“Midir? You said nothing of this last night.”
“It didn’t come up,” Cian said easily. In truth, he’d thought long and hard before deciding it should be told. “She claims he’s shown her victory, and in my opinion, she believes. Any losses we’ve dealt her thus far are of little importance to her. Momentary annoyances, slaps to the pride. Nothing more.”
“We make destiny with every turn, every choice.” Moira kept her eyes level with Cian’s. “This war isn’t won until it’s won, by her, by us. Her wizard tells her, shows her, what she wants to hear, wants to see.”
“I agree,” Glenna said. “How else would he keep his skin intact?”
“I won’t say you’re wrong, either of you.” With a careless shrug, Cian picked up a pear. “But that kind of absolute belief can be a dangerous weapon. Weapons can be turned against the one who holds them. The deeper we prick under her skin, the more reckless she might be.”
“Just what do we use for the needle?” Moira demanded.
“I’m working on that.”
“I’ve something that may work.” Glenna narrowed her eyes as she stirred her tea. “If her Midir can open the door for her to come into your head, Cian, I can open it, too. I wonder how Lilith would like a visit.”
Biting into the pear, Cian sat back. “Well now, aren’t you the clever girl?”
“Yes, I am. I’ll need you. Both of you. Why don’t we finish off breakfast with a nice little spell?”
It wasn’t little, and it wasn’t nice. It took Glenna more than an hour to prepare her tools and ingredients.
She ground flourite, turquoise, set them aside. She gathered cornflower and holly, sprigs of thyme. She scribed candles of purple, of yellow. Then set the fire under her cauldron.
“These come from the earth, and now will mix in water.” She began to sprinkle her ingredients into the cauldron. For dreaming words, for sight, for memory. Moira, would you set the candles in a circle, around the cauldron?”
She continued to work as Moira set the candles. “I’ve actually been thinking about trying this since what happened with Blair. I’ve been working it out in my head how it might be done.”
“She’s hit you hard every time you’ve used magic to look into her bases,” Cian reminded her. “So be sure. I wouldn’t enjoy having Hoyt try to toss me off a cliff again because I let something happen to you.”
“It won’t be me—at least not front line.” She brushed her hair back as she looked over at him. “It’ll be you.”
“Well then, that’s perfect.”
“It’s risky, so you’re the one who has to be sure.”
“Well, it’s the guts and glory business, isn’t it?” He moved forward to peer into the cauldron. “And what will I be doing?”
“Observing, initially. If you choose to make contact…it’ll be up to you, and I’ll need your word that you’ll break it off if things get dicey. Otherwise, we’ll yank you back—and that won’t be pleasant. You’ll probably have the mother of all headaches, and a raging case of nausea.”
“What fun.”
“Fun’s just beginning.” She walked over, unlocked a small box. Then held up a small figure carved in wax.
Cian’s brows shot up. “A strong likeness. You are clever.”
“Sculpting’s not my strongest skill, but I can handle a poppet.” Glenna turned the figure of Lilith around so Moira could see. “I don’t generally make them—it’s intrusive, and dangerous to the party you’ve captured. But the harm-none rule doesn’t apply to undead. Present company excepted.”
“Appreciated.”
“There’s just one little thing I need from you.”
“Which is.”
“Blood.”
Cian did nothing more than look resigned. “Naturally.”
“Just a few drops, after I bind the poppet. I have nothing of hers—hair, nail clippings. But you mixed blood, once upon a time. I think it’ll do the job.” She hesitated, twisting the chain of her pendant around her fingers. “And maybe this is a bad idea.”