I stacked the boxes on top of each other then made my way through the tavern and up the stairs—to find Beira sitting on the sofa, a bottle of whisky on the coffee table in front of her and a full glass, sans ice, held in one slightly clawed hand.
I stopped abruptly. “How the fuck did you get up here?”
“Walked up the stairs like any normal person.”
“The door at the bottom of these stairs was locked.”
She waved a hand. “That sort of lock is easy to get around.”
“It’s electronic, and key coded.”
“And the right amount of lightning properly applied can short it out just enough to open it without destroying it. You might want to look into that.”
I put the boxes on the floor next to the coffee table, then stepped over them and walked across to the kitchenette, flicking on the kettle. While I did like the whisky The Lakes Distillery produced, it was a wee bit early for me to be drinking. Once I’d popped the leaves into the teapot, I turned and crossed my arms. “And to what do I owe this particular honor?”
“I heard the harp’s discordant song on the wind and was wondering if you did.”
I frowned. “I’ve been hearing something, but it’s been too fleeting to trace. I’d actually attributed it to a relic our thief is using, given the noise generally happened at the same time he was active.”
She wasn’t facing me, but I could almost feel her eyes rolling. “If the blade had had a similar resonance to another relic, I would have mentioned it.”
“Hate to be disrespectful and all, but you’re a god involved in a current game—even if unofficially—so there is no real guarantee of help in any given situation.”
She snorted and didn’t deny the statement. “Have you tried asking the wind to trace it?”
“What? The blade or the relic?”
“The blade, of course.”
“Not yet, but if you’re feeling in a generous mood, you can always ask the wind to trace the relic for me. You’re better at that sort of stuff.”
“And you will not get any better if you do notpractice. As to the blade, I am not, as you noted earlier, an active participant in the game.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Trying to shove a poker up your ass to get it moving.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You certainly do have a unique turn of phrase.”
She harrumphed. “What is the relic you have been tasked to find this time?”
I made my tea and then carried the pot, a mug, and a small jug of milk over to the sitting area. “Aamon’s Pectoral.”
Surprised flitted through her expression. “It’s been released? That’s the artifact your thief is using?”
“Apparently.”
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because Aamon has rarely participated in the games. If his relic is now active, then it’s because he wished it.”
“Meaning it was never part of the hoard?”
“No.”
I frowned and poured my tea. “I got the impression when I was talking to Aasym that he’d moved on from this world.”
