity and rebirth.”

“Huh.”

I glared at my wardrobe a few seconds longer, then dug out a knitted, slim-fitting, long-sleeved dress with a subtle gathered detail on the side and a small V-neckline. It was simple and elegant and, most importantly, warm. Or as warm as any dress was likely to be in winter. I paired it with knee-high nude-colored boots and a camel-colored woolen jacket. Once dressed, I grabbed a matching purse and tucked my knives into it. While I definitely wouldn’t need them anytime soon and could technically call them to me from any location if a situation did happen to arise, I still felt safer with them close. That might change as time passed and I grew used to the foibles and powers of the triune, but for now, I was playing it safe.

Sgott waited near the stairs, wearing a neatly creased white suit and black-and-white wingtips. I rose onto my toes and kissed his cheek. “I had no idea you could still buy shoes like that. They’re pretty impressive-looking, especially when you’ve feet as big as yours.”

“They’re golfing shoes. Had them for ages.”

“Since when did you play golf?”

“Not since becoming head of the night division, but they’re the only shoes I have that are anywhere close to white. You ready?”

I quickly snagged my phone and wallet from my other purse, then nodded, even though my insides quivered at the thought of seeing Cynwrig again. Or worse, the thought ofnotseeing him, or talking to him, one last time.

I followed him down to the ground floor, then out the rear door. It was still pouring outside, although I could feel a lessening of its ferocity around the more distant reaches of the storm cell, suggesting it was likely to clear by nightfall.

And the fact that I knew all that without deliberately connecting to or reaching for the storm’s power was yet anotherindicator of how much stronger that part of me had become in such a short amount of time.

Sgott had driven his car all the way down the lane and parked it next to the rear veranda, basically blocking the lane for any delivery vans needing to use it but ensuring neither of us got saturated while we got into the car.

The commemoration was being held in the Pavilion Suite at the racecourse, which was apparently one of their larger rooms, capable of holding over five hundred people. Ushers with big umbrellas met us as we parked in the flagged-off area and guided us in the right direction. It was a massive operation, and there was literally a sea of white umbrellas moving back and forth from the parking area to the main building’s entrance, but everything flowed without any problems that I could see.

The long hallway down to the Pavilion Suite was hushed, the gloom of the day barely lifted by intermittent downlights. There was an usher at the door to take our names, and another to take our coats, then we were waved inside.

The quiet murmur of conversation ran across my senses as we entered the room. Sgott caught my elbow and guided me right, toward a quieter corner in this vast open space.

“How does this sort of thing work?” I asked softly, my gaze scanning the room, looking for someone familiar. I couldn’t see Mathi or even Ruadhán, let alone Cynwrig or Treasa.

“We drink and mingle, but because of your unique situation, I would suggest waiting until he approaches us.” He paused. “It’s likely he won’t, though, so don’t be getting your hopes up.”

“If he doesn’t come talk to us, what was the whole point of breaking the rules and inviting me here?”

“That is a question I cannot answer, lass.”

I waved a hand. “I know. I was just thinking out loud.” I snagged a sparkling water from the tray of a passing waiter. “Will there be much in the way of official speeches? Or is itbasically just a wake and we’re here to do nothing more than pay our respects to the family, and to reminisce about the glorious life of the deceased?”

“There will be a couple of speeches, likely one from Gethen’s long-term business partner, and one from both Treasa and Cynwrig. They probably won’t mingle until after that duty is done.”

“Then expect me to haunt your heels, because I know very few people here.” I paused. “Though if Ruadhán wanders by for a chat, expect me to abandon you.”

A smile tugged at his lips, though it was barely visible through the—admittedly much tamer than usual—beard. “Whatever opinion Ruadhán may have of you, he’s unlikely to be anything but cordial while you’re in my presence.”

“He’s nothing but cordial when I’m not,” I replied. “It’s just that his distaste practically oozes from his skin, and that makes him rather uncomfortable to be around.”

“Understandable, given the man sometimes makes my skin itch.” He shrugged. “Though that’s due more to his oft-deliberate stretching of the law while remaining within its broader terms. Shall we brave the tempest of small talk?”

I slipped my arm through the hook of his and forced a smile. “Let’s do it.”

In the end, it wasn't as bad as I’d thought it would be. Sgott’s presence by my side definitely eased the coldness I’d have otherwise gotten from many of those in the room. Inevitably, we did come across Ruadhán.

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