Page 36 of A Kiss of Flame
Hugh and Artie sat behind matching large wooden desks, pouring over papers stacked neatly in perfect piles. Neither looked up when Sil led Levian and Barith into the vaulted room.The space was simple yet tall, with a wide stone fireplace at the back and dark marble floors. A chandelier made of bone and crystal hung from the ceiling, casting light over a Persian rug between the desks.
There were no armed guards, no security rushing in to encircle them. In fact, Levian hadn’t seen any security at all. She had noticed an eerie touch of magick when Sil had led them through a nondescript door back and into a wing that was clearly not meant for any of the patrons of Kamár. The space felt stilted and smelled of paper, ink, and woodsmoke.
Sil didn’t speak, waiting patiently between the desks as the pixies turned papers. Levian wasn’t so patient. “I apologize for any trouble,” she offered, her voice echoing.
Both pixies ignored her, but Sil glared in silent warning: it was best to keep quiet.
Levian’s anxiety simmered.This is all my fault,she thought, determined to fix it. She’d wanted answers from Deckland, but she’d also followed him out of anger at Barith. The whole mess seemed stupid now. Standing in that room brought back unwelcome memories of being a child in The Towers, waiting to be reprimanded by the Headmaster. It made her feel small—a feeling she despised.
She opened her mouth, but Barith nudged her arm. Levian shot him a look, and his eyes widened in silent command:Do as you’re told, for once.She pursed her lips, trying to stay quiet. The tension prickled her skin, and small static shocks of magick skittered from her fingers as she tapped them against her arm.
Levian had been ready to burst when Hugh finally grumbled, “Speak.” His eyes remained on his papers.
Sil stepped forward, explaining what had happened as they knew it.
Artie grunted. “So Deckland cannot be roused?”
Levian cleared her throat. “He could be woken with magick, but he’d be groggy for the next hour or so.” Artie grunted again, turning back to his papers.
“It was an accident,” Barith insisted.
Hugh sighed, turning over another page before glancing at them. “The intention is irrelevant. What matters is that he is worthless to me now, and I need his expertise.”
Levian’s instincts took over. “I apologize—for the inconvenience. Is there any way I might help since he’s indisposed?”
Hugh’s sharp eyes stayed on her, calculating. “See if you can wake him,” he said—not to Levian, but to Sil. The fae nodded and turned to leave. “Ten minutes is all he gets,” Hugh added.
Sil left with one last unreadable glance at Levian, closing the door behind them. Artie flipped another page, and the fire crackled.
“Why have you come to Kamár, Levian Myrddin, daughter of Merlin?” Hugh asked bluntly after a moment.
Levian respected his directness. Years of experience had taught her that when dealing with sharp creatures like Hugh, it was best to be both clever and honest. She’d never dealt with an Eldreth before but trusted her instincts.
“I came to get your attention,” she replied earnestly.
“You’ve succeeded,” Hugh said. “To what ends?”
“I have an item to broker that I’d prefer to keep secret.”
“A rarity, no doubt,” he said, disinterested.
“Yes, in fact,” she confirmed, irritated at his disregard.
Hugh stood and came to stand at the edge of his desk; his gaze shifted between her and Barith. “There is truth here but also a lie,” he said. “The question is, where is your lie?”
Levian felt Barith tense behind her. To his credit, he remained quiet, hovering near her like an imposing shadow. In these situations, they always assumed their roles: she, the clevernegotiator; he, the intimidating muscle. She knew he had to be irritated that she’d made him put away his sword, but Levian still hoped her approach would prevail.
“There’s no lie,” she said. And there wasn’t, not on the surface.
Hugh smirked, his golden tooth showing. “No invitation to Kamár is accidental, brokered, or bought. We invite members of the Folk for our reasons. I invited you and Mr. McCroy because you have the Heart Orb.”
Levian’s breath caught. She had no idea how Hugh could know that—unless Carvatticus had let it slip, which she doubted. Her thoughts raced. It was strange, in hindsight, how easily they’d gotten their invitation. Odd that Hugh and Artie hadn’t seemed surprised when Barith mentioned looking for a broker.
“The shop in Paris,” she realized aloud. It was the only logical source—the pixie who owned the shop in Montmartre who had told them about the last owner of the Heart Orb and his estate in Germany.
“She is Merlin’s offspring, alright,” Artie observed dryly, starting a new stack of papers.
Levian winced at the comparison to her father, but Hugh seemed to understand. “Don’t take offense,” he said. “My cousin is complimenting your cleverness.”