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I put the Eye on top of the Codex, unsheathed my knives and placed them either side—for no real reason other than the fact it felt right—then spun and walked back to the kitchenette.

Once I’d made my pot of tea, I grabbed a mug, then moved back to my chair and broke open the chocolate. A couple of rows and one mug of tea later, I finally felt ready to tackle the Codex.

The light that rolled across its surface now matched the pulsing coming from the Eye, suggesting they were in sync. The knives remained inert, which I guessed was a good thing, given their talents lay in reflecting or destroying magic rather than enhancing it.

After a slight hesitation, I pressed a fingertip to the Eye. The thrum of power didn’t change, but the light whirling through the Codex brightened.

I had no idea what to do next, so I asked, “Where was the Goddess Agrona’s Sword of Darkness created?”

I waited for some kind of response, but nothing happened.

Neither the Codex’s swirling light nor the Eye’s pulsing changed in any way.

Damn it, why could nothing be straightforward for a change?

While I could blame Mom for my lack of knowledge when it came to the Eye—though in truth I understood why she’d been reluctant to burden me with the baggage that came with it, even if I found it frustrating—I couldn’t blame her for my lack when it came to the Codex. She—like so many of our ancestors—had apparently been similarly clueless about its importance. Which made me wonder yet again what had gone so wrong in the past that all information about the triune’s importance had basically been forgotten.

I slid the Eye onto the table, then picked up the Codex and tried again. Still no response, and the inner light seemed fainter.

Perhaps I needed to open the thing first?

I flipped it over and tried to do that, but the damn thing appeared glued shut. Or maybe it always had been. It wasn’t like I’d really had a chance to examine it properly after we’d snatched it from Vincentia.

I grabbed another row of chocolate and munched on it while I contemplated the Codex. When I’d first used the Eye, I had to be holding it for it to work, but that obviously wasn’t holding true here. Or was it simply a case of it not being designed to work alone, despite the fact that both the Eye and the knives were individually functional? It definitely had gleamed brighter when the Eye had been sitting on it.

I leaned forward, picked up the Eye, pressed it against the front cover, and then repeated the question.

Ghosts stirred through the back of my mind, tantalizing images that promised much and provided little.

Frustration stirred, but I leaned forward and scooped up the knives. If this didn’t work, I was out of fucking ideas.

I dropped the Codex onto my lap, positioned the knives and the Eye on its surface, then pressed a hand across the lot of them and re-asked the question.

Light erupted from all three even as a whirlpool of power surrounded me. It swept me up and then swept me away, though it wasn’t a physical departure as much as a mental—or perhaps spiritual—one. I could still feel the old leather chair under my butt, could still hear the building’s song and the crackle of the flames in the hearth. But they were little more than whispers against the sheer noise coming from the deepening maelstrom of color I arrowed toward.

But unlike the first—and to date the only—time I’d connected the triune, I didn’t fall straight through that storm but rather stopped in the midst of it. For several seconds, I did nothing more than watch as the maelstrom’s spinning slowed, then settled into a multitude of different shapes. Long and tall, thin, or thick, some round, but most square or rectangular.

I blinked.

They werebooks. Books that glowed with an unearthly energy.

Ethine had told me—when I’d spoken to her via her stone monument—that the Codex held the vast knowledge of all creation. Given its size—or lack thereof—I’d seriously doubted the statement. And in many respects, I hadn’t been wrong, because the Codex was actually a key that unlocked what basically amounted to a library. A goddamn godly library.

How in the fuck did we ever lose this resource?

It is a very long time indeed since an Aodhán pixie has graced the halls of this place.

The voice was neither male nor female, and held no warmth, hostility, or power. It exuded wisdom, knowledge, and an odd sense of welcome, and yet I had a deep sense that it could all change at the snap of a finger.

I hesitated, uncertain how to proceed, though I suspected it wouldn’t be considered polite to simply ask my question. Good manners were a thing when dealing with old gods. They were likely to smite you, otherwise.

I’m afraid all knowledge about the Codex was lost—

It was not lost. It was a malicious and deliberate action by an ancestor after she and her offspring were banned for a period of three lifetimes for misusing this library.

A comment that made me think of Vincentia and the fact that she’d obviously inherited that ancestor’s treacherous traits.I don’t suppose that misuse involved the theft of Agrona’s Claws, did it?

It was a guess, but a logical one given we’d recently learned it had been an Aodhán pixie—an ancestor of mine, in fact—that had stolen the Claws.