Page 35 of Horn of Winter

Then he was the one who split it in two?And if that were the case, were we dealing with his horn rejoined or some sort of godly copy?

He was mortified that his weapon was used in such a manner, and determined it should not be so used again.

Then why didn’t he simply destroy it?

That is rarely the first choice of the gods.

And we were currently paying the price for that reluctance. Any idea how I might find it, then?

This is a library, not a lost and found, came the somewhat severe reply, though once again I detected the hint of amusement running through it.And surely the daughter of a storm god, however minor, could set the winds to such a task.

I suppose she could certainly try. I smiled, but it faded quickly under the sudden pulse of aching tiredness. Time to go. I hesitated, then said,Tell me,do you have a name?

Surprise shivered briefly through the expanse of endless books.Why would you wish to know such a thing?

Because a name would be better than simply calling you “the librarian” or even “it.”

There was a long pause, and the agitation in the books briefly increased, though it was more surprise than any form of discomfort or annoyance.I was... am Aasym.

And may I use your name?

That would be... pleasant.

Good. And you may call me Bethany, or Beth; whatever you’re comfortable with.

Thank you, Bethany.

I smiled, though in this space it was more a gentle song of joy.Thank you for your help, Aasym, and I’ll see you next time.

And with that, I stepped back into the maelstrom, and then into my body. My heart raced, my breathing was rapid and shallow, and my chest on fire. I released the triune and dropped my head into my hands, rocking back and forth for several minutes, trying to take deeper breaths in an effort to control the fierce ache in brain and body.

It took close to ten minutes before I approached anything close to normality. I carefully pushed upright, my knees shaking a little as weariness washed through my limbs. I glanced at my watch and saw that close to an hour had passed. Way past time for me to get moving.

I secured the codex behind the flue, then rang for an Uber as I headed back down the ladder. After shoving my knives into my purse—while I could basically auto-call them into my hands any time I wanted, it still felt safer to keep them close—I grabbed a coat and the two pieces of paper Treasa had handed me, then collected two bottles of Bordeaux to have with our meal before heading out to wait for my ride. Traffic was slow, so it took close to half an hour before I made it over to Lugh’s.

He lived in a decommissioned power substation that was the ugliest building on the street. It was a single story, constructed with brown bricks that were now black and grimy with age, and the black wooden door that sat at its midpoint still had all the rusty old electrical warning signs on it. Of course, it also had two things the surrounding buildings did not—plenty of ceiling height, which for a man of Lugh’s size was important, and a ton of floor space, which came in handy for a man with a ton of archeological “trinkets” to store.

I tapped the code into the lock to the left of the door, then turned the handle and cracked it open. “Hello? Anyone home? It’s me. I arrive with booze.”

“Is that a polite way of giving us a five-second warning in case we’re doing anything nasty?” Darby said as she all but bounced into the wide hallway. She was a typical light elf in looks—tall and slender, with long pale gold hair currently swept back into a ponytail that brushed her butt, and eyes the color of summer skies. Her features were sharp but ethereally beautiful, and she moved with lightness and grace I would never achieve, no matter how long I lived. “Because you should know better. Your brother never does the nasty on an empty stomach.”

I stepped inside, kissed her cheek, and handed her the Bordeaux. “Given no splutter of outrage comes from the living area, I take it he’s not home yet?”

“No. Caught in traffic.” Her cheeks dimpled. “Which is probably just as well, because the casserole is taking longer to cook than the recipe suggests.”

“It’s more likely that Lugh’s oven is not up to the task. He’s never used it, and it was secondhand when he installed it. You should replace it.”

“I should, but I can’t make too many alterations too soon without making him run to the hills in fear of domestication.”

I laughed and followed her into the kitchen, pulling out one of the stools in front of the counter and sitting down. The room was comfortably large, and combined a kitchen and living area. There were two good-sized bedrooms and a bathroom to the right, and on the other side of the hallway, Lugh’s large office and storage area. He’d recently completed a proper, climate-controlled basement for his more precious artifacts, but the entrance was hidden—and fingerprint coded—so wasn’t outwardly visible unless you knew where to look.

“How come you’ve got the day off?” I asked. “I thought you were doing a training course this week?”

She worked at the fae hospital as a poisons specialist, with a secondary specialization in wound repairs. The new course—which she was doing in monthly, week-long slots over the course of several years—would add pediatrics to her poisons and wound repair bows. Handy given how often she had to deal with kids in Emergency.

“The instructor got snowed in, so they’ve pushed it back a week. They asked if I wanted to pick up additional shifts, and I wisely said no. An unexpected week off is always to be enjoyed.”

“Won’t it cause problems for next week’s shifts?”

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