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“Liverpool is a family-owned building, not mine. I’ve several investments scattered around Deva, both within and without the old city, and there’s currently two with vacancies, thanks to it being off season.”

Meaning they were lets rather than permanent rentals. “Then I’ll meet you in one of them—although I should warn you, I might possibly fall asleep in my pancakes.”

He laughed, a soft, warm sound that had desire skittering through me. “You might not be the only one.”

“I also don’t know what time I’ll get there. It just depends how long it takes to find the right scroll.”

“Text me when you’re leaving, then.”

“I will. See you tomorrow.

“I’ll wait with bated breath.”

“I’d rather you wait with pancakes at the ready. Certain appetites need to be filled first before others can be satisfied.”

He laughed again and hung up. A few seconds later, an address pinged onto my message app. The apartment was in Nuns Road, which, from memory, was near the racecourse and not all that far from where he’d been living.

I pushed off the bed and headed back down to the cellar to continue working. By the time Eljin left at eleven, we’d gone through seven scrolls and still hadn’t hit the right one. I walked him to the front door and kissed him goodbye, long and lingering.

“Ring me tomorrow night,” he said softly. “We’ll do dinner or something.”

I suspected the “or something” was the higher priority in his estimation, and I couldn’t say that I disagreed. The sexual drought I’d suffered after Mathi and I had broken up might have been altogether too long, but I was certainly making up for it now.

“I will.”

His gaze dropped briefly to my lips, and heat stirred through his eyes. But he neither reacted nor reached for me again. He simply nodded and left. I locked the door and briefly rested my forehead against the old wood, listening to its comforting if distant song as I wondered who would win this battle—head or heart. Not that the latter had any stakes in said battle. Not yet, at any rate.

I ignored the tiny voice suggesting I was kidding myself and headed downstairs. The night slipped by slowly, and I eventually catnapped on a couple of chairs.

“Bingo,” Mathi said, who knew how many hours later. “Found it.”

I started awake, then scrubbed a hand across weary eyes and got up, walking around the table to stand beside him. The scroll in front of him wasn’t written in Latin like the others, but rather a language that appeared far older. The scroll itself was in a poor state and had obviously suffered water damage multiple times over the years—maybe even decades—rendering much of it unreadable.

Mathi lightly pressed a finger above the faded text. “Given the dangerousness of Hephaestus’s weapon, it was decided separation...” He paused, frowning. “Not sure what the next bit says?—”

“Damn mold has never helped that situation,” Lugh muttered. “Wonder where it was stored that it got so badly damaged?”

“Not amongst the council’s records, that’s for sure,” Mathi replied, “though it is purported to be a record of council proceedings. Can’t read the year, unfortunately.”

“Deva’s council?” I asked.

“Uncertain but unlikely, given we’ve never had scrolls go missing.”

“You never had the hoard going missing until recently, either, so that’s no guarantee of anything.”

“Our council was not responsible for the hoard.” Mathi’s frown deepened as he moved his finger down several lines. “It says here the shield was hidden in the dark heart of Gruama.”

“Where the hell is that?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” Mathi said. “It’s not a name I recognize.”

“Me neither.” Lugh pointed to a bit of text further down. “That looks like Cluain Déise, which I believe is where the English form of Cloondeash came from.”

“Oh, wouldn’t it be the mother of all ironies if the shield is stored in the very encampment our red-haired elf was born in?” I said.

“Cloondeash was never called the Gruama encampment as far as I’m aware, but I’m sure Cynwrig will be able to tell you.” Mathi glanced at me somewhat speculatively. “You are seeing him this morning, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”