Able stiffened when Adam pulled out a chair opposite Victoria and motioned for me to sit. As usual, Adam had chosen our seats strategically. Our backs were to the kitchen, but we had good views of all the people at the other two tables.
It was an unnecessary strategy, though, because everyone at Peter’s table rose when Adam and I sat down. As soon as the last of that group exited the room, the Heddars left, too. No one stopped to introduce themselves—just as they would not have had we been staying in a generic hotel under normal circumstances. That probably meant that no one realized just how bad the storm outside was.
The pair at our table started to get up and leave with everyone else. But Adam waved them back into their seats.
He was an Alpha—it hadn’t been a request. They sat back down, though I could tell that neither of them quite knew why.
“We met Elyna Gray last night,” Adam told them. “You must be the hikers that she mentioned—Able and Victoria. Not part of the wedding party.”
They didn’t respond.
“Able and Victoria,” Adam said. “Siblings and mountain climbers.”
“Yes,” Victoria said tightly.
“Goblin killer,” her brother hissed at Adam. “We’ve done nothing. Leave us alone.”
Adam hadn’t killed any goblins that I knew about—which would be anytime in the last decade. I hadn’t killed any goblins, either. I had led a team of pack members with the intention of confronting a fugitive goblin who had killed a human child. He’d ended up dead at the hands of the goblin king, but I’d been there, too. I would have killed that goblin if I’d had to.
I wondered what stories were going around that had Adam labeled as a goblin killer. Or maybe the question should be who was telling the stories.
Victoria’s hand shot to her brother’s knee, and he quit talking. Adam bumped me lightly with his shoulder. They were more worried about him. Adam thought I needed to be the one to talk to them.
Fair enough, I thought.
Elyna hadn’t known anything about them other than that they apparently made good money GoPro-ing themselves climbing mountains, then posting their adventures to social media.
I needed to find out who had the artifact so I could return it. I didn’t think arguing that Adam hadn’t killed any goblins was going to help with my main goal, so I set it aside.
A rather long silence had stretched out between us as I decided how to approach this. We were alone in the room, and that opened up a few possibilities.
“Nasty weather out there,” I said to Victoria, ignoring her brother. “Do you know what caused it?”
“A low-pressure system bringing in arctic air?” she answered. She had a death grip on her brother. “Are you some kind of meteorologist?”
I’d hoped for a more direct answer. Questions were neither truth nor lies.
“No,” I said. “I’m a mechanic. But I know why this storm is going to keep going for a while.”
The timing was right for them to have been involved with the theft. For the first time I wondered if my brother had really been the thief. I’d just accepted Hrímnir’s assessment. It didn’t make sense that he’d stolen the artifact, left it here, then run to me.
Goblins were excellent thieves, and this pair knew about mountains in winter. If I had to pick someone to go rob a frost giant, this pair would be a very good choice. They had enough magic to slip in and out of locked places, but not so much that they drew attention. They had opportunity, and possibly the means for the theft.
As for motive…
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.