Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown #2) - Keri Arthur Page 0,84

one stolen from the British Museum was?”

“If it was, then it would be in Max’s hands and he’d know the truth of the sword in the stone.”

“We don’t know the truth as yet,” I said. “Not with absolute certainty.”

Mo patted my arm. “As Vivienne said, you cannot forever deny the truth, however much you might wish to.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling I’m missing some necessary information to fully understand that particular statement,” Luc said, frustration evident in both his voice and his expression.

“You are,” Mo said equably. “But given it’s information you’re not yet equipped to deal with, let’s concentrate on setting a trap and waking the dead.”

Luc scrubbed a hand across his face. “You are the most frustrating woman—”

“Isn’t she just,” I muttered.

He gave me a side eye. “Now there’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black, if ever I heard one. What’s the plan?”

“First, we go somewhere for breakfast,” Mo said. “I cannot think on a stomach that has had nothing but banoffee pie for breakfast.”

“Why on earth would any sane person even consider eating something like that for breakfast?”

“Chocolate cake would have been better, I agree, but we had to make do with what we had.” She patted his arm. “Come along.”

She headed off briskly. He shook his head, his expression bemused. “I take it she has got a plan, but isn’t willing to share it yet.”

“She’s always got a plan,” I said. “And I daresay she’s already putting it into action.”

A comment that proved utterly correct when she directed me back to the M6 and then on to Carlisle rather than home. Or at least, our temporary home. I glanced in the rearview mirror to ensure Luc was still behind us—briefly taking a moment to enjoy the sight of a well-built, leather-clad man on a glorious motorbike—and then said, “Where are we actually headed?”

“To Mryddin’s Cave, of course. We need answers, and he might be the only one who can give them to us.”

“Yes, but where is his cave? And is that its actual name?”

“Yes, and it’s in Physgill, near Whithorn.”

“Which clarifies absolutely everything.”

She lightly slapped my thigh. “I’ll definitely have to sit you down and give you geography lessons.”

“Why? It’s not like it will matter, now or later.”

She tsked. “A good queen should always know the history and geography of the lands she rules.”

“Even if I am destined to claim Elysian, it’s not like the throne will ever be mine.”

“That’s not the point.”

It actually was. Even if Darkside managed to destroy Layton’s protections, they would never erase the entire royal line. The Blackbirds wouldn’t allow it. They’d fight for the crown’s existence, even if human royalty now wore that crown rather than witch.

And while there were undoubtedly plenty of witches who’d love to see the reemergence of witch rule, there were just as many who’d fight to keep the status quo—mostly those whose businesses and wealth were very much tied in with the current system.

“When did you realize the ring wasn’t the real one?” I asked eventually.

“When it didn’t react to you.”

I glanced at her. “Which might have just meant you were wrong and that I’m not the heir.”

“Hardly, when Vivienne all but declared it as truth.”

Meaning that whole convergence thing, no doubt. “Then how are we going to find the real ring, especially if the Blackbirds took the current one from Uhtric’s hand?”

“I suspect Mryddin might be able to answer that one.”

“Why? Hasn’t he been in hibernation since the time of the first Witch King?”

“I believed so, but perhaps this is one of those very rare occasions when I’m wrong.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I did leave after Uhtric re-caged Darkside, remember, and all these intrigues certainly have Mryddin’s feel. Plus, Vivienne did say it was time for him to stir again.”

“What if he doesn’t have the answers we need?”

“Let’s cross one bridge at a time, darling girl.”

I snorted softly but nevertheless switched my full attention back to road. By the time we neared Carlisle, dawn had fully risen, and the day looked gray and ugly. Mo directed me off the M6 and through a number of streets until we reached a small café on the outskirts of the main town center.

I stopped out front and climbed out. Luc pulled up beside us; after storing his helmet, he glanced up at the café’s sign. “Coffee Climax? Seriously?”

Mo chuckled. “Mary does have a bent sense of humor, although there are plenty who would attest to her coffee being as close as you’ll