Her face screwed up for a second, but she couldn’t escape the compulsion to answer. “It was being taken to some vault in Deva.”

“Deva?” I said, surprised. “Why?”

“Because the best place to hide something is also in the most obvious place.”

I glanced at Cynwrig. He nodded. “It’s also true that most thieves keep track of the items they steal—”

“I didn’t steal the crown,” she cut in. “I only secured it.”

“Secured it from who?” I asked. “Raen?”

“Yes.”

“And did you kill her after taking delivery?”

Contempt rippled through her expression. “I’m not being paid to murder, Bethany.”

Meaning she would have—not only tempting fate but risking the pixie blood curse—if they had paid her enough? That was not only rather scary but made me wonder if I’d read my aunt utterly wrong. Maybe she was a fucking good actress and had played me for an utter fool. After all, for the better part of our existence, the Aodhán line had either guarded the relics of the old gods or spent our lives retrieving and securing them. It was only in the last few generations that my family, at least, had settled in as innkeepers—and even then, Lugh had carried on the family business. But Aunt Riayn had always had a mercenary streak, and it had definitely been sharpened in her daughter. Perhaps deliberately so.

“Who did you give the crown to after you took it from Raen?” I asked.

“A spellcaster.”

“Aram?”

“I wasn’t told his name and didn’t ask.”

“Can you give us a description?” Cynwrig said.

“No. He was shadow bound.”

Meaning it might not even have been a man, but a woman using a voice manipulation spell.

A woman like Maran Gordan, perhaps.

“Do you know who ordered him murdered?”

The surprised that flitted through her expression looked real. “No, I do not.”

Meaning we’d have to hope Nati came through with some answers sooner rather than later, and I made a mental note to contact her when I could.

“Which brings us neatly back to a thief never losing track of their things,” Cynwrig said. “What vault did they take it to?”

“I don’t know.”

An answer that rang of the truth and yet... wasn’t. I studied her for a second and then said, “Then have you a means of tracking the crown’s location?”

Her face screwed up again before she ground out, “Yes.”

“Tell us how.”

“I put a tracker dot on it, which is activated by my phone.”

“An action that suggests you don’t trust your employers,” Cynwrig said.

“More like she intended to use it as a bargaining chip if she got caught,” I said.

If she’d taken the crown from Raen, then she’d more than likely witnessed the other woman’s death. She’d know that might well be her own fate if she didn’t play her cards right.

“What about the Looisearch?” he asked. “How do you contact them and where are they located?”

“My only contact—aside from that one meeting with the spellcaster—is with Seryn Morrisa.”