“Not true.” Persh’al pointed at her. “I added two more tables.”
“Sorry. Nice tables.” The goblin woman rolled her eyes and froze when she noticed Cheyenne sitting on one of the chairs. “There’s a blast from the past.”
“Indeed.” Corian stepped back and gestured toward the goblins. “Cheyenne, this is Byrd and Lumil.”
“Holy shit.” Byrd leaned forward and extended his hand toward the halfling. “I can tell who your old man is, even when you look like a human.”
Cheyenne gave his hand a quick shake. “Okay.”
“You know who your old man is, right?” Lumil stepped forward to shake the halfling’s hand next, her smile glistening beneath light-orange eyes.
“Don’t we all?”
The magicals had a good laugh at that, then Lumil shot Corian a questioning glance. The Nightstalker shrugged, and the goblin woman turned back toward Cheyenne. “Have you met him yet?”
“Yeah.”
Byrd blinked. “In person?”
She nodded. “Mostly.”
The goblins shared a look of surprise, then Lumil pushed back her thick, floppy yellow hair, which was cut short but still long enough to fall over her eyes. “Huh. That drow bastard actually did it.”
“Well, stick me through and roast me over a battle pit.” Byrd shook his head in disbelief. “Corian, you know this was gonna happen?”
“I hoped it would.” The Nightstalker nodded at Cheyenne. “We all did.”
I’m sick of all this cryptic shit. “Okay.” The halfling stood. “Somebody better tell me what the hell’s going on and why you’re talking about me like I’m not here.”
“Oh.” Lumil shot Corian a conspiratorial wink. “She doesn’t know yet.”
“She doesn’t know,” Byrd repeated, nodding slowly at the halfling. “Well, shit. Took him long enough, didn’t it?”
“Good to know we didn’t throw ourselves over the fell-damn Border for another failed attempt, huh?”
Cheyenne’s eyes grew wide. “What?”
“All right, now,” Corian started, but the goblins talked over him.
“At least a dozen, Cheyenne,” Lumil said. “So many fucking kids. And still, you’re an only child.”
“Oh, man. Low blow.” Byrd snorted. “The point is, kid, your old man was flailing in the dark trying to overturn the crone’s prophecy. Basically, you know, he’s trying to find an heir.”
“Byrd.” Corian scowled.
“She’s got a right to know, man. She’s it.”
Lumil shrugged. “L’zar spent hundreds of years trying to find a loophole. Went around in disguise. Abandoned his responsibilities. Had the kids raised in secret to try to keep them safe. But of course, only a drow can train another drow through the trials, isn’t it?”
Cheyenne glanced at Corian, who shook his head and dropped his gaze to the dusty warehouse floor.
Lumil waved a hand. “And every time that stupid little dark-elf box changed hands from father to spawn, poof.”
Byrd mimed hanging himself from a noose, which got him a glare and a warning growl from Lumil. He glanced down at the scar around her throat and shrugged.
The halfling folded her arms. “The Cuil Aníl?”
“Damn, girl.” Byrd laughed. “You pick up quick.”
“Yeah, and I’ve picked up that legacy box more times than I can count. No poof.”
“That’s what we’re saying.” Lumil grinned. “All of L’zar Verdys’ potential heirs dropped like flies the minute he chose to hunt them down so they could complete their trials. The four of us?” The goblin woman gestured toward herself, Byrd, Corian, and then Persh’al, who watched the whole thing with wide eyes. “We came with him when he finally decided the only way to keep you safe was to lock himself up in that fucking joke of a prison.”
“Those idiots.” Byrd snorted and shook his head.
“Right?” Lumil nodded and folded her arms. “Man, it’s like he saw the future and didn’t need a prophecy for any of it.”
“Future of what?” Cheyenne glanced at the gabbing goblins, gritting her teeth.
“You, halfling.” Byrd jerked his chin up at her. “He found a fucking way to blast right through the prophecy. You’ve met him. Spoken to him. Touched the damn drow box. And if you’re dead, you’re really good at pretending not to be.”
“You’re an idiot.” Lumil punched Byrd’s arm.
“And yet, here we are?” The goblin spread his arms and playfully leaped aside when Lumil pulled her fist back even farther for a second blow.
Cheyenne’s vision blurred, the rest of her focus turning inward. That was what I saw in my dream. All those bodies. He tried to get them through the trials, and they all died. Just like the oracle said. Her gaze flicked toward Corian. The Nightstalker tilted his head in recognition and raised an eyebrow.
“I’m still here because he didn’t come to find me,” she muttered. The goblins quit screwing around, and all eyes settled on the drow halfling. “He knew I’d come to him.”
“He hoped you would,” Corian said, his low voice echoing through the warehouse. “There were and still are a lot of moving parts to this, Cheyenne. We all had our roles to play. We still do. Obviously, you blaze your own trail, kid. By the time you and I met, I thought I’d be guiding you through the trials and telling you about L’zar at the same time. You did half the work for me.” He chuckled wryly, but no one else did. “And we still have a long way to go.”
“Especially with you know who tearing through the whole fell-damn—” Byrd stopped abruptly when he caught the Nightstalker’s death stare.
Cheyenne was putting the pieces of this screwed-up puzzle together now. “How many drow are there in Ambar’ogúl?”
“What?” Persh’al suddenly perked up at that. “Oh, thousands. If you can find ‘em.”
“What about the O’gúl Crown?”
The goblins exchanged another wary glance, then turned toward Corian. No one said a word.
The halfling stepped forward and narrowed her eyes. “That’s who’s looking for me, isn’t it? The drow are running things over there. That’s why she’s got the last Nimlothar. The Crown is a drow who doesn’t want me to open that legacy box. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Cheyenne.” Corian shook his head. “Another time—”
“Why won’t anyone
