“It was presented to the Commission as a gift.”
Cyn caught the scent of musty linen and charcoal as he studied the delicate hieroglyphs sketched on the scroll.
“Presented by whom?”
“No one can recall.”
Hmm. That was odd. His gaze skimmed over the delicate symbols.
“What’s it for?”
“I believed that it was a simple cleansing spell that would rid the caves of any lingering residues of magic.” The female Oracle gave a lift of her shoulder. “When so many powerful demons are gathered in one place it is necessary every few months to purge the air so that the overspill of energy doesn’t build up and interfere with our current spells.”
Cyn was blissfully ignorant when it came to magic and residual buildup. He was, however, an expert when it came to the subtleties of language.
“You said you believed.” He studied her tiny, heart-shaped face. “Now you don’t?”
She gave a firm shake of her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t remember who planted the idea in my head that it was a cleansing spell.”
Cyn frowned in puzzlement. “You can’t read it?”
“No. But there is a compulsion deep inside me to try and cast it.”
“How would you cast it if you can’t read it?”
“That is a question I have no answer for.” Siljar stepped toward him, pointing to the glyphs. “Can you decipher it?”
“No.” He frowned, sensing the age of the writing. “It’s old. Very old.”
“Fey?” the Oracle prompted.
“Maybe fey in origin, but—”
“What?”
“The marks are too straight.” His finger traced an angled line that was topped by a section of triple dots. “The fey glyphs are curved and usually more . . . elegant.” He gave a shake of his head. “This has the blunt simplicity of humans, but it isn’t in any language I’ve seen before.”
Siljar’s expression remained calm, but Cyn didn’t miss her tiny jerk of surprise.
She hadn’t been expecting him to say human.
“But you have the means to translate it?” she at last demanded.
Cyn considered his response. He was impulsive, not suicidal. A wise vampire didn’t say no to an Oracle.
Then again, he wanted nothing more than to get rid of his unwanted guests and check on his clan. He had full faith in Lise, whom he’d left in charge when Roke asked him to travel to America, but his clan would be frantic to discover what’d happened to him.
And more importantly, he wanted the damned fairy princess out of his hair.
Okay. That wasn’t entirely true.
If he was honest, what he really wanted was her soft and welcoming and groaning with pleasure as he came deep inside her.
But that was about as likely to happen as him sprouting wings and a halo. Which meant he would be stuck for days with a haughty, prudish female who was way too fond of treating him like he was some sort of lesser being who should be kneeling at her elegant feet.