Page 60

She raked her fingers through her hair as she stepped into the hallway. She knew why. She knew the same way a man prone to too much drink still felt a thrill at the sight of amber whiskey. The mere fact it was self-destructive did not deaden the allure. In many cases in the past, it had even heightened it.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Avery ran her hands along the scarf that hung down around her neck. “The case?”

“The suggestion we research revenge-based hexes,” Saga clarified. There was no teasing this time, only a gentle invitation.

Avery shrugged casually. At least, it was an attempt to look casual. Instead, the gesture resembled the quick jerky movement of someone trying to dispel a spider from their limb. “Revenge is a common motive for both murder and curses, what’s more to talk about?”

“Well, we saw my ex today, does this mean it’s time to see yours again?”

No. If she could help it, absolutely not. Because Iona was not a glass of whiskey, she, in herself, was the whole barrel. Avery re-tucked her scarf like a cravat into her coat and made her way down the hall at a brisk pace. “We should talk with the vault keeper before we leave.”

“All right, that’s fine. I have other questions,” Saga conceded.

Good.

“Tell me about your brother.”

Somehow worse. Avery’s face crumpled further. With a sigh so heavy it would have given Sisyphus a challenge, she surrendered. “What about him?”

“I didn’t know you had a brother, for starters.”

“I don’t know about any of your siblings either,” Avery offered. “Seems we’re rather even there.”

“That’s because I don’t have siblings,” said Saga.

“Are you sure?” Avery peered at her from over her shoulder. “A day ago you thought your parents weren’t married either. Who knows, you may have an entire secret family.”

“Don’t think being an ass is going to let you off the hook.” Saga jogged to catch up. She was too tenacious to evade with deflective humor and a longer stride. “Merrill called him Lord Blackthorn. You told me that was the name of the royal line and that you were imprisoned for killing your father the mad king.”

Against Avery’s efforts, this was happening now. She turned on her heel and braced herself. “I am aware of the exhibits, barrister, but what is your query?”

“Does that make you a Blackthorn too?”

“Anselm Blackthorn was the reigning monarch of the Winter Court. Gideon is his heir and my half brother. He is a Blackthorn; I am a Hemlock.” Avery attempted a neutral tone. It was not a success.

“So, he’s not a bastard,” Saga concluded.

“Oh, he’s a bastard, all right,” Avery muttered, which was enough to incite a snort from her companion. “What? Am I particularly funny to you right now?”

“Yes,” Saga answered, and for once Avery resented Saga’s candid nature. She could afford to lie a little bit for Avery’s pride. “This is just a whole new side to you. I never knew you could be so petulant.”

Avery shot her a glare and shoved open the double doors to the vault. “I am not petulant.”

“Stamp your foot next time, it’ll be more convincing.”

What remained of Avery’s dignity was saved by Saga’s phone buzzing. She watched the woman look at it, frown, and immediately dismiss the call. “Hugh again? Trying to reschedule after all?” It was petty, but at least it would get the attention off her.

“My mother.”

Ah. Well, that was a stickier subject.

The playfulness was gone from Saga’s voice. She removed her peacoat and hugged it to herself. The wrinkle between her brows was back. She looked despondent. “I don’t know what to say to her.”

“I would imagine not.”

Avery typically preferred silence, but the one that settled between them then was uncomfortable. She took in the room. It was dark, windowless, and rather like a cave, though she could make out shelves past the large stone desk that was currently unattended. “I wonder if this is where they put my sword…” She voiced the thought more to give them something else to focus on together rather than raising a genuine question. Of course it would be here. Where else would they have put such a weapon?