The first time I saw him, I had thought he was beautiful, almost untouchable, like something carved from moonlight and stone. Then he opened his mouth.
He was sharp-edged and cruel, and so many of his words cut me as deep as any blade.
But that was before his tongue turned sweet. Before he followed me away from Enduvida, or called me beautiful, or asked to be my friend. Before he held melike this.
Does this mean he… wants me?
If Mrath knows where the witches are, then we could be home in a few days. A thrill snakes through my ribs.
Vann and I could go home together. Maybe, then we could?—
A knock makes me jump. Glyni’s voice carries through the walls, and a bright light appears overhead. “It’s time to go!”
Vann shifts, his chill retreating as he removes his hand and sits up, putting space between us. I stay there for a second, frozen, and still aching. I feel the absence of his presence like a cold gust of wind against my spine.
When I do shift, my now dry hair falls precariously around my shoulders and he meets my gaze. His pupils dilate, and he lets out a ragged breath.
“Beautiful”he murmurs in his native tongue. My mind translates it perfectly. Then he straightens, pushing away to fix his clothing. “We have to go, Firelocks.”
We ready ourselves quickly, neither speaking, even though my mind churns with questions. Does he remember how he held me?
Glyni waits for us outside, her sharp eyes sweeping over us with amusement. “Sleep well?” she asks.
Vann ignores her, stepping past without a word, and I follow, a little sad to leave behind the moment with him.
The court of the Sisterhood is chaos incarnate. Long tables stretch across the massive hall, groaning under the weight of golden platters overflowing with food. Elves lounge in their seats, draped in silks and woven garlands of leaves, their laughter sharp. The air smells of incense, something being roasted, and sparkling wine.
And then, there is Mrath. The leader of the rebellion.
She is precariously perched atop a throne of thorns, each cruel barb twisting beneath her. A crown of the same jagged thorns rests upon her brow, dark and glistening against the silvery blond hair that cascades down her back.
She looks entirely at ease, legs crossed, a blade strapped to her thigh, and her fingers drumming idly against the armrest. Her green eyes find me immediately, and a slow, predatory smile spreads across her lips.
“Well, well, well,” she purrs, clearly amused. “More trolls come to visit. Step lightly, I only respond to begging.” She winks.
Vann moves forward, his voice steady. I notice his height. Was he always so tall?
“We’re not here to beg, Mrath. With all due respect, we seek information.”
Mrath tilts her head. “Oh? And what could possibly bring the great Cleaver and this lovely human to my doorstep? Could it have anything to do with the message I received from my darling Thorne that said, and I quote,‘A cursed human comes to darken your door.’”
Then she leans forward. “I don’t mind a visit from my allies—in fact, I welcome it, so long as it is good news about your efforts toslaughter my brother. I doubt this is that. So, why should I care about a cursed human?”
Vann’s jaw tightens. “The enduares are grateful for your assistance, as we have made clear several times, one of which risking the lives of both our king and queen to retrieve an artifact precious to you.”
Mrath smiles, then nods her head. “Ah, yes. Well, I suppose you may explain.”
Vann dips his head forward. “Thank you, Mrath. Arlet is a member of our council, and she is important to our people’s growth. Within the last two weeks, she was cursed. It seems to turn on or off at random, and only when she sleeps. At that point, she turns violent. We believe that it was a human witch. We do not know how to locate one, but you are skilled in trading information. We would only ask you to tell us where one is, that we might reverse the curse.”
I straighten, pleased with Vann’s words. He has a talent for diplomacy, when he needs it.
The mirth in Mrath’s expression vanishes, and her idle drumming comes to an abrupt stop. The entire court seems to hold its breath.
“Was Arlet cursed in Enduvida?” she asks, voice low and measured.
“Yes. She was marked by dark human magic. The mark is a snake curling around her ankle.”
Mrath’s eyes narrow as she considers his words. “A snake? The human witches are fond of the ugly things.”