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“Famous last words, I’m thinking.”
He grinned. “I’ll run a search once we get home. Between the mine research societies and the industrial heritage listings, I should be able to come up with a short list.”
I nodded. “I’ll check with the Codex when I ask it about the sword, though I can’t imagine it’s up to date with centuries of land developments.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t tried to use it yet?”
I grimaced. “It’s not like I’ve had a whole lot of time to even look at the damn thing.”
“That’s an excuse, and we both know it. You’re scared of it.”
“And rightly so, I’m thinking. There has to be a reason Mom’s ancestors basically erased all knowledge of the triune from family history. Maybe that reason is the price it exacts.”
“You might have already paid the price,” he said. “It did make you stab yourself in the guts to ensure you were bonded to the thing.”
“You make it sound more dramatic than it was.” In truth, I hadn’t even been aware it had happened until afterward, and the wound had healed itself pretty much straight away. The old gods obviously did not want their earthly “agents” incapacitated for too long. “What worries me more is the fact that none of these things come with instruction manuals.”
“You figured out the knives, you’re figuring out the Eye, and I have every faith you’ll work out the Codex.” He paused. “Besides, how hard can it be? Vincentia was using it.”
I snorted. Cousin Vincentia was a relic hunter who sold to the highest bidder and didn’t particularly care if they were black market or museums. She’d also been the inside source for the Looisearch and the main reason they not only had the crown but had almost claimed the sword.
But Vincentia—and Aunt Riayn—had paid a heavy price for her betraying us. Not only had Vincentia lost her left hand and two fingers on her right when the mage she’d been working with magically exploded the gun Vincentia had been holding, but she and my aunt had been served the red knife by the pixie council. It was both a symbolic and physical cutting of ties and was the ultimate punishment for a pixie. Not only was she excommunicated from pixie society for a period of ten years, but their ability to hear and use the song and power of the trees had also been ripped from them. And, in a final act of retribution, they were both confined to the small acreage Riayn called home, unable to leave for anything other than a medical emergency.
And even then, the magic within the red knife—which could not be moved or touched by them—would notify the council, and a guard would be dispatched.
Only death could break the power of the knife, and neither my aunt nor my cousin was the type to self-harm.
Theywerethe type who’d bide their time and seek revenge. But at least I had ten years to figure out countermeasures.
Of course, they weren’t the only ones who’d gotten into trouble with the pixie council. Magicking kin was against the code, and I’d crossed that line when I done a deep mind meld with Vincentia. They’d yet to decide my fate, and while it was unlikely to be anywhere near as brutal as what they’d handed to Vincentia and Riayn, I would still be punished. The council would want to send a message to the wider pixie community that crossing the line was never acceptable, even if the reasons were well-intentioned.
“The Codex never fully worked for her, from what she’s said,” I replied.
“It worked well enough for her to beat me to several artifacts.”
His voice was a mix of amusement and old frustration. I smiled. “Yes, but if it had worked properly, she’d have beaten you to them every single time.”
“I guess.”
His phone rang sharply, making me jump. He gave me a “what the hell?” sort of look, then punched the answer button as it came up on screen. “Rogan, what’s up?”
Rogan was Lugh’s boss and a man who’d spent the better part of his life working for the museum, first as an antiquarian like Lugh then as director of operations for the Antiquities division.
“You’ve been uncommunicative for nigh on five days. What do you think is up?” Rogan’s reply was dry. “Your wages are paid by the museum, remember, and we do occasionally need to know what you might be up to.”
Lugh laughed. “I did send a text.”
“It said—and I quote—got family shit to look after then off to Scotland to deal with the sword. To which I replied, what sword and why Scotland?”
“Didn’t get that.”
I raised my eyebrow at the lie. I’d actually been there when the reply had come in.
Rogan sighed. It was a long-suffering sound. “And the sword?”
“It wasn’t part of the Claws as we’d hoped.”
“And you confirmed this how?”
