The
moment my eyes fell on the dagger, I knew something was very wrong.
The thing was ugly, roughly made, and hardly even functional. Why did
my master send me into the den of the greatest mastermind in Eldarlan
to steal a child’s toy? I squinted at it. It was not even an
enchanted toy.
Still,
I had my orders. My life and livelihood depended on fulfilling this
mission. Grimore wouldn’t tolerate anything less than absolute
success. Letting out the smallest of silent sighs, I approached the
table. I ascertained that it hadn’t been boobytrapped either
magically or otherwise using all of my observation skills.
Well,
here I go, I thought. I reached across the table and lifted
the small dagger from its display.
“Are
you sure you want that one?”
I
jumped. My heart threatened to leap from my chest. For one frantic
moment, I feared I would die from fright. I whirled toward the voice.
Anger replaced panic in an instant. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No.”
He was lean, but there was a substance to his frame, unlike most
elves I had seen from afar. Muscle across the chest and shoulders
gave his long lines a dangerous power that had nothing to do with
magic. His piercing green eyes assessed me with a sharpness that made
me want to flinch away. Unlike most of his kind, he had cropped his
brown hair instead of letting it flow down his back. The tapered
curls did nothing to hide the pointed tips of his ears. His clothing
also had a simpler cut, but the fabric was no less fine. It hung in
elegant lines, accentuating his feline-like movements as he stalked
across the hardwood floor. “I was merely curious.”
“Whether
or not you could shock my heart into stopping?” I backed up until
my hips hit the edge of the table behind me. I still clutched the
sheathed dagger to my chest. After all this, I had no intention of
leaving without it.
“Human
hearts are fragile, but I have never known one as young as yours to
stop due to shock. Blade, curse, poison, draining, or ripping it from
the chest, yes. Those can kill, but fright, no.” He held out his
elegant hand. “Give me the blade.”
“No.”
Unnerved by how unfailingly he stared into my eyes despite my
bespelled cloak and the mask obscuring my features.
“I
could take it by force.”
“You
will lose more than you gain in the process.”
His
impassive features moved. An eyebrow rose slightly as though
intrigued. “I am stronger than I look.”
I
snorted. “So am I.” I slid my favorite blade from its hiding
place without letting go of the useless one I was trying to steal.
There was no way this thug of Whispier’s was going to relieve me of
my prize, elf or not.
In
an instant, before I could react, a long thin stiletto flicked into
his fingers, and the cool edge of the blade rested against my throat.
“I am faster.”
“That
may be,” I admitted.
A
twitch near his eye broke through his stoic mask. “But?”
I
leaned slightly back from his blade, giving me the ability to
swallow. His eyes narrowed as he watched the movement of my throat. I
used the distraction wisely.
“Speed
isn’t everything.” I pressed the edge of my deadly iron-laced
blade to his gut, perfectly positioned to drive it straight up into
his stomach at the slightest provocation.
To
my surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched, and he stepped closer.
“I doubt you will have time to follow through on that threat. A
quick flick of my wrist, and you will be dead in seconds.”
I
stared into the mysterious depths of his enigmatic spring green eyes.
He was close enough that I could see the blue flecks near his pupil
and the ring of silver around the iris’ outer edge. I could also
feel him. His deep, even breaths fluttered against the mask, bringing
the scents of trees, fresh air, and the promise of something
inexplicable. A tingle of wild magic different from the comfortable
brownie charms on my cloak invaded my head. A sleep spell! It
whispered sweetly of warmth and comfort, tempting me to relax.
I
closed my eyes. Abruptly the sensation ceased. I jabbed my knife into
his gut, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to get him to
back up ever so slightly.
“Your
death will be more painful,” I growled as I opened my eyes to glare
at him. The spell was still there, trying to invade my head again.
However, now that I was aware of it, I could resist it.
“I
will heal.” Something changed in his eyes.
“But
you will suffer while you heal.” I frowned. What had changed in his
eyes? Laughter? “You are laughing at me!” I shoved at his chest
hard. He complied, but the way he did it—moving long enough after I
pushed—made it clear he was doing it because he wished, not because
I forced him to.
He
tossed the blade in his hand. It disappeared into the air. The magic
was so neat and tidy that the blade blinked out without a sound,
flash of light, or puff of air. It was hard not to gape in wonder at
the trick. And he knew it. His mouth quirked briefly. “You will
stay.”
“I
beg your pardon?” I glared at him. “I am going to take this and
leave.”
“You
will find that impossible.” He turned his back on me, clearly not
caring in the least that I was still armed. Prowling over to the
large desk before the great windows opposite the door I had entered,
he started flipping through papers. “What is your name?”
“I
don’t see how that has anything to do with the matter.” I knew
about the tricks the elves and other fae played once they knew a
person’s name. There was no way he was getting mine.
“Family
name then, paranoid one.”
“Soleil,”
I reluctantly offered.
“Ah,
I thought so.” He straightened, a strange pen glowing in his hand.
“You have a brother.”
“Yes.”
“He
is in my service.”
“He
contracted himself into Whispier’s service.” I emphasized the
name. Why would I deal with an underling when it was Whispier I
wished to hurt for taking Solon from me? “I don’t know who you
are.”
This
time his eyes lightened. “Do you want to free him?”
I
pressed my lips together to suppress the urge to scream at him. I
glared at him instead. “Why do you ask?”
“That
is a yes then.” He plucked a document from the air. The glowing
edges gleamed despite the dimness of the room. “What if I offer you
a bargain? Your brother’s freedom for your companionship.”
“What?”
“Friendship,
conversation, company—nothing untoward or physical beyond being in
the same room frequently.”
“Only
Whispier has that power,” I pointed out.
He
tilted his head slightly to the side. “I am Whispier. The fact you
haven’t figured that out yet doesn’t speak well of your
intelligence.”
“In
that case, I might kill you.”
His
mouth did the funny little quirk again. “You might find me hard to
kill.”
I
eyed him from beneath raised eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”
“You
won’t be able to kill me. The bond will prevent you from attacking
my person.”
“What
about maiming? Poisoning? Papercuts?”
His
eyes turned silvery. “Papercuts aren’t lethal.”
I
just grinned at him.
“Besides,
I heal quickly.”
“How
about cuts from iron-edged paper?”
“That
is a myth, you know.” He turned his attention to the glowing edged
document. “Iron only gives us a stomachache.”
I
snorted. “Maybe I will just make it so you wish to die.”
A
soft sigh of air whispered through the room, and suddenly there was a
third presence. The shadow elf from earlier materialized next to
Whispier. What had Whispier called him—Casimir? He no longer
appeared to be a solid black shadow. Like Whispier, he was tall,
lean, and dangerous. Unlike the mastermind, his skin was a dusky
brown. His pale green eyes, almost precisely the same shade as
Whispier’s, flicked from side to side, assessing the two of us.
“Are
you quite finished?” he asked the mastermind.
“Almost.”
With a flick of his slender fingers, he flipped the document to face
me. “Our agreement. Your friendship in exchange for your brother’s
freedom from my service. Your every need will be provided for—food,
clothing, housing—in exchange, you will attend me here in my study
or other public rooms in the palace.”
“And
do what?” I demanded. It sounded too good to be true.
He
shrugged. “Talk, eat, ignore me, whatever you wish.”
“Annoy
you?”
He
waved the paper impatiently. “Should you wish. Do we have a deal?”
“And
Solon is free?”
“The
moment you sign this.” He offered the glowing pen.
“What
about my current master? It isn’t as though I am a free woman.”
“What
is your master’s name?”
“Grimore.”
His
eyes flared silver and he tilted his head to the side. “Interesting.
And the nature of your contract is?”
“Thievery
in exchange for room, board, and protection.”
“Protection
from what?” His impassive features tightened. “Do you have a
price on your head?”
“Not
that I know of. He keeps me safe from those who would prey on a lone
woman.”
“I
can provide that.”
I
snorted softly. “And who will protect me from you?”
“The
agreement will. I bound it into the clauses that I cannot touch you
with the intent to hurt or take advantage. The spell will hold me to
it.”
I
had heard of spells reading the intents of a person’s actions so
that made sense. Food, shelter, protection, and all I had to do in
exchange was keep a man company. It sounded almost too good to be
true. But then—
I
took the paper and read the terms. Solon would be free. I signed the
document in glimmering silver ink that appeared to absorb into the
paper as I wrote. With the last stroke of my name, I felt the bond
take hold with a tingling jolt of magic. The paper disappeared as
abruptly as it appeared. Whispier muttered something in Elvish. The
shadow elf rolled his eyes and disappeared in a soundless rush of
displaced air.
