Elvenbane

detected...and why they wouldn't aid humans, even those with wizard-powers of their own. She was implying that they were cowards, lazy, or both. She was encouraging the 'prentices to think about acting directly against the elves.

The 'prentices didn't like the answers they were getting from their masters. Or the lack of answers. And it was entirely possible they'd started to act on their own.

That thought led inevitably to another.

I'm losing control.

That was the worst thought of all; his hands tightened on the cool metal of the goblet as he gritted his teeth in carefully restrained anger. The candles flickered in a bit of draft.

She was working against him. But she was only a child...she couldn't be doing this on her own. So who was behind her? Who in the Citadel was teaching her these things? It wasn't Denelor... it couldn't be. That lazy fool couldn't have taught her half of what she had learned this winter.

But if it wasn't Denelor, then who was it?

He ran down the entire list of senior wizards in his mind, and couldn't find a connection between any of them and Shana. Half of them didn't even know she existed; they were lost in their little otherworlds of illusion, trance, and daydream. The other half didn't care she existed. They played out their dance of control and power within the microcosm of the Citadel, and cared nothing for the outside world. And none of them would have been willing to risk putting their precious safety in the hands of these reckless children, if they'd known what their 'prentices were up to.

But dealing with them...which really meant dealing with their ringleader, Shana...presented something of a problem. She hadn't actually done anything yet, and neither had they. Parth couldn't prove that she was even thinking of it, and even if he could, thinking was no crime. Until they made an overt action that truly, demonstrably, endangered the Citadel, he could only watch her.

And even if he caught her at something...aiding halfbloods to escape to the Citadel without her master's permission, for instance...there were still limits to the punishments he could or dared impose on her.

He couldn't expel her from the Citadel; the elven lords would catch her before very long. And as soon as they questioned her, the elves would know about the halfbloods.

He wished passionately that it was Shana's neck between his hands, rather than the goblet. He would give so much to be able to strangle the baggage... which he couldn't do even if he caught her red-handed. There were laws about that, laid down because of what had divided the wizards at the end of the war. If she were caught and If the entire populace of the Citadel found her guilty of acting against the Citadel, the worst that could be done to her would be to send her into the desert, back where she came from.

He couldn't 'dispose' of her either; she hadn't actually done anything, and the others would certainly take exception to his taking the law into his own hands on a mere supposition.

I wish I knew what she wanted.

I wish I knew who was behind her!

He had never been so frustrated in his life. From the time he had reached the Citadel and became the protected protege of the most senior wizard of the time, to this moment, his life had been one smooth climb to the high seats of power. No one had ever thwarted him before. No one had ever challenged him before. He was not enjoying the experience.

He sat, slumped over in his chair, for the remainder of the afternoon, trying to think of some way he could either dispose of the girl or control her, and coming up with nothing. The candles guttered down to the sockets, and his own 'prentice...not one of the young rebels...came in to replace them, and still he was unable to think of an answer to the problem.

Finally he was forced to conclude that he was going to have to leave her alone. He set the empty goblet down on the little table beside his chair, and sat up a bit straighter, trying to divorce himself from the emotions that raised in him. He stroked his beard with one hand, forcing himself to accept that solution.

He decided, slowly, to leave her alone. Unless she brought the elves' attention down on the halfbloods. Then he could move against her.

He nodded to himself, and refilled the goblet, taking it up again. Oddly enough, the conclusion was not as hard to take as he'd thought it would be. It was not an end; it was merely a delay. The girl was reckless; she took wild chances. With luck, one of those risks would catch up with her.

And then...she's mine.

With a creak of tortured metal, the stem of the goblet bent double beneath the pressure of his tightening fingers. Parth Agon did not notice.

'Dear Ancestors, I'm bored,' Valyn said, flinging down his book on the cushion of the window seat, and staring out at the gloomy, dark pine woods beyond his window. Cheynar's manor was unlike any Valyn had ever seen before; it had none of the glowing ceiling lights that most of the elven-made buildings he'd been in boasted. Instead, illumination was supplied by day with natural light, through skylights and windows. And at night, Valyn either had to glow his own magic-lights, or make do with lanterns and candles. Magic was clearly at a premium on this estate.

And yet, Cheynar was considered a power to be reckoned with among Dyran's allies and underlings.

Today Valyn was considering lighting a glow even though it was not much past noon. The sky outside was a flat, dark, slate-gray. Rain dripped down through the branches, and more rain misted the air between the window and the trees.

Shadow sneezed, and rubbed his nose. 'I thought you were supposed to be learning something from Lord Cheynar,' he observed with a sniff. 'But all we've done since you got here is sit around this suite or go out riding in the rain.' Shadow sniffed again.

'Riding in the rain, and catching colds,' Valyn replied, immediately guilty. 'Sorry, Shadow. That cold of yours is my fault. We shouldn't have gone out yesterday. I didn't mean to act like a spoiled brat about the riding, but I just couldn't stand being inside one moment more...'

'I know, I know...' Shadow blew his nose, and took a long drink of hot tea. 'And it's not your fault elves don't catch colds. I just wish I shared that immunity.'

Valyn shrugged apologetically. 'I wish I could cure it.' He looked back outside; the gloomy woods had not changed a fraction. 'I wish we had something to do. Anything.'

'I guess we should both be just as glad Lord Cheynar hasn't been paying much attention to us,' Shadow observed, as he joined Valyn in the window seat. 'It surely makes it a lot easier to stay out of his way.'

Valyn glanced at his cousin out of the corner of his eye. Shadow had bounced back from his beating so fast even Valyn was impressed, though he seemed much quieter than usual. But perhaps that was only because of the cold.

Shadow folded his arms on the window ledge and rested his chin on them, watching the wet pines as if he found them completely fascinating. 'On the whole,' he drawled, 'I think I'll take bored. It's much better than having Lord Cheynar's overseers asking me pointed questions about my background.'

Valyn gave himself a mental kick for being such a donkey. Of course being bored was better than being noticed! Even a fool would have been able to figure that out! As long as he and Shadow were left to their own devices, there was very little chance that Lord Cheynar would check back with Dyran and possibly let slip the description of Valyn's 'bodyguard.' And there was no chance that Shadow would find himself being interrogated by Cheynar's men.

When they first arrived, Cheynar had received Valyn in his office, with the same cold courtesy Valyn fancied he used with his underlings. He had taken a scant moment to glance at the sealed letter from Lord Dyran that Valyn presented to him, then thrown the packet on a corner of his desk, and leaned over the broad expanse of cherry- wood to pin Valyn in his chair with his dagger-keen glare.

'I want one thing understood, young Valyn,' he'd said, his voice completely without expression. 'You're on my estate now, not your father's. You will follow my orders. Is that perfectly clear?'