palmed.
Fox had warned her about this basic cut-purse ploywhen he’d tied the coin purse to her belt. Everyone in Sevrincarried one, he claimed, even if they held a few flat stones ratherthan coins. It was not prudent to be seen without one. There wereno indigent people in Sevrin, just as there was no crime and nomagic.
And for that matter, no elves.
Suddenly Honor’s determination to take a solitarywalk struck her as self-indulgent and dangerous. The adepts haddefined an ideal Sevrin, and they maintained that appearance byrigorously pruning away anything which did not conform to thedesired shape.
A strange hum, like the burn of muscles forced tohold still for too long, began to spread through Honor’s limbs. Herfeet went numb. Icy torpor crept up her legs until she couldneither feel nor command them.
She expected to stumble and fall, but she did not.Without will or intent, she turned down a paved street that endedin an imposing white stone building.
For one panic-filled moment, she considered seizingthe iron fence and hanging on until the compulsion stopped. Butthat would draw attention she could not afford.
So she walked to the building and climbed the broadwhite stairs. Runes on a large wood sign over the door indicatedthat this was the Sevrin Library. The carved image of books andscrolls embellished the sign for no reason Honor could perceive,except perhaps to keep the illiterate from wandering into thebuilding by mistake. Another time, she might have chosen to explorewhat humans considered important enough to commit to page andparchment.
But she could not choose.
A profound sense of helplessness and violation washedover her. This compulsion, this utter loss of control, was farworse than the terror of awakening in Rhendish’s lair.
She walked past shelf after shelf of books in a roomnearly as large as a forest clearing. To her ears, each quiet stepsounded like a soft, dry sob.
Her traitorous feet took her to a row of doors at theback of the library, then to the door at the very end of the row.She pushed it open and was not at all surprised to see Rhendishsitting at a small polished table.
He gestured to the second chair. Bitterness rose inHonor’s throat like bile as she took the seat.
“I suppose you want me to take you to the thieves’den now.”
The adept’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “Have youretrieved the dagger so soon?”
She shook her head.
“Then our original agreement stands. Once you havereclaimed your property, I will require your assistance in locatingthe Fox’s lair.”
“Why are you so interested in him?”
He tsked gently. “I did not demand to know what valueyour dagger held for you. Is it not enough that he leads a band ofthieves who can disappear into the shadows like roaches?”
“You captured the dwarf without my assistance.”
“The opportunity arose. And you must admit that hemade admirable bait.”
“You could have taken Fox when he came to rescue hisfriend.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “That would have given me two ofthe thieves, but no guarantee that they would reveal the locationof their den or the secret to their way of moving about the city.You will provide that, in due time. I assume they trust you? Theyare helping you in your quest?”
“They are helping.”
Rhendish leaned forward, concern shadowing hisforest-hued eyes. “But they don’t trust you. Have you given themreason to suspect you are working with me?”
“Apart from meeting with you in a public place in themiddle of the day?”
“A valid point,” he said in a dry tone. “You may wantto peruse a volume or two to explain your interest in the library,if you’re called upon to do so. But I cannot stress too stronglythe importance of keeping our alliance secret. It could mean yourlife.”
“It is late in the game for threats,” she said.
“I wasn’t threatening you. To the contrary! My onlydesire is to ensure that you fully understand your situation.”
He tapped on the one of the walls. The door opened. Aman with a long blond beard and a chest as broad as an elk’s filledthe doorway.
The adept motioned the big man inside. “This isVolgo, the captain of my personal guard. He led the expedition intothe forest. Ask him what you will.”
This, Honor had not expected. She took a moment toput her thoughts in order.
“Rhendish said you were pursuing a band of Gatherers.Why?”
The captain blinked. “Those were my orders.”
Honor turned to Rhendish.
“These men had sold several elven artifacts to peoplein Sevrin who collect curiosities. I have purchased one or two fromthem, myself,” Rhendish said. “But over time, the sheer number ofitems they collected suggested a more, shall we say,
“You thought they might be raiding elvenvillages.”
“It seemed a possibility worth investigating,”Rhendish said.
“Why do you care? Would too many elven handiworksweaken your claim that the Old Races and their magic are gone?”
“It might,” the adept said coolly. “Especially if theelves marched in force to retrieve these items and seek reprisalsfor the raids.”
The unexpected candor of this remark brought a wrysmile to Honor’s face. Rhendish did not want trouble with theelves. If she learned nothing else from this odd meeting, that wasinformation worth knowing.
She turned back to the captain.
“Did you speak to my sister?”
The big man hesitated. “As to that, I can give noguarantee. The elf said she was your sister.”
“She looked like me?”
“She might have, at one time. You were both badlywounded. Under the circumstances, a resemblance would be difficultto determine.”
“Describe her.”
The man’s gaze grew unfocused as it shifted to thecontemplation of memory. “White hair, streaked with brown and graylike the bark of a birch tree. Pale skin. Light eyes. She was aboutyour size. If she was human, I’d say she’d lived no more thanfive-and-twenty years. But that could describe nearly all thefemales in the clearing.”
“Everyone there was dressed in dark blue,” shesaid.
“Nearly everyone,” he said. “The elf who claimedkinship to you wore a white gown and a mantle of some sort of whitefur.”
Honor’s throat tightened. She did not recall thedetails of that night and retained no image of her sister’s part init, but Volgo’s description matched the sort of gown Asteria wouldhave worn to a winter tribunal.
“What did she say to you?”
“She spoke to one of my men at first. He called meover when she demanded to speak to the ‘warlord.’ There wassomething in her manner that prompted obedience.”
This, beyond doubt, was Asteria. “What did she ask ofyou?”
“She asked for your life,” the man said. “Her woundswere mortal. Yours did not appear to be. She asked that you betended. You were to return a stolen dagger to your people. She wasmost insistent.”
The adept’s pursuit of the Gatherers, the honor shownthe slain elves, the undertaking of Asteria’s quest-all thesethings bore evidence to Rhendish’s determination to prevent troublebetween her people and his. Honor found that admirable. As thequeen’s sister and champion, she could do no less. Logic told herthat Rhendish was an ally.
And yet.
Rhendish reached out to touch her hand. He seemedneither surprised nor offended when she snatched it away.
“Does that suffice?” he asked.
