Page 4 of Horn of Winter

“But you did?”

“I am old, but I am not ancient. They roamed the earth at a time when humanity was a bare glint in their eyes, and left when the old gods arrived to play their games.”

“Then who placed the scrolls in the vaults? And do you know what guards them?”

“What guards is beyond your understanding, young pixie. It is of a time that no longer exists.”

“Dangerous?”

“Perhaps. Its reaction would depend on intent and, for the most part, humanity’s intentions are rarely pure.”

Was that why the council believed no mortal beings could view the scrolls? Because those in the past had gone in with the wrong objectives and been punished for them?

Would it consider mine any different to theirs?

“What of the scrolls—have you any idea what information they hold?”

She studied me for a second, something I felt via a thickening in the weight of the air more than saw. Her eyes, like her form, remained shrouded in fog. “Why do you wish to know this?”

“Because Ninkil’s followers seek the Harpe to call him back into this world. The wind whispers of its malevolence but holds no answers as to where it lies. I’m hoping the ancient scrolls that remain in the vault might provide some clues as to where it was hidden.”

“His rising would indeed be unfortunate,” she agreed. “But as I have said, I have no knowledge of the scrolls.”

“Then I am sorry to have bothered?—”

“You give up too easily, young Aodhán, and ask the wrong question.”

My eyebrows rose. “What question should I have asked?”

“Would it by chance be the location of the vault?” Mathi said.

Her shroud shimmered as her gaze shifted from me to him. “Pretty and clever—a rare combination. Perhaps I should take a token to remember this event.”

Mathi gave me a deadpan look that was somehow filled with annoyance, and it was all I could do not to laugh.

“A lock of hair, I’m presuming?” he said in a flat tone.

“That would indeed be perfect.”

“Fine, but do try not to scalp me.”

Her laugh was a low, somewhat unpleasant scratch of sound. “Indeed, it would not do to in any way damage your divineness.”

He raised an eyebrow again but otherwise didn’t reply. She slipped between us, her filmy gowns brushing my hand. Energyprickled across my skin, and my second sight briefly flared, revealing in quick succession a woman cloaked in black, the hood pulled over features hidden by a ski mask. Pale hands that were almost skeletal offering a bag containing locks of reddish hair. Her strange, almost lurching gait as she walked away. Then the energy—and the images—faded as the ghul raised her hand and, with a quick snip of her claws, took a small lock of hair before retreating.

Was the woman in the images the one who’d come here last week? If so, why in the gods’ name was she so tightly wrapped up? Granted, it was winter, and the nights hellish cold, but that amount of coverage implied she didn’t want anyone to see who she was, not even a ghul.

It was tempting to question our ghul further, but given she’d said she wouldn’t share confidences, it would not only be pointless, but could also risk annoying her. The last thing I wanted to do right now was to cut off a useful line of future information.

I switched my gaze to Mathi and studied his hairline. “You can barely even see where she’s taken the lock from.”

“Good,” he murmured, then in a louder voice added, “Thank you for that, madam.”

She laughed again. “A thank you from a Dhar-Val? That, perhaps, is an even greater prize than a lock of golden hair.” Said hair quickly disappeared into the shrouds of gray. “As to your question—much has changed since I walked the lands beyond old Deva, but the entrance to the ancient vaults lay in a place I knew as Pwll Dwfn. I stayed awhile in the nearby encampment, but highborn Ljósálfar do not bury their dead in a manner conducive to the presence of one such as I.”

Because they buried the ashes of their loved ones under a newly planted tree, in a ritual that somehow transferred thatperson’s ability to enhance and strengthen the growth of trees to the sapling, ensuring a strong, vibrant, and living memorial.

I glanced at Mathi, eyebrows raised, silently asking if he knew that name. He shook his head and then asked, “The name suggests it’s located in Wales—is that true?”

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