“I shall check,” the mirror man says before disappearing from sight, leaving us staring at our reflection as we wait for him to report back.
The genie poofs into existence beside me. “Recall your sword, Daphne. Now.”
I yank on the magic, but it won’t budge. What in the blazes? “Something is blocking it,” I grumble.
Genie huffs. “Dammit. Poseidon is holding it hostage. I thought you had a tempo before his magic took hold.”
Panic flares in my gut, making my stomach twist and my gremlin groan.
“What does he want with your sword?” Gwyneth asks.
I glance at the glowing trident. “Nothing. He wants a trade.”
Theo jerks to his feet. “You are not going back down there.”
“I agree,” Gwyneth says. “He won’t let you escape a second time.”
I rub a hand down my face and sigh. “But I need it back.” I think I might actually die without it. It’s linked to my life force now.
Gwyneth jumps to her feet and claps her hands. “We can figure this out. Hart, grab the stack of books about Poseidon I left on the top level. Malachi, claim every book about the sword and your legend you can find. Theo, find me information on Mr. Tick. Something doesn’t add up.” She spares me a glance and before turning to Nash. “Nash, keep our girl safe and out of mischief while I gather what I can on deals with Idols.”
They sweep out to the four corners of the library, leaving me with Nash and my genie.
I fold my arms and sink onto the sofa. “Do you have any other news from the ocean?” I ask Genie.
A little gossip will help keep me distracted from the fact I fucked something up in the knights’ legend—again. Genie grins. “Girl, I have so much to tell you.”
Nash hands me a plate of food and takes a seat next to me. The genie launches into the gossip from the ocean, and I try to push down the feeling that everybody might be better off without my meddling and calamities.
Send me a sign, Idols. Am I meant to be part of their story, or am I an impediment to their happiness? Any sign, big or small. Just make it clear.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
“Is it documented anywhere that folks can die of boredom?” I ask as I absently flick through another massive tome containing a lot of words about useless crap like how Poseidon commands the seas, and how his trident was a present from another Idol, whose name is mysteriously missing. What’s the point of an amazing gift like a magic fork if you will not take responsibility for it? I once gave Gwyneth a magic carpet for her birth diurnal, and you can bet I claimed that perfect present—until I realized it couldn’t bear the weight of anything more than a couple of mice. I should know, since I tested it.
“I don’t believe that boredom ever results in death,” Nash mutters as he turns a page like it holds the realm’s secrets. It doesn’t. I already checked that one.
“What if I do something because I am bored, and that results in my death?” I ask.
His eyes flick to me for a moment. “Don’t.”
I throw my hands in the air. “It wasn’t a plan, more of a hypothetical question.”
“Then officials would list whatever actually killed you as your cause of death, not the boredom that led you to make those stupid decisions to liven up your annus.”
“My annus needs livening up.”
“That’s the last thing yours or any of our annuses needs,” Theo adds.
I pout. “Spoilsport. I would have assumed you would be up for chaos.”
“Only when it doesn’t involve risking your life.”
“I hate to break it to you, but the sunrise risks my life every diurnal.”
“Risks your life more,” Theo corrects.
