Her dark eyes glittered dangerously, but she obviously knew she had little choice in the matter.

Cynwrig crossed his arms and studied her for several very long seeming seconds. She couldn’t move—my previous order still held true until I said otherwise—but I think if she could have shifted in discomfort she might have.

“Who gave you the commission to follow us?” he asked eventually. “Was it Kaitlyn?”

“No,” the woman growled. Her voice was on the harsh side of husky, making me wonder if it was the result of damaged vocal cords. The ugly scars down the left side of her face and neck suggested it could be. “The broker has stopped taking contracts that involve her.”

That last bit was said with a sneer and obviously directed at me. “So you were after me, not Lord Lùtair here?”

“Yes.”

“Then why not wait until I was alone? You must have realized his presence upped the risks.”

“Yes,” she repeated. “But a contract has just gone out for tender, requesting his temporary removal from Deva and—”

“You figured you’d take advantage of the situation and, in the process, jump both the queue and the competition,” Cynwrig finished for her.

“We never land the bigger contracts,” she muttered.

But they’d landed mine, which meant someone considered me less worthy than Cynwrig. Which was odd, really, given my newly emerging talents were of use to both the Claw group and the Hoard stealers.

“Who gave you the contract for me, then?” I asked.

“I only know her first name.”

When she didn’t continue, I raised my eyebrow and said, “And that name is...?”

“Minnie Mouse.”

“Really?”

My voice was disbelieving, and she smiled. “Of course it isn’t, but it’s not like I can tell you otherwise.”

There was only two ways to prevent someone speaking the truth when compelled by a pixie. One of them was via telepathic control, and I seriously doubted we were dealing with that here. “I take it the contractor was a pixie?”

“Yes.”

Which meant I couldn’t countermand or even dissolve the other’s pixie’s orders. The controlling magic just didn’t work that way. “If you’re under a pixie order you must have met her—can you give me a description?”

“No.”

My frustration grew stronger, though again it wasn’t an unexpected answer. Any pixie ordering anything illegal of another would ensure their identities were well and truly hidden. And it wasn’t like we could track the “feel” of the obedience magic as we could pixie dust, because although the compelling magic in every pixie line did have share certain characteristics, it was impossible to pin it down to a particular family or person.

“You’re putting a lot of trust in a woman you don’t know,” I commented.

“That’s how these sorts of contracts work,” Cynwrig commented. “The person responsible for funding the contract will not renege, as that would get them blacklisted.”

“Huh.” I looked at the woman again. “What were you supposed to do with me once you had me?”