“You have?”
“Aye. It’s midnight adamant.”
A bolt of recognition goes through me. “The stuff they used to make portal stones out of?”
Argos tilts his head and his horn chains jingle lightly. “Uh, I don’t know anything about portal stones.”
I hold out a hand. “Of course you don’t. You weren’t raised to wield magic. Yet another reason you shouldn’t be using any.”
He ignores my comment and begins carrying the mirror in the direction of the pub. “Think Cyrus will be all right with me taking this to my room?”
“He loves an adventure even if he ends up on the wrong end of fate.”
Argos chuckles. “That does sound like him.”
Inside The Gold Coin,a few tables are full of folks eating and drinking. Cyrus is explaining something to his employee behind the bar. He gives us a quick wave and then does a double-take.
“Ooo, what do we have here, magical friends?” Cyrus asks.
I grimace and shrug. “We don’t really know yet, but we will find out.”
Cyrus grins wickedly. “Up in Argos’s room?”
My glare has to be hot on the dragon’s forehead even if he is good with all kinds of heat.“Yes, why do you say it like that, Cyrus?”
“Nothing. Go on ahead. I’m sure you two will learn a lot alone up there together.”
I snarl quietly. “Please stop.”
Cyrus smirks and I raise my wand. He lifts his hands in surrender and I turn away to trail Argos up the stairs to his room.
Argos sets the mirror on his narrow bed, then steps back to wipe his hands on his trousers. The room is small but tidy. He has a gas lamp on his nightstand and a small window that looks out the back of the pub to the river a few streets away. A trunk of folded clothing sits near a desk. The trunk is a fine one with tooled leather, bronze studs, and an engraved plate near the handle. I squint, trying to make out the shapes on the engraving.
“Is that a coat of arms? Where did you get that trunk?”
He purses his lips, and with a foot, shoves the trunk under the desk. “I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I’m implying that no one knows why you moved here and where you got those witch-made khymeia. You expect me to just let you waltz into my hometown and charm everyone’s trousers off without knowing a single thing about your background. You could be a murderer. A traitor to the Veiled Kingdoms. A violent sort who left his family in poverty in his last town. When you tell me nothing, I can only assume the worst so that I can be ready when you show your true colors.”
Something dark flashes across his eyes. I’ve hit the mark with at least some part of my tirade.
“Wow,” he says, his tone light but forced. “That’s a big jump. From pretty magical illusions to murder?”
“And once again, you’re avoiding revealing anything about yourself. If that’s not the move of a guilty male, I don’t know what is.”
He acts like I said nothing at all and instead of filling me in, he goes to his desk and removes his precious little notebookfrom the top drawer. Then he takes a small set of scales from another door in the desk’s side. He sets the book and scales on the desk and takes a minuscule knife from his pocket.
“I’m not about to try to cut you into pieces if you are curious.” He moves toward the mirror.
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t think that.”
“Good. Because I’d definitely use a larger knife for that kind of job.”
“Funny guy.”
The corners of his lips lift in an almost smile as he leans over the mirror. “I’m going to make sure I’m right about this material.”
He picks at the mirror’s frame with his knife and pries a flower free. Dropping it onto one side of the scale, he frowns at it. Next, he adds three bronze weights to the other side of the scale. The dark material is heavier than the weights, so he adds another of the bronze triangles.
