Bia’s Blade (Relic Hunters #6)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

The man who stood in front of me was tall and thickset, with long silver hair, eyes that swirled with clouds of gray, and an aura that resonated with the power of storms. His face was lean, and his skin almost translucent.

He was certainly a handsome man—not elven perfect, perhaps, but damn close to it.

Except he wasn’t a man.

He was a god of thunder and lightning.

One who had been bound to Earth in the form of a curmudgeon—the male version of a hag. Unlike their female counterparts, however, curmudgeons were able to shift into a more pleasing countenance, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the form he’d used when he’d seduced my mother and begat me.

For several minutes, neither of us moved. He simply studied me, his gaze scanning my length, as if searching for something. When his eyes finally rose to mine again, a flicker of... not so much disappointment, though that was definitely there, but rather annoyance, ran through them.

“You know,” I said, never one to keep quiet even when that was probably the best option, “if you’re disappointed in how I turned out, you’ve only yourself to blame.”

Amusement lurked briefly in his expression then fell away. “And how do you come to that conclusion?”

His voice was filled with gravitas and warmth and resonated through every inch of my being, oddly connecting with something deep within. What that something was, I couldn’t say, but I wasn’t sure I liked the sensation.

“Well,” I said evenly, despite the belated stirring of trepidation, “aside from the initial few minutes of involvement at my conception, you’ve basically had nothing to do with me in my sixty-odd years of existence.”

A dark silver eyebrow rose at that, and once again the amusement flared. I wasn’t sure what reaction I’d expected from my godly parent, but this definitely wasn’t it.

“Is not sixty-two considered to be little more than a sapling in terms of pixie development?”

“Well, yes, but if you were expecting me to be something other than what I am, then you should have come forward earlier and had a little fatherly input in how I was raised.” I paused.

“Which leads to the question, why appear now? And why here? Liadon’s realm is considered neutral ground by those who play this bout of godly games, and this meeting jeopardizes that neutrality, does it not? ”

Liadon was the guardian of what Deva’s Fae Council—who I now rather reluctantly worked for—called the Cavern of the Gods.

It was basically a world between worlds—an access point, if you will, for gods and who knew what else to enter or leave our world.

But it was also a library that not only held all council records from their inception, but also the records of all earthly races and their histories.

That was what I was after. Somewhere in those records might be the name of the man—or woman—who had killed my mother.

As for the fucking games... the old gods considered testing humanity in various cataclysmic ways a sport and, in the past, had chosen their players and thrown chaos their way just to see what eventuated.

According to Liadon, what the gods found so fascinating was the fact not even they could predict how those within any active game would react to the stimuli provided.

Unfortunately, after a few pleasant centuries without such input on their part, a new game was afoot—one that was, by all accounts, started by my father, with me the “Queen” on his side of the playing board.

Which meant, of course, I had a counterpart running about somewhere.

I had no idea who that person might be, though if this game involved the rat god’s—or Ninkil, to give him his proper moniker—rising into our world, then it might well be Carla Wilson, a multi-shifter who could take on any human form she wished, and who we believed had her claws in multiple council members.

And I knew—because I’d seen in a vision—that she was sexually involved with the man who was the Ninkilim’s current leader. A man whose name we didn’ t yet know.

“Did you not bid Liadon to fetch me less than a week ago?” he asked. “In fact, did you not say you were unimpressed with my efforts so far?”

Despite the flares of amusement, the clouds in his eyes were darkening, and a chill that was part trepidation, part recognition stirred. Because those same shadows moved within me, and I had a bad feeling that was what he intended, what he wanted to draw out.

“Well, yes, but it wasn’t like either of us actually expected you to hear me say that, let alone respond.”

“There are no secrets in this place, other than the scriptures and memories Liadon guards. These”—he waved a hand toward the small chamber’s brown-streaked black walls, which held none of the smooth luminosity that was a feature in the other tunnels and chambers—“are here to protect you from sights and sound beyond your ken.”

“And no doubt also protect me from those who would destroy your queen in the current godly game.”

His expression remained pleasant, but the storm around his form was intensifying, matching the intensity gathering in his eyes. “You are not my queen. You are more... a knight.”

My gaze was drawn to the briefest movement beyond the chamber’s thin walls, and I clenched my fingers against the desire to grab my knives.

Liadon would not have allowed this meeting to take place without it being safe for both of us, but I couldn’t escape the notion that what lurked beyond the oddly streaked walls was no friend to either of us.

Which might well be the whole point of this meeting. Maybe in being here, talking to me, he was announcing to the opposition that he was stepping fully into the fray.

If he was, then that could only be bad news for me.

“Why is that?” I said, somehow dragging my gaze away from the movement. “Isn’t a queen the most powerful piece on any chess board?”

“Situationally yes, but the knight is the only piece on the board that moves completely different to every other piece. And that, I believe, is an apt description of yourself.”

As summations went, I couldn’t argue that it wasn’t on point. “Then was Beira wrong when she said you were not one to play these games?”

“No.”

I waited several beats, but when he didn’t continue, added, “Does that mean Liadon was wrong when she said you started these games?”

“No.”

“Then, as I said only a few minutes ago, why the fuck are you here? What is the point of all this?”

He took a step forward, bringing me into the circle of his aura; electricity danced across my skin and lightning flared through my being, once again drawing on the deeper darkness that lurked within.

A darkness I’d been fighting for weeks now.

I clenched my fists tighter still and stepped away. The dangerous brush of energy eased, but I still felt it deep within.

“What are you doing?” I growled, fear, anger, and perhaps even a touch of... avarice?... running through me. I might not like the feel of the lightning’s caress, but that inner darkness wanted it.

Bad.

“I am doing nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

One eyebrow rose. “You have your mother’s straightforwardness.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t get it from you, as you seem to be doing everything but giving me answers.”

“I needed to see if you are worthy, child. Needed to know if you are capable of withstanding the darkness that rises.”

“What darkness are we talking about here? Ninkil? Or the one you’re trying to draw out of me?”

“Both.”

“To repeat—why?”

“Because to defeat darkness, you sometimes have to embrace it.”

“Then we are doomed.”

“There are degrees of darkness,” he commented. “Ask the man who would be king.”

My heart skipped several beats. There was only one man in my life about to be crowned, and while he’d been an integral part of the hunt for the missing éadrom Hoard up until his father had passed, it was doubtful he would remain so now.

“Cynwrig?” I replied, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. “What the fuck has he got to do with anything?”

“Did you not ask who the king to your queen was?”

“Yes, but you’ve already said I’m not your queen, and I will certainly never be his.”

“Perhaps not, but remember, chaos is the point of our games.”

Meaning he’d been placed in my path to cause problems? That he was never meant to be an end game? Which, rationally, I already knew. Trouble was, when it came to Cynwrig, rational and me weren’t often on speaking terms.

“Is the refusal to harbor darkness the reason your first child failed?”

“In truth, she neither failed nor won. Ninkil was not unleashed on this world, but he was not ended either. The game stalemated.”

My eyebrows rose. “How can a god be ended? Don’t you just leave this world permanently?”

“All things can be ended—it just takes the right weapon and motivation.” He motioned to my purse. “You carry two such weapons.”

He was referring to my silver knives, which had been gifted to the females of my line back in the days when we—alongside the Taliesin pixies—had been the guardians of godly treasures.

Both had been blessed by multiple goddesses and were capable of protecting me against all sorts of magic.

His comment did at least confirm the family rumor they were an effective weapon against male gods, but in reality, there was little likelihood of me ever being able to use them that way.

Said male god would simply smite me long before I ever got within stabbing or throwing distance.

“Did your firstborn carry such a weapon?”

“No, though she was an Aodhán such as yourself. Just not of your line, and definitely holding none of your mother’s seeress abilities.”