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The apothecary smells of dried herbs, bone dust and old bargains. Shelves climb to the ceiling, crowded with stoppered glass, folded charms, sealed boxes and little brass cages holding shadows that twitch when we pass.

I feel Eira tense beside me.

You should not touch anything, I tell her.

I was planning to lick the shelves, so thanks.

Vey gestures to a round table at the back of the shop. ‘I have a prior engagement, so I’ll make this quick. You want Tavish Drennan.’

I nod. ‘Him and every name tied to his dealings.’

‘Going back how far?’

‘To the second of his birth, if you have it.’

Vey’s eyebrows disappear into his hair. ‘Then you want something expensive.’

‘You will survive the disappointment of learning that since I’m powerful enough to own the soil beneath your feet, your version of expensive barely touches me, Warlock.’

‘I’m sure you tell many people that shortly before ruining them,’ Vey says, unhurried. ‘But… since apparently I can name my price, Tavish came through Briarhook twice in the last year. Once alone. Once with an escort who refused to give her name and smelled of old magnolia, swamp water, and serious consequences.’

Selphine.

Eira goes very still and I feel the cold spike through the bond before she locks it down.

My hand finds the small of her back, concealed by her coat, a touch brief enough to pass as control and precise enough to steady.

Vey notices and his eyes glint.

‘What do you know of the woman?’ I ask.

‘Enough to avoid saying more without compensation.’

‘I can compensate you with continued breathing.’

Vey sighs. ‘Crude. Effective, but crude. You need me alive and willing because Tavish no longer keeps ordinary locations. He moves through debt-doors. You cannot force one open without collapsing the route.’

Aaron shifts almost imperceptibly behind me.

Truth, he says through the bloodline.

Eira glances at me. See? This is why some people negotiate before murdering.

I do not dignify that with a response.

‘What is your price?’ I ask again.

Vey smiles, a man about to overvalue himself. ‘Three things,’ he says. ‘First, protection from retaliation for this disclosure.’

‘Granted, if your disclosure proves useful.’

‘Second, you clear my name from the Umbra red ledger.’

‘No.’

Vey’s smile thins. ‘Surely⁠—’

‘You sold transit to Dorian Vale’s mercenaries forty years ago.’