Horn of Winter (Relic Hunters #5)

Chapter 3.2

“There is a vital question you’ve yet to answer,” I murmured, my lips so close to his, I could taste the desire raging through him.

“You,” he whispered huskily, “are an evil woman, asking questions at a moment like this.”

“Ah, but it’s a question vital to my future happiness.”

I lowered myself just a fraction, and he groaned, his hands sliding to my hips but holding no force. “And what might that question be?”

“Are we having eggs with the bacon, or will it be a simple butty?”

He laughed and kissed me hard, thrusting upward even as I went down, until he was completely and utterly sheathed.

We moved as one, slowly at first but with increasing urgency, until all I felt, all I wanted, was him coming deep inside. Need and desire combined, a force so fierce it was nigh on explosive. My orgasm hit, and I gasped, shuddering and shaking, unable to breathe or think as the deep, undeniable pleasure consumed me. He came a heartbeat later, his body stiffening underneath mine, his deep groan echoing.

For the longest time after, neither of us moved. When I could finally breathe again, I rolled to one side and tucked myself close. He traced a finger lightly down my cheek and my neck and stopped at the stone pendant sitting just above my breasts.

“You’re always wearing this, and I have to say, it’s an extremely unusual piece of jewelry. The casing looks handmade, and the stone has an odd resonance.”

“We call it the Eye, and it’s basically a focus stone. It used to be Mom’s, and now it’s mine. Lugh made the cage so I could keep it close to my heart and not risk losing it.”

None of which was a lie, even if it wasn’t exactly the whole truth. The Eye was in fact the actual eye of the goddess Ethine, who’d been turned to stone long ago and who’d gifted her eyes in the form of these black seeing stones to both an ancestor of mine and the hags. Mom had indeed used it to amplify her second sight when relic hunting, and to keep in contact with Beira and the other hags when she was undertaking tasks for them, but it was in truth far more than that. It was one third of a triune—the knives and the codex being the other two—that had been designed to gift the women of my line with foresight, knowledge, and protection, supposedly providing all the tools we needed to fight those seeking the rebirth of the dark gods in the tangible world.

Or so Beira had informed me recently.

Of course, the Myrkálfar weren’t the only ones who’d forgotten or lost items vital to their futures, and until I’d come into possession of all three items, the true power of the triune had not been used or even remembered for centuries. Which meant that between the lack of directions and my own inexperience when it came to my recently emerged talents, my ability to use the triune to its full capacity was currently somewhat limited.

“It sometimes glows when you sleep,” he commented.

“Probably when I’m dreaming.” I shrugged. “Not that I get prophetic dreams all that often, thankfully.”

He ran a finger across the cage, his skin briefly caressing the stone. The Eye flared to life, its heat burning against my skin while the lightning that sat deep within its dark heart flashed violently, spinning purple light through the shadows haunting the room.

It had never reacted that way before—not to someone else’s touch, anyway. I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, especially given the odd edge of violence that seemed to accompany the flash.

“Is that supposed to happen?” he asked.

“The lightning often appears when I’m attempting to do a seer search, but generally, no.” I paused, then added with a grin, “Maybe it simply doesn’t like you.”

“Maybe you should take it off when we’re together, then,” he said, amused. “Getting burned by all that energy at the wrong moment could definitely be deflating.”

“And here I was thinking there is very little in this world that can put a man off his game when they’re close to the summit.”

“Depends on the man and the distraction.” He kissed my forehead, his lips warm on my skin. “What time do you have to get up in the morning?”

“Mathi’s picking me up at eight forty-five.”

“Then shall I wake you at eight with bacon and eggs? That should give you time for breakfast and a shower.”

“Seven thirty would give us time for all that and sex.”

“But only a couple of hours of sleep for you.”

I grinned. “I’ll survive.”

“If you fall asleep in the middle of that council meeting, do not blame me.”

I laughed and kissed him goodnight. The Eye’s heat chased me into sleep, and though no dreams disturbed my slumber, the thick sense of approaching danger nevertheless settled deep within.

As usual, though, there was very little explanation as to exactly what form that danger came in. As Treasa had noted, it was damnably annoying.

The fae council building was located next to the Deva City Council offices and was an uninspiring red-brick and concrete construction. Mathi’s driver parked illegally out front, then jumped out and ran around to the rear passenger door, holding an umbrella above the two of us so we didn’t get soaked walking to the entrance. I was wearing a long woolen coat with a hood, and thick, wool-lined, waterproof boots, but given it was bucketing down, the umbrella was nevertheless appreciated.

The guard opened the door with a perfunctory nod at Mathi, and we headed up the bland but functional concrete stairs to the second-floor meeting hall. The double doors were metal, and led into an antechamber that was protected by spells designed to detect both regular and magically enhanced weapons. Which meant, of course, that alarms went off the minute I strode in, thanks to the fact I was wearing my knives.

Mathi rolled his eyes and switched the sound off, then motioned me on through the next set of doors. The meeting chamber was the size of a grand hall, but without any of the usual decorations generally found in them—no wall hangings, no crests, no paintings. Basically, there was nothing here that could be manipulated in any way by the elves or pixies present. Even the furniture was plastic, which would have normally given the shifters a serious advantage thanks to their greater strength, but aside from the chambers being an electronically null zone to prevent the use of listening devices being deployed and conversations recorded, it was also wrapped in magic so strong it actually prevented shapeshifting.

Unlike the other two times I’d faced the council in here in this room, the table was less than half occupied. There were three light elves, four shifters—including the rat shifter who’d been the convener at the previous meeting—and the blue-haired pixie who seemed to be a fixture at these things. But then, she was a Malloyei, and they’d always been more political than any other branch of pixies.

My gaze was drawn to the far end of the table, where Cynwrig usually sat. His seat was empty, of course, but I was rather surprised to see there were no other Myrkálfar here. I could understand the Lùtairs undertaking a three-month morning period, but I couldn’t imagine it extending out to all Myrkálfar.

But maybe the Myrkálfar just didn’t think the allocation of the relic for my first official hunt to be of any sort of importance, and I couldn’t say I blamed them. In all honesty, I was surprised they’d called a meeting at all—surely they could have just passed whatever information they had on to me via Mathi.

Or they simply wanted to remind me I now worked for them, and had best start taking things seriously. Which I most certainly was, but more because this council represented a means of finding Mom’s killer and uncovering the Ninkil who infested their ranks rather than any real need to find the hoard.

Mathi pulled out the plastic chair at the head of the table and seated me, then moved around to sit next to a gray-haired elf with heavily lined features and pale blue, somewhat rheumy eyes. In elf terms, he was an elder statesman—an elf who’d moved past breeding age and slipped into his twilight years. I didn’t know his name, but from the little I’d seen of him, his mind remained as sharp as a tack. I couldn’t help but wonder if that would change the closer he got to his millennium year, or whether he’d be far luckier than Cynwrig’s father.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Aodhán,” he said, in his cool, somewhat whispery tone.

I smiled. “I’d wager there’s a few here who’d disagree with that statement, given they think my brother is a thief and I’m a necessary evil.”

A smile tugged very, very briefly at his lips, which was probably as close to a laugh as I was ever likely to get from someone of his vintage. “I daresay you could be right, but that is neither here nor there. You were called here to receive your first assignment.”

Mathi had already told me what my first assignment was, but given he shouldn’t have, I wasn’t about to out him. “And how are we tackling these things—in order of dangerousness, or via a simpler method, such as alphabetically?”

“We do this alphabetically, for the most part.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why ‘for the most part’?”

Though the elder elf’s expression remained benign, I’d been around them long enough now to sense the quick flash of his irritation.

“Borrhás’s Horn is your first target. Borrhás was a god of the cold north wind and the bringer of winter. In times past, he was also known as the North Wind or the Devouring One.”

The latter no doubt being the reason he’d leapt ahead in the finding order. “There were no relics starting with A ?”

“There are indeed a couple,” a shifter to my left replied.

I waited for a second, but when nothing else was forthcoming, I glanced at Mathi. He was lounging back in his chair with an amused sort of expression, and simply raised an eyebrow. Which, in this case, was Mathi shorthand for “keep on questioning them.”

I flicked my gaze back to the elder elf. “So why has the horn hit the top of the find list? Was there an incident or something that prompted it?”

“There was indeed,” the rat shifter said. His nose was twitching slightly, though whether it was in distaste at my presence or something else, I couldn’t say. “We were notified of an unusual occurrence a few weeks ago, and a subsequent investigation led us to believe the horn might be the cause.”

“Meaning we have someone running around armed with a dangerous relic, but if I had not asked the question, you would not have informed me—have I got that right?”

“You will be told exactly what you need to be told,” another elf said, in a condescending manner. “Besides, there are few relics that are not dangerous in the hands of the wrong person.”

“Though we do hope,” my pixie counterpart added, “that finding one to two might indeed lead us to the hoard itself.”

“It’s been over six months since the hoard disappeared,” the youngest-looking elf said, glancing her way. “It’s unlikely the hoard remains intact, even if, as far as we can ascertain, no items have as yet hit the market.”

The urge to say it most certainly hadn’t been dismantled as yet rose, but I resisted. It was unlikely Carla Wilson was physically in this room—surely the spells that prevented the various animal shifters from taking their alternate form would also prevent a face shifter from doing it—but even so, I couldn’t risk mentioning my visions of her tete-a-tete with her boss. She might not be here personally, but she most certainly had her claws in at least one of the councilors, and I had to presume that person or persons were in this room. One mention would give them warning, and I couldn’t risk the man in charge extending his shield to prevent me even hearing their conversations.

“With the hold the Myrkálfar have on the black market, anyone with any sort of sense wouldn’t risk selling or even moving any item from the hoard this soon.” The speaker this time was a woman with a sharp face and wiry red hair—a fox shifter, obviously, though not the same one I’d seen previously.

“Six months is hardly what most would consider soon,” the rat shifter commented. “But I do agree that, for whatever reason, it is likely the hoard remains intact.”

And the main reason it remained that way wasn’t so much the Myrkálfar, but rather the fact Carla and her boss wanted to find Ninkil’s Harpē—a relic that was both a sword and sickle, and the only means by which Ninkil could be called back into the world—first. Why they’d stolen the hoard before they’d found it, I couldn’t say; maybe the perfect opportunity had presented itself and they’d simply taken the risk. Or maybe they hadn’t expected the Harpē to be so hard to find.

And maybe if they’d used Mom’s finding skills rather than murdering her, they might have had it in their hands by now.

Although, given Mom had, according to Beira, been having worrying visions about Ninkil’s rise and wouldn’t have willingly gone along with such a search, the latter was unlikely.

The elderly elf banged the gavel, drawing attention back to him. “Conjecture over what is and isn’t happening with the hoard is pointless. Our objective is to find it, and if we have to do that one item at a time, then we shall.”

“Just how many items were in the hoard to start with?” I said. “Because you only have my services for two years, remember. After that, it’ll cost you.”

“There are twenty-three items in the main hoard,” the blue-haired pixie said. “But several other chests were taken. We suspect the thieves were uncertain as to what, exactly, they were meant to take.”

I frowned. “They had the help of the bibliothecary, be it willingly or not, so that really isn’t likely.”

“That may well be true, but given the bibliothecary is dead, it is also a statement that can never be confirmed.”

And that was the precise reason Carla and her boss killed off their employees once they’d outlived their usefulness. The dead could wag no tongues. “What else do we know of the horn?”

“Not a lot, aside from the fact we believe it was cleaved in two at some point. It is made from the horn of an auroch—a breed of cattle that no longer exists—and has an intricate sleeve of carved gold around the rim and a similarly intricate stopper,” the old elf said. “We’re unsure whether it comes with fitted rings through which legs could be attached to allow it to stand, or if indeed it could be strung with rope and slung around the shoulder and be carried.”

“That’s not much to go on.”

“It is all the information the recent archives have.”

“And the older archives? Or even the council records?”

“You forget that the council was not responsible for guarding the hoard, nor did we know where it was located,” the rat shifter replied. “It is also fair to say the Ljósálfar would never share such information willingly.”

“But surely you must have records somewhere—maybe some old scrolls listing all items when the hoard first came into Ljósálfar hands for safekeeping?”

“While it is true we were the guards and did undertake the necessary inventory,” the older elf said, “we were not responsible for the safety of those records. That has always been the council’s purview. At least, it has been since the great war and Liadon was installed as keeper and recorder.”

In other words, no one was about to claim responsibility for any records that were missing. Nothing worked quite like officialdom.

“Speaking of Liadon,” I said, “has my request to access said records been granted? Because if you want results, you cannot keep hamstringing me—unless, of course, one of you fine people is happy to undertake the odious task of going through eons of records yourself.”

“That was certainly an option put forward,” Mathi said, amusement evident. “But it was in the end decided that the council’s time was better spent elsewhere. Of course, Liadon’s presence was also a factor.”

I raised my eyebrows. The fact the councilors were wary of her had trepidation stirring, but at least I had two advantages over them—my knives were not affected by the restricting magic of this building, nor was my ability to use the air as a protective or aggressive force.

“Does that mean I’ve been given unqualified approval to search the records?”

“Yes, indeed, although Liadon will always be present to keep an eye on everything that you do,” the older elf said. “Abuse our trust, and access will be revoked.”

I nodded. That was not unexpected, and simply meant I’d have to take more time—and perhaps win the trust of this Liadon, whoever or whatever she might be—before I began the search for any mention of Mom.

The older elf studied me for a second and then said, “You have been given access to both the building and Liadon 24-7. Mathi will take you there now and give you entry into Liadon’s domain.”

“Good luck,” someone muttered farther down the table.

I raised my eyebrows but didn’t reply. Mathi rose and motioned me to the door ahead of him. I waited until we were out of the antechamber and moving toward a much smaller set of stairs to the left of the doors before asking, “So who or what is Liadon?”

The stairs were concrete, like everything else in this place, but barely wide enough for one person. Mathi stepped ahead of me and began the climb. “No one is really sure what she is, other than the fact she is not, and never was, human.”

“Is she dangerous?”

“Again, unknown.”

“Then why are councilors scared of her?”

He glanced over his shoulder, expression amused. “They would strenuously object to the word scared. Wary is their preferred term.”

I rolled my eyes. “Then why are the councilors so wary of her?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

I scowled at him. He was well aware of it, too, because his amusement seemed to drift past me. The stairs wound around to the right, and an odd scent touched the air—a scent that was musky and unpleasant, reminding me vaguely of either rotten eggs or produce.

“Next time I’ll be bringing nose plugs,” I muttered, switching to breathing through my mouth. It didn’t help. The scent just coated my throat and made me want to dry retch.

“Oh, it gets better.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“You’re well aware that there’s not a sarcastic bone in my body.”

I snorted and did my best to ignore the increasing toxicity of the scent as we continued to climb. After what seemed like forever, we reached a large, intricately carved iron door. One that was layered with magic that felt old but neither foul nor good.

“What is this place?” I murmured.

“The council calls it the cavern of the gods.”

“It’s hardly a cavern when it’s sitting in the roof of the building.”

“The magic encasing the door isn’t protective, and the door isn’t really a door. It’s one part of a portal—one that allows Liadon access to this world and us to interact directly with her. But only when necessary, which for most is never.”

“I’m not liking the sound of all this.”

“It is definitely a case of being careful what you wish for.” He glanced at me, amusement twitching his lips. “You ready to enter?”

“Well, I didn’t climb all those stairs and endure that gods-awful smell just to back away at the end goal.”

“Then press your hand against the door. The magic has been set to register your imprint and your access will start immediately.”

I glanced at him. “I take it you’ve already got access?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t given clearance.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

“Because Liadon has final say over who does and does not enter her domain. You were approved. I was not.”

“To repeat, why not?”

He shrugged. “One of the conditions under which she agreed to become keeper of the records was having the final say over access. We cannot gainsay her without risking the destruction of said records.”

“This Liadon becomes more and more intriguing.”

“And if you stop delaying the inevitable with your questions, you’ll have the answers to them and all the others undoubtedly rolling through your brain.”

I reached past him and pressed my hand against the door. It was weirdly warm to my touch and a little bit oily—not enough to be repulsive but still unpleasant. Then the symbols on the door came to life, glowing with an odd green luminosity, and heat rolled across my palm and fingers. It reminded me a little of a scanner’s light, and made me wonder if the magic was taking a record of my handprint.

Then the light died and the door slid silently open. Darkness lay beyond. Darkness and that thick, musty, and very off scent. I warily stepped over the threshold. Prickly energy washed against my face and hands, and I stopped, even though the knives weren’t reacting. I glanced at Mathi. “Are you waiting here or leaving?”

“Leaving, as I have a meeting I must attend before the commemoration.” He paused. “Do not fall down the rabbit hole of information, and remember to keep your wits about you at all times. She’ll be watching everything you do closely, and she does not like others taking liberties with her information.”

It was hardly hers, but I knew what he meant. I nodded and impulsively touched his arm. “Thank you. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“With an official and unofficial report.”

“Indeed.” I smiled but it faded quickly as I stepped fully into the gloom. There was a soft “swish” as the door slid shut behind me, and the gloom deepened. I didn’t move, waiting for my eyes to adjust, aware of movement somewhere in the distance but unable to see a damn thing.

After a few tense seconds, a pale green light flared to life a couple of feet above my head, and a soft but strangely remote voice said, “Welcome, Bethany Aodhán. The orb will lead you down to my vaults. Please do not stray from the path it takes, as this world of mine is vast, and dangers lurk in her deeper depths.”

I didn’t immediately reply, because the little light took off with surprising speed, and it was all I could do to catch up with it. Liadon must have seen my struggle, because it slowed, allowing me to catch up, and then proceeded at an easier pace.

“Am I allowed to ask you questions?”

“You can always ask. Whether I reply is a different matter.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “That very much sounds like something Beira would say. She’s?—”

“I’m well aware who Beira is” came the reply. “She and I had dealings in far earlier times.”

“Good dealings or bad?”

“When dealing with old goddesses, they are often one and the same.”

There was amusement in her otherworldly voice, which went some way to easing my immediate tension. The existence of a sense of humor didn’t mean she wouldn’t kill me, of course, but it did at least mean there was far more to her than just the soulless guardian the council’s warnings and my own imagination had suggested.

The orb continued to bob along, washing its strange green luminance across walls that were glass smooth and black. As Dorothy had been known to say, “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Down and down we went, the path never altering its steepness. The deep sense of distance between me and the “upper” world increased, as did the growing awareness of the vastness of this place, though I could see little more than vague shapes beyond the gloss of the sheer walls surrounding me. The stench, I noticed, didn’t appear to be as bad down here, although it was always possible my nose was simply adjusting to it.

The little light finally led me into a circular cavern that was as high as it was wide. There were no computers, no shelves full of books, no scrolls of any kind, and little in the way of furniture other than the solitary, comfortable-looking chair sitting in the center of the room. I glanced behind me. There was also no sign of the tunnel I’d come through. Nothing but smooth rock.

I was trapped here until Liadon decided to let me go.

I flexed my fingers and tried to relax. I had no reason to fear Liadon unless I did something stupid, and I wasn’t about to do that on our first meeting.

The little green light was hovering over the chair, meaning I was probably meant to go sit. I hesitated, briefly imagining all sorts of scenarios where chains or arms whipped up from the plush sides and trapped me. Sleep, or lack thereof, had definitely supercharged my imagination.

With a slight shake of my head at my own errant thoughts, I walked over and sat down. It felt like I was sinking into a supportive cloud. A bell chimed, and I had a sense of movement, though the cavern and the light looked unchanged.

The only thing that had changed was the presence now standing in front of me. Although standing was something of a misnomer given she didn’t actually have any legs.

Liadon, the keeper of the records, was a goddamn Nagi.