Page 25 of The Lies We Conjure
“Yeah, we shouldn’t be punished for our childhood trauma,” Kaysa adds. “Or for the fact that Nona seems to have wandered off at the worst possible time.”
Luna’s whole body sags in a frown. “As someone two years more senior than Marsyas, I’d like to note that she’s old, not senile. Sharp as a tack and cracking the whip, that one.”
Hector resets, both hands up and taking a step forward toward us as a group, placating. “I think we should read the clue. Punishing Ursula’s murderer is important—obviously—but it’s not nearly as crucial to the continuation of the Four Lines as locating the master relics. By my count we now have a little more than fifty hours to find all four of them. We need to know what type of clues we’re working with, so we have an idea of how to pace ourselves to successfully locate the masters in time.”
He’s right. I hate it, but he’s right.
Ursula was adamant that we do—thatIdo—whatever necessary to continue the Four Lines. The masters are key. Even with Ursula’s murderer punished, we can’t continue the lines without the relics in hand. And if Marsyas is missing because she killed Ursula… well, we might be spinning our wheels by spending the night taking statements.
I blot a clammy hand on my pant leg and prepare to place it again on the page to call the clue, but then Hector steps toward the desk, rubbing a thumb across his jaw. He manages to appear casual but I’ve seen him use this approach—the careful, thoughtful, seasoned friend—a dozen times with Ursula. He wants something.
“Before we begin—Evander, the High Sorcerer’s ring, you took it off Ursula’s body. I think we need to discuss a better place for it than your pocket.”
“We don’t need to discuss it. It’s safe with me.”
Hector’s teeth flash gold in the firelight—he grins harder but doesn’t relent. “I’m sure it is, but I was thinking perhaps it might be appropriate to have Luna hold it until the relics are found and the High Sorcerer is named, as the eldest head of family here.”
“I don’t want it,” Luna spits without hesitation. “Should’ve left it on the body.”
I’d have to agree except all of us expected Evander to be the next High Sorcerer. That ring was supposed to be his, as it had been for generations of Hegemony heirs before him.
And while Hector’s interest in its location could simply be simpering concern that a mere teenager will mishandle something so valuable… I don’t know. It’s verypointed.
Evander produces Ursula’s ring from his pocket. It’s silver, inset with a gem for each magic line—garnet for Blood, emerald for Elemental, onyx for Death, opal for Celestial—and the symbolic key to controlling every known Four Lines witch in North America. Well, and theactualkey, given it is spelled to be bound to each of the master relics.
For something so powerful, it sits unremarkable in Evander’s wide palm.
“It should stay with the Hegemony family until the High Sorcerer is elected.” Evander’s fingers close around the ring, swallowing it from view.
“Fine,” Hector stiffly concedes, all his attention fixed on Evander’s fist as he fishes for what to say next. “However, it’s blasphemy to wear the ring without rights. Punishable by ten to thirty years of censure of powers by a panel of your peers.”
Evander nearly rolls his eyes at the hand-wringing. He would if he’d been alone with Hector, I’m sure. Instead, he maintains an aura of professionalism as he fishes his own chain and heir’s key from beneath his snow-white button-up. Without another word, he unclasps the chain and slides the ring onto it. It sinks down the length until it clinks softly with his key. Evander’s is larger than mine, and iron, not copper, with more jags on its edge and a more ornate fob at its top.
Evander returns the chain to his neck and slips the ring and key out of sight beneath his shirt. “Is that satisfactory, Hector?”
“Yes,” the patriarch agrees, almost automatically. He straightens his suit jacket and backs away from the desk.
“Okay, now that we’ve settled that matter,” Evander says in a way that makes it obvious he did not care for Hector’s lapse in agreeability, “Auden, the first clue, if you would.”
I press my palm into the will. My thumb is again lined up perfectly with the bloody print, but this time no magic sparks under my skin.
The paper is cold, dull, lifeless.
After a beat, there’s a collective shuffle and lean.
“It hasn’t yet appeared.” I glance first to Winter and then to Evander, but it’s obvious they see nothing but the sheet we started with—looping with Ursula’s signature and marked by our bloody thumbprints. “Perhaps the clue must be read by someone of the appropriate line?”
Testing this theory, I present the single page again to the other families.
Hector and Sanguine crowd the desk, squinting—nothing.
The Starwoods don’t move from their home base of the guest chair, but both shake their heads, unable to read a thing upon it.
The Blackgates—
My eyes dart around the room. The corners, the shadows.
The Blackgates are nowhere to be found.
