Chapter 8 #5
“What did he do, Bethany?”
I hesitated. “No retaliation. Promise that.”
His eyes gleamed dangerously. “I can’t and won’t promise that. I can, however, promise I won’t do anything until we know who he works for. Good enough?”
“Good enough.”
“Then what did he do?”
“He’s been drugging me for information.”
The surge of his anger was so damn fierce that for a moment I couldn’t breathe.
“How?” he growled. “Through food? Alcohol?”
“Uncertain.” I hesitated. “Darby said it was a combination of Devil’s Breath, which causes sleepiness and memory loss, and Damiana, which increases sexual interest and desire.”
“So, the bastard was fucking the hell out of you and then memory scanning?”
“It would appear so.” I paused but couldn’t help mischievously adding, if only to ease the fierce blanket of his anger, “But at least it was good fucking. I would have been even more pissed had it been bad.”
He did not look amused. “I take it, given he’s obviously still alive, you have not mentioned this to Lugh yet?”
“No. But I did tell Mathi, and he currently has a friend doing a background search on both Eljin and the woman he went to London to see—Eljin claims it was his sister, but I’m not entirely convinced right now.”
“The Eljin in that photo had no sisters,” Cynwrig said.
Meaning he and Treasa had done some research before they’d handed it to me. “Yeah, but he’s also a lot older. We thought it possible our Eljin was a grandson or something.”
“No, because the older man died without issue.”
“Huh.” I picked up the cheese knife, cut a triangle of the brie, then popped it on a cracker and munched on it contemplatively. “Is he a relation of some kind?”
“Not as far as we could ascertain after a thorough search through the birth records. No other Eljin appears in the older man’s family tree. Ours appears to have manifested some three years ago, and much of his work history has been manufactured.”
I frowned. “How is that possible? Rogan would have done a thorough background on him before employing him at the museum.”
“Rogan might have had his own reasons for not doing a complete background.”
True enough, I supposed, given the man was hellbent on retrieving the claws, whatever the cost. I took another drink. “If you knew all this, why not tell me sooner?”
He hesitated. “In truth, while I suspected he was not who he said he was, there was no evidence of criminal behavior or ill intent toward you.”
“You still could have mentioned it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Would you have believed me? Or would you have thought it nothing more than the ramblings of a jealous man?”
“Do Myrkálfar even do jealousy?”
“Touch our women, and we do far more than mere jealousy.”
That came out darkly menacing, and I couldn’t help but grin. “I feel the need to remind you that I am not a possession, and will probably never be yours—at least in the way that statement intended.”
“And I concur with the first part of that statement.”
I took another drink and wondered what the hell he was planning.
He was definitely planning something—a change of Myrkálfar law, perhaps, that would allow him to marry as he wished?
And yet, if that were the case, why ask for Geitha’s Tears to be retrieved, given the goddess’s artifact was the one responsible for partner choosing? Why not let it stay lost?
Whatever the answers to those questions might be, it was pretty evident he had no intention of telling me just yet.
“It does makes me wonder why,” I said, after a moment, “given your suspicions, you did not take steps to remove him from my life.”
“There are plenty of reasons a man or woman might manufacture a false past, Bethany, and some of them are legit. Until we knew otherwise, I thought it best to watch.”
“And hope that I made a sensible decision when it came to the men in my life?”
“Indeed. Although I daresay you consider me far from sensible.”
“Ain’t that a truth.” I grinned and ate some more cheese. “In other news, I met my father the other day.”
Surprise flitted through his expression. “And did he have any wisdom or information to impart?”
I quickly updated him on everything except the whole death thing, then added, “He also said you were placed in my life to cause utter havoc.”
“And instead, you cause utter havoc in mine.”
His voice was dry, and I laughed again. “He did say that this game had a limited time frame, and my subsequent dream said it would end in nine months.”
“At least that gives us a time frame to work with.”
“Yes, though there’s still the matter of the missing relics and the council’s edict I find them all.” I took another drink. “Which reminds me, has Mathi contacted you about us needing the services of a dark elf tomorrow?”
He nodded. “I’ve assigned Bodhrán. I trust him to keep you all safe.”
Keep me safe, he actually meant. “He a relation?”
Cynwrig shook his head. “We grew up together—our parents were at one point close friends.”
“At one point? What happened?”
“My mother died, and my father—” He paused and shrugged. “He basically lost interest in almost everything except running the kingdom and ensuring his children were more than capable of taking over ‘the family business,’ as he liked to call it.”
I picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and ate it. “How did you go working up a list of suspects from those who attended Jarvil Maehdon’s funeral?”
“We have a number of possibilities, but we’ve yet to interview those from the immediate family.”
I frowned. “Why not?”
“A Myrkálfar mourning period cannot legally be interrupted without good reason.”
“You’re in a mourning period, and yet you still have to deal with all the outside shit that comes with being heir.”
“Because of the very fact I’m heir to the throne. There are separate rules for us.”
Such as the “no fornicating” thing with those outside the Myrkálfar race—a rule a long-ago heir had very quickly found a way around. Cynwrig picked up the bottle of wine and raised an eyebrow in question. I held out my glass.
“Are any of Maehdon’s family—immediate or otherwise—missing a finger on his left hand?”
“I have no idea, but that is easy enough to uncover. Why?”
“Because one of the two men our thief hired to stop me and Mathi chasing after him today claimed that he was missing a pinky.”
“That certainly gives me reason to break the mourning period. I shall arrange a meeting in the morn.”
“If you find him, I need to talk to him.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s possible he might have information about a blade we think is being used by Carla to force council members and others to obey her will and extract information.”
“Who told you this? Your father?”
“No, Beira, so if you get rid of our thief before we get our answers, she will not be happy. She’s already unhappy enough with me because apparently I am taking too long for her liking.”
He laughed softly. “Gods and patience are rarely companions.”
“Yeah, so I’m discovering.” I helped myself to more walnut cheese. It really was quite lovely. “How did Maehdon die?”
“Natural causes, according to the coroner’s report.”
“And you believe that?”
He hesitated. “Maehdon had been in good health and good spirits when I’d seen him the week before. While death can sneak up on any of us, I do not believe that was the case here.”
“Meaning you think someone might have bought off the coroner?”
He half smiled. “That’s generally a hard thing to do.”
“Speaking from experience, are we?”
The smile grew. “Not personal experience.”
Meaning he might not have tried, but someone close to him certainly had. “Were there any witnesses to make you believe it was something other than a twist of fate?”
“His grandson—who found the body—claimed to have seen a woman leaving the house as he arrived, but no one matching the description he gave has been found in either the IIT’s database or indeed in the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency records.”
I took a drink, eyeing him for a second. “Did Jarvil happen to have any dealings with Carla Wilson before she went to ground?”
“I honestly don’t know, but it is certainly an option, given what you said about the knife.”
“Well, she does appear to have her claws in multiple men.” I reached for another strawberry. “What about his sons?”
“What about them?”
“Well, could one of them be reacting to the IIT’s dismissal of the grandson’s story by playing lone wolf?”
“Unlikely. They are not the lone wolf type.”
“They’re Myrkálfar—it goes without saying that vengeance is built into their genes.”
“None of Maehdon’s sons are overly endowed with the vengeance gene.”
“And yet, you investigate them.”
“It is never wise to leave any stone unturned, however unlikely.”
“How many sons does he have?”
“Five.”
“Five?” My eyebrows rose. “The Maehdon line is a productive lot, obviously.”
Cynwrig grinned. “You forget that the Myrkálfar generally do not have the reproduction issues that plague the Ljósálfar, though we are, of course, nowhere near as fertile as humans or indeed pixies.”
“And how many little Cynwrigs are you planning to have tumbling around the feet of your throne?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He sliced the brie and ate it, his eyes not wavering from mine, his expression intent. Nerve janglingly so. “That is a decision that can only be decided after serious discussion with my wife-to-be.”
“Theoretically, presuming your wife was here with you now, how would you answer?”
“Theoretically, I would say two to four. Big families do run in my line, but I am of a mind to spend my time with the woman I love rather than running after a full gaggle of children.” The intensity in his gaze increased, and I resisted the urge to rub my arms. “What of yourself?”