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“Actually, I don’t.” I gave him a weak smile. “I don’t think I’ve spoken more than two words to a teenager since I was one myself.”
“I can’t say I recommend it. Those two will be worth their weight in gold in a few years, maybe better than Siobhan and Arson, but that’s only if they don’t die first.”
“What are they doing?”
“Just training exercises. Why?” Cross asked, lip curling up in a smile. “Are you interested? I could use a court spy.”
“She’s not interested,” Scion snapped. “And don’t you fucking dare send a spy anywhere near me unless they’re a gift. I’ve been meaning to let Bael kill Mordant, anyway, so we’ll need a replacement.”
Cross laughed. “Noted.”
We followed Cross’s lead, taking seats across from him at one of the rickety card tables. “So, how did it go with Phillipa?”
I blushed, but Scion cut in, giving such a limited explanation of what had transpired I would almost swear he lied. “We’ve found your problem, though,” he concluded. “She had a whole drawer of Gancanagh in her office.”
“I might’ve suspected that,” Cross replied. “But we haven’t been able to get in there until now. Seems everyone got what they wanted.”
I grimaced. I did not feel precisely triumphant. “Was Siobhan able to get into the safe?”
Cross grinned. “Of course.”
My jaw dropped. “She was?”
I realized then that I hadn’t really believed that she would—I so rarely expected anything to work out well that when it did, it didn’t feel real. Like I’d somehow cheated the gods simply by avoiding catastrophe.
“Didn’t I tell you she’s the best,” Cross replied smugly.
“Well, where is she?” Scion asked.
“Sleeping, but it’s no matter. I have the documents.”
“Well, don’t leave us in fucking suspense,” Scion grumbled.
Cross seemed to be a showman who enjoyed drawing out a reveal simply for the drama of it, whereas Scion was about to tear his own flesh from the bone if he was forced to wait another second. I could not imagine how these two had ever become friends, though I supposed I should be grateful that they were.
Reaching into the inside pocket of his black leather vest, Cross pulled out a stack of parchment tied together with a knot of red string.
I looked at it skeptically. “I was picturing a book.”
“This is what a book looks like after the cover has been torn off and left to burn on the hearth of the leader of the assassin’s guild,” Cross said happily.
“Why…” I began before breaking off. Never mind, I was not sure I wanted to know what he was up to.
“Did you find anything in there?”
“Not yet, lass. We’d be looking for an outsider. Someone not from Inbetwixt, certainly. A big bloke, from what Vander said. Tan, tattoos on his head, green eyes.”
Scion looked up sharply. “You never mentioned that was the description.”
“Why? Does that mean something to you?”
“Perhaps.” He sounded unsure. “My brother—Dullahan, that is—he travels with one of his men more than the others, and he fits that description.”
“You got a name?” Cross asked.
“Riven,” Scion replied shortly. “He’s from a village in Wanderlust, no family name that I know of, no magic.”
I looked sideways at Scion. “You know quite a bit, then.”
