“Mom never used it because she couldn’t, Tia. She didn’t perform the appropriate binding ceremony.”

That was a guess on my part, but surely if Mom had understood the codex’s importance—or even performed the ceremony—she wouldn’t have allowed my aunt to steal let alone keep it.

She snorted. “The codex doesn’t need a binding ceremony to work. One simply holds it and imagines the item you need information on.”

Handy to know. “If the codex is so informative, why are you having so much trouble tracking down the Claws?”

She scowled at me. “Because like all things goddess given, it is unpredictable by nature.”

“Or perhaps the goddess is right. Perhaps you have to bind the Triune to use its full resources.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned this Triune—what the hell are you talking about?”

“The Triune is foresight, protection, and knowledge—the Eye, the knives, and the codex respectively. All three need to be tuned to each other for them to work fully.”

The power running along the building’s foundations reached a peak, and tension flickered through Cynwrig’s body; he was getting ready to attack.

“Well, that’s patently untrue, as your mother used the knives and the Eye for years, and I’ve been using the codex without restriction.” Vincentia paused and frowned at the nearest wall. That suggested she was aware of the energy running through the stone, and yet she didn’t move away from it. Was she unaware that dark elves could control stone as easily as we controlled wood?

Gods, I hoped so.

“You’re lying to yourself, Vincentia,” I said, a little louder than necessary to draw her attention back to me. “Even your mother knows the codex is only partially unlocked.”

She rolled her eyes. “My mother wouldn’t have a clue. Where is the codex?”

“Show her,” Cynwrig said.

Distract her, was what he meant.

I drew in a deeper breath and then said, “Fine.”

I shifted the knife to my left hand and then tugged the codex out from under the other and raised it. “Here it is.”

“What the fuck are you playing at?” she growled. “That’s not—”

She got no further, because the stone behind her exploded, the force enough that half the wall disintegrated, showering the front portion of room with rocks and knocking her clean off her feet. As she disappeared behind the bed, Cynwrig thrust to his feet and raced toward her. There was a low sound that could have been a growl of frustration or pain from the other side of the bed, followed by the sharp retort of gunfire.

Cynwrig stumbled, his momentum briefly halted. Fear surged through me. I slapped a hand against the old flooring and felt Vincentia’s location in the oak’s fading music. Through it, I grabbed the legs of the bedside table and brought it down on across her chest and shoulders. It provided just enough of a distraction for Cynwrig to lunge forward, grab the weapon, then point the business end at her.