L’zar smoothed his white hair away from his face and pulled a deep breath in through his nose. Another chuckle escaped him. That went well.
Waiting for the prison guards to make their way down here with their magical cattle prods and their dampening cuffs and all the fell-powered firearms they could hold, the drow moved toward the back of the cell and lowered himself to the floor. He faced the back wall, crossing his legs beneath him, and centered his focus again. Just to be sure. A little double-checking never hurt anyone.
Hidden from the Dungeon’s security cameras and the guard in that damn booth, his hands moved in one more complicated pattern, drawing the power toward him for his next little spell. It was not to fight what was coming for him or make things harder for the guards, although the thought was tempting. Right now, the distant past would give him more reassurance than anything.
When he finished casting the spell, a wavering silver light bloomed in his hands and illuminated the stone wall of the cell in front of him. The shimmering, opalescent forms took shape quickly, and L’zar watched the conjured image of himself from so many centuries ago.
There he sat in the Oracle’s lair in Ambar’ogúl, the dark walls much lighter in his memory. There was a lot less blood on those walls too, but the surroundings weren’t important, just the conversation.
The wizened, shriveled Oracle with black lines all over her wrinkled face opened her eyes. They’d been a dark storm-gray before he’d asked her for the prophecy of his lineage. Now they were a swirling, misty white.
“The Cu’ón is doomed to lose his bloodline time and again.” The voice was a raspy croak, rattling like death from an ancient mouth perpetually stained red. “The endless search for an heir will bring each one of them to death’s door. Only the scion never pursued will rise to their destiny. When the shackles of the old laws crumble, their purpose will be fulfilled.”
In this vision of L’zar’s memory, he heard his own voice—so steady, so sure of itself. So goddamn foolish. “Explain this, Oracle.”
The prophetic whiteness filtered away from the Oracle’s eyes, and a wrinkled, gnarled hand reached into a bowl of blood sitting beside her. Fingers dipped into all that red, and she drew a line of it down her face from forehead to beneath her chin. “Every child you sire is doomed to the same fate, Cu’ón. You will go to them to mold each one into the shape of your heir, but you will fail. Death rides on the heels of your eagerness. Every child will fall beneath your guiding hand, and you will pursue them over and over to the same end.”
The L’zar from centuries ago, wavering in the silver light of the memory spell, folded his arms and lifted his chin. “Will any of them survive?”
“No. Not while you try so hard to bring them to their destiny. And you will keep trying, drow. You will never stop.” The crone snickered and pressed a blood-covered finger against L’zar’s chest. “Your greed and your pride make you unstoppable.” Then she bent over her aged lap and fell into a fit of wheezing, paper-thin cackles.
Sitting in the cell in the Dungeon, L’zar swiped his hand through the glistening light of his memory, and the vision disappeared. His knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists. I was such a cocksure idiot then. That prophecy proved itself, all right. Not this time. This time, my pride sits behind bars with me. We’ll wait together for as long as it takes.
Chapter Three
Sir didn’t ask Cheyenne to put the stupid black bag over her head again when they got back into his orange Kia Rio. Maybe he’d forgotten the route to Chateau D’rahl was supposed to be a secret. Maybe he knew if he told her to put it on, she’d send a blast of drow magic into his stupid mustache.
Cheyenne didn’t care what he thought, and she wasn’t paying attention to the roads he drove them down anyway. L’zar can laugh all he wants. He’s the one spending the rest of his life in a damn cage.
After ten minutes of strained silence, Sir cleared his throat. “I’m guessing that didn’t go the way you were hoping.”
“No shit.”
“The guy’s been nothing but a pain in the ass since we put him behind bars.” Sir shrugged and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Don’t take it personally, halfling. It’s not just you.”
She had nothing to say.
“Hey, at least he didn’t try to throw you around the giant cavern or anything. Or try to phase you through the bars to hold you hostage. He’s a real piece of shit. You can count yourself lucky—”
“We’re not having a heart-to-heart right now,” Cheyenne muttered. “Just stick to being an asshole. You’re a lot better at that.”
A choking sound came from Sir’s mouth—he might have tried to hold back a laugh. Instead, he readjusted his aviator sunglasses and cleared his throat again. “Yeah, I know.”
Trees and cars and highway signs whizzed past them as he took her back toward the business park where she’d left her car. Cheyenne ran a hand through her hair and rolled her eyes. “So, what has to happen before I get another escort to Chateau D’rahl?”
Sir did a double-take. “You wanna see him again?”
“Probably not. Just give me my options.”
“All right, halfling. I’d say our deal’s still on the table if you’re willing to keep sitting at it. You keep the phone on you and your schedule open. Stay chummy with Rhynehart for whatever ops we think could benefit from you stickin’ around. That will earn you more points to turn in for another fun get-together with Daddy.”
Cheyenne snorted. “Didn’t think we were working on a point system.”
“Like a goddamn arcade, right? You win the tickets, you get a prize.” He shook his head. “We’ll say,
