“You really think you’re my equal?” Quall had barely gotten the words out when Camille was halfway over the table, her eyes flashing. Trillian grabbed her back as the assassin pulled out a blade.
Trillian wrestled her back, pinning her arms behind her as she tried to free herself from his grasp. “Camille—come on. Let it go. Let it be.” His voice was smooth, like honey. After a moment, she stood there, panting heavily, looking in a murderous rage.
I turned to Quall, fangs down and glistening. “Apologize. Now. Don’t ask why, don’t bother objecting. Just do it. I can suck your blood faster than you can load an arrow.” I knew why Camille had lost it—Hyto had said something eerily similar to her, just before he raped her. Some triggers, you never could disarm.
Quall caught my gaze as I waited, neither blinking nor moving. He shifted with the faintest of hesitations, then a barely visible shudder.
“Accept my apology. I spoke out of line.”
Of course he didn’t mean it—his heart wasn’t behind the words, but that didn’t matter, at this point. The snide look disappeared and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
I glanced at Camille. She was fuming, but she was out of the fight-or-flight mode. She shot him a look of disgust but took her seat again. Trillian kept his hand on her shoulder and flashed me a grateful look.
I sized up Quall again. I didn’t like him. I really didn’t like him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t loyal to the core when it came to Queen Asteria. Personal trust was a different thing than professional trust, and we could work with him, if he learned to keep his mouth shut.
Sidling a glance at Taath, the sorcerer, I tried to gauge his reaction, but it was near impossible. His eyes gleamed from within the robe, but without seeing his face, I had no clue as to what he might be thinking. Darynal, however, looked pissed out of his mind. I didn’t expect him to speak up, and was pleasantly surprised when he turned to Quall.
“Show these women and their companions some respect, or I will speak to Queen Asteria about replacing you. Your skills are worthless if you alienate our allies.” His voice was riddled with threat, and he leaned forward, his eyes a pale flurry of ice. I’d seen Trillian with that look once or twice, but Darynal had perfected it and magic oozed off him. The Svartans weren’t called the Charming Fae for nothing—they could mesmerize with a kiss, hypnotize with a look, if they really wanted to. And they could menace just as easily.
Trillian arched his eyebrows, but said nothing. The flush in Camille’s cheeks faded as she relaxed.
After another tense moment, Taath let out a low whistle. “Assassin, we need you. Do not let your pride cloud this mission.”
“Sorcerer, I’ll do as I see fit.” Quall grimaced, as if he’d just swallowed a frog, but he shrugged. “Very well. Let us move on.”
“See that you mind yourself. You may be an assassin but you know nothing about the Svartans’ abilities to inflict suffering.” Darynal gave him another long look, then turned to us. “Tell us everything you know about Telazhar. We have the records from Queen Asteria, but it’s been over a millennium since he walked the sands of the Southern Wastes, and much can change in that time, especially with him locked away in the Subterranean Realms.”
And so, we put aside our quarrel and shared all the information we had, from when we first suspected that Telazhar had gated in Stacia Bonecrusher over Earthside to our discovery that he was working with Gulakah.
In return, Darynal promised to tell us everything they found out about what was going down in the Southern Wastes, which—as of now—wasn’t much.
“Our operatives in Dahnsburg heard from another agent sequestered down in Rhellah that the sorcerers are uniting again, under an ancient necromancer. They did enough research before contacting us to verify that it’s Telazhar, but since he’s keeping himself hidden in the Southern Wastes, there isn’t much that Queen Asteria, King Uppala-Dahns, or Queen Tanaquar can do about it. The former two were among the primary triad who had ousted him the first time around.”
“What about Vodox?” Trillian cocked his head. “Queen Asteria mentioned she’d sent word to him. What says the King of Svartalfheim? And the dwarves? Is the court of Nebelvuouri pledging arms?”
“Both are listening with open minds, but neither has taken a stance yet. We expect Vodox to take our side before the dwarven court makes up its mind. Since Svartalfheim has lately returned to Otherworld from the Subterranean Realms, our king chooses to cooperate.”
For a long while, the city of the Svartans—Svartalfheim—had existed in the Subterranean Realms, among the demonic forces. But when Shadow Wing took over, the entire city packed up and moved back to Otherworld, causing a major stir in both realms.
They had not used the portals—they could not, since the portals to the Sub-Realms were still sealed—but since they were not demons, their most powerful wizards had been able to transport the entire city, lock, stock, and barrel, with only minor damage. King Vodox had feared that the Demon Lord would turn his eye toward the growing power of their people and use it to tear open the portals. Whether their wizards even had that ability didn’t matter. Either way, Shadow Wing would have torn them—and the entire city—to shreds.
Though the Svartans were technically shadowy cousins of the elves, they were often lumped in with the Fae, because of their chaotic natures. It was all very confusing, and I personally believed that, if we dug back far enough into the past, we’d find both elves and Fae had common ancestors.
“So you are certain it’s Telazhar?” Delilah asked.
“Without a doubt.” Taath leaned forward, still cloaked within his robes. “He means to win as many over to Shadow Wing’s side as possible and we think he knows that the spirit seals are here, in Elqaneve. They will try to assail the city for them. The more backing they have, the easier it will be when the Demon Lord attempts to break through the portals.”
It made sense. If no one was answering the front door, go around and try the back to see if it’s unlocked. “He’s clever. He hasn’t had much luck Earthside. There are too many divisions among Earthside countries to win over a majority.”
“Yes, where here, in Otherworld, the south is a hotbed of unrest. It always has been. The sorcerers chafe at the restrictions they’re under when they come north, and they’ve been left to their own devices since the Scorching Wars ended. Sorcerers have always valued power and strength.” By the tone of his voice, I had a feeling Taath admired this aspect of his comrades in magic.
Camille spoke up. “In some ways, I think it was a mistake to banish them from the northern cities. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, that sort of thing.” She leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table. “So, what’s next?”
Darynal stood and, hands behind his back, paced. “We infiltrate the Southern Wastes. You return home and do what you can to find the next spirit seal. Shadow Wing has two of them. We know he’s outfitted Telazhar with one of them, but he’ll be looking for the last two, in order to further increase his power.”
“How long do you think it will take you to find the information you’re looking for down there?” I’d never been to the Southern Wastes, and they were definitely on my do-not-visit list, but even I knew they were vast, sprawling plains of sand, with rogue magic blending into the very landscape. The Wastes were a dangerous and volatile place.
“As much as I dislike it, the reality is we’ll probably be spending at least one moon cycle worming our way in.” Darynal shrugged. “There’s nothing to hurry it along, either. We dare not push too quickly or we’ll draw unwanted attention to ourselves.”
A pensive look on her face, Camille turned to Delilah and me. “I hate to suggest this, but…do you think Shamas would be helpful to them?”
“No, he wouldn’t.” Delilah scowled. “Don’t forget, our cousin nearly sacrificed himself to warn the high priestess of your order. The sorcerers he trained under aren’t going to forget that anytime soon. And they probably spread the word through the guilds about him.”
“She’s right. We can’t offer him up on a platter.” I shook my head. As angry as we’d been with Shamas when we found out he’d been training in the Southern Wastes, we weren’t going to hang him out to dry. He’d turned himself around and was trying to contribute to both the household, and to the Seattle Fae community.
Camille heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you think so. As nice as it would be to have our own operative working with Darynal’s group, I really didn’t want to stick Shamas’s neck on the chopping block. I was still pissed at him, but you know what? I think I need to get over it.”
“He’d be chopped all right, head first.” I pushed my chair back. “So Darynal…I suppose we’ve covered all there is to cover? Send us whatever you find out, even if it seems like nothing. We’ll do the same.”
“We will.” The Svartan stood, bowing to the three of us. He reached for Camille’s hand, again, kissing it gently.
But we were saved awkward good-byes with Quall and Taath when Trenyth reentered the room.
“You are finished talking?”
“Yeah, for now.” I wanted nothing more than to corner the elf privately for a little tête-à-tête about their choice in agents.
“Then, Darynal, Quall, Taath, you may retire for the evening. Rest well. You will need it. Girls, please remain here for a moment.” He waited until the three men left, Darynal hugging both Trillian and Camille before he sauntered out of the room.
Once we were alone again, Queen Asteria joined us. “What do you think of our scouts?” It didn’t sound like a rhetorical question.
I decided to be upfront. “I don’t like Quall. I’m wary of him, and my alarm bells are going off. Camille, what do you think?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You know what I think. A testosterone-laden macho jerk…but he’s good at his job. I can tell.”
“He is.” Delilah said. “But I don’t trust him.”
“We have to trust him.” Trenyth crossed his arms, looking dour. “Darynal is good to his word. Taath was trained by our own techno-mages. He’s a sorcerer, yes, but he’s one of us. Quall…there are extenuating circumstances as to why he is on this mission. He’ll be accepted more readily than the others down in Rhellah. We need him.”
“Why will they accept him over others?” I sensed one of those announcements coming—the kind you really don’t want to hear.
“Because he’s the son of the high commander of the city. When Quall was young, his mother fell out of favor with his father, who killed her and sold the boy to raiders. The raiders grew tired of toying with him and left him in Dahnsburg.”
“I’m sensing Lifetime victim-of-the-week movie here,” Delilah said.
“Truly, Quall was a victim of circumstance. In Dahnsburg, he was enslaved by a roughshod orphanage. He managed to escape a few years later by hiding in a caravan headed for Elqaneve. He was still very young, but resourceful.”
“But how did he come to be in Queen Asteria’s service?”
“He was caught stealing a loaf of bread and turned over to the Youth Guard, where he showed an aptitude for bowmanship and scouting. He eventually struck out on his own when he came of age but returned to the Guard and offered his services a decade or so ago. He feels a debt to the Crown, for feeding him and giving him a home and a good start.”
I frowned. “He became an assassin.”
“Not, mind you, the most ethical choice of careers, but he’s good at it and we must face facts—assassins are necessary, as are scouts and rangers and soldiers. Every government has its own elite arsenal of fighters. Quall belongs to us, and we make use of him when we have the need.” Trenyth slid into the chair that the assassin had vacated.
“And you approve of having assassins in your employ?” Delilah cocked her head. “I thought elves wouldn’t approve of the darker routes.”
Trenyth shrugged. “Elves hold honor in high regard. However, that does not mean we eschew common sense, nor vital military tactics.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.
“But you don’t like it,” I said softly.
“No. I long for the days when Elqaneve was isolated, when we kept to ourselves. But that was long before the Great Divide, and time waits for no one, be they elf or Fae or human. Politics do not make good bedfellows with honor, and try as we might, there can never be a return to the days of glory, where we wandered through the forests, silent in our thoughts, singing of heroes long lost and battles shrouded in the mists of time.”
It was, perhaps, the longest statement we’d ever heard Trenyth make, and it left me unsettled. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the days during which the worlds had been one, when time had still been young in the way of sentient beings, before progress had come to both Earthside and Otherworld.
“You were young then, weren’t you? Before the Great Divide?”
He gave me a faint smile. “Was I ever young? Ah…yes, my dear, beautiful vampyr…I was young, and the Queen was in her glory days. I entered her service and gave my life to the Crown.”
“And your heart,” Camille whispered.
Trenyth jerked. “What are you talking about?”
But rather than tell him what we knew, rather than put him on the spot, especially in front of Queen Asteria, she just smiled softly.
