Page 69 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

Avery put her own acorns in the center of the table.

“Oh, you do have that face. Is it about her?” asked Isabella.

Avery’s brows raised, daring a glance at Isabella. “Who?”

Matilda snorted. “Who, she says.” And both she and Isabella laughed at some private joke between them.

“You’re in for it now,” Oliver boasted.

“Just show your hand,” said Avery.

“Two pair!” Oliver threw the hand down with the triumph of a champion boxer.

Avery placed down her hand. Three of a kind.

Oliver glared. “That’s a lousy hand. You barely beat me.”

Avery shrugged. “Unless I misunderstand the object of the game, the margin by which I beat you is irrelevant, merely that I did so.”

“How could you possibly know your hand was still better?”

“I didn’t. I was playing you, not the cards.” Avery flashed him a grin. “But I will permit you to keep your acorns.”

“What’s going on?” asked Thomas, giving up on the nap he’d been attempting as Matilda had now risen to join forces with Isabella for some plot.

“Oliver overplays his confidence when he knows his only chance at winning is intimidating his opponent into folding,” answered Avery. “That refusal to back down is going to get you in trouble one day, my dear fellow.”

“Hm,” mused Isabella. “Lecturing someone else on being unreasonably stubborn. That is funny.”

Avery glared over her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

“Just tell us what’s on your mind,” insisted Matilda. “No more of this thoughtful brooding and staring off into space.”

“I’m fi—”

“Avery Hemlock, if you say you’re fine one more time, I will throw you into the fire!” In Mundane society, her outburst would have had dire social consequences, but in Hygge, it only awarded Matilda with a few disapproving glances.

Avery ran her tongue along the edge of her fangs. The thoughts had been tumbling around in her mind for a month now, and not voicing them had failed to solve anything. “Humans are not born with true sight, most fey aren’t born with it. It’s a mystery, yes? It’s a gift only gods are capable of bestowing.”

“But she has it?” Thomas asked quietly.

“Who?” Oliver finally looked up from his cards.

Matilda gently flicked his shoulder. “Pay attention, we’re talking about Saga.” Then to Avery, she asked. “Do you think she hasn’t been honest with you?”

Avery shook her head. “No.” Saga was the one person she felt confident would be completely honest with her. “She’s just found out her family has still been lying to her—this time about her parents. Which makes very little sense to me unless…” She shook her head. “It is a foolish thought.”

“You are wondering if her father might have been more than what he seemed,” Isabella concluded.

Was it wishful thinking? “She told me he died abroad and completely alone. Knowing how the Aos Sí have interacted with the mortal plane in the past… It would be a convenient way for a god to make an exit before he had to skip back to Faerie to do…whatever it is that gods do.”

Thomas whistled and turned to stare into the fireplace. “Another good reason you asked about the records. Do you truly think something like that would be public? If they exist, that is.”

“Even if the record does not exist, it would be foolish to not check that valuable resource,” said Isabella. Of course she’d believe that. No one loved a record more than Isabella. “You were clever to ask. Albeit clumsy.”

Avery’s cheeks felt hot. “I did not realize she was…flirting.”

Isabella suppressed a laugh. Poorly. “Obviously.”