Page 81 of Winter Lost

If I reached out and closed my hand, I’d hold Lugh’s walking stick. There were a lot of fae who resented that, an artifact held by someone who wasn’t fae, even if they couldn’t do anything about it. The walking stick had decided, for whatever reason, that it belonged to me.

Hrímnir wasn’t fae. I didn’t know if his missing artifact had been created by the fae. But I did know that most of the fae looked upon all artifacts as theirs. Zee certainly did. And Underhill had not yet forgiven me for giving the Soul Taker—which had certainly not been fae—to Zee for destruction.

Motive enough. If the goblin siblings knew that Hrímnir had an artifact. And where he lived. And that he couldn’t come here. The simplest explanation was still that my brother had stolen the artifact and left it with someone.

He was more likely to have done that with someone he knew better than any of the guests—someone like Liam, maybe. Liam wasn’t here, though. For now, I had a couple of goblins to question.

“Someone is missing his lyre and wants it back,” I said. “Until he gets it, none of us is going to leave here alive.”

“I told you.” Able’s voice was urgent as he leaned toward his sister. “I told you there was magic in this storm.”

True.

Victoria gave her brother a look and he subsided. No question who was in charge between the two of them.

“It would take a Power to do this,” Victoria said. “Not just a Gray Lord—one of the elementals.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what she meant by elemental.

“A lyre,” Victoria said.

“An artifact,” I told her. “It might be a harp. I’m a little unclear about that.”

I couldn’t tell if that was news to her or not. An artifact would make sense—not much else would move someone to expend the power that this storm cost.

After a moment’s silence, Victoria said, “And it is your intention to return it? This lyre or harp? An artifact?”

“If it isn’t returned, no one is leaving the lodge alive,” I told them again.

“I don’t believe you,” Able spat angrily, staring at my husband. “You humans are all liars. Werewolves, too. If you find it, you’ll take it to the Marrok, werewolf, won’t you? Because he sent you after it, didn’t he? An artifact—and oh so close to his territory.”

“The Marrok has nothing to do with this,” Adam answered. “If he wanted something, I’m not the wolf he would send for it.”

“Charles,” breathed both of the fae, stilling in their seats like a pair of rabbits who have just seen a coyote. It didn’t make them look very human.

I wondered how Charles would feel about the terror he inspired in this pair. The Marrok’s son scared me, too. And he liked me—I was mostly sure he liked me. But the fear he inspired was a useful thing. It kept people from getting hurt.

Just now, it also showed me what the goblins looked like when they were afraid.

They hadn’t been frightened about the storm. Or about someone stealing an artifact from a being powerful enough to control the weather. I was pretty sure that if this pair had taken an artifact from a frost giant, they would have been more scared of the frost giant than they were of the mention of Charles.

Maybe the goblins hadn’t stolen the lyre. Harp. Artifact.

“Charles doesn’t hunt artifacts,” I told them. “Nor does the Marrok.”

The goblins both looked at me in utter disbelief. Or as if I were very stupid.

“Do you know what the Marrok has?” Victoria hissed as only a goblin could. She managed to shove a fair bit of contempt into her voice, too. “A treasury of dozens of artifacts—dozens of named artifacts. Who knows how many unnamed.”

“How else would he amass such power if he doesn’t hunt them?” asked Able. “Do you think they come to him when he calls?”

That could be a dig about my walking stick—or not. It didn’t matter right now. I was considering whether or not Bran had a stash of artifacts. I could hear that the goblins believed what they were saying.

If Bran had a bunch of artifacts, I wouldn’t know about it, would I?

Bran Cornick, the Marrok, was motivated by one thing: to keep the werewolves safe. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to accomplish that. If he’d found a use for fae artifacts, he would keep them. Even if he was only keeping them out of the hands of his enemies.

Oh hell. As soon as I’d had that last thought, I knew. Of course he was collecting artifacts. Zee was also collecting the weapons he had made—most of them artifacts of varying degrees of power. I wonder if Zee had started that because of the Marrok—to keep his most powerful creations out of the Marrok’s hands.