Gúrdu’s voice came back to her. “Cut out the heart, cut out the rot. The shackles of the old laws rise. For the last scion, it is destiny or chains.”
Taking a deep breath, Cheyenne nodded. “I hope so.”
“Oh, yes.” Foltr chuckled and released her arm. “Yes, we all do.”
He closed his eyes and said nothing more, which Cheyenne took as a sign that she’d been dismissed. She slung her pack over her shoulder and headed around the table as the magicals stood. Some of them nodded at her before returning to their conversations. The halfling felt their eyes on her when she wasn’t looking, but no one blatantly watched her anymore.
Yeah, take a good long look at L’zar’s halfling kid who wasn’t supposed to exist.
She found Persh’al on the other side of the chamber, locked in an intense but quiet conversation with the troll woman with the silver chain across her face. He kept leaning closer, trying to convince her of something, but Elarit wasn’t having any of it. When she caught sight of Cheyenne, she pressed her hand against Persh’al’s chest, and he immediately stopped. “Your time’s up, ma gairín.”
“What?” Persh’al followed her glance and saw Cheyenne standing there, watching him with a blank expression. “Oh. Yeah. You ready?”
“Yep.”
“Sorry.” He chuckled and stepped back. “This is—”
“Elarit Masharun.” The troll woman’s lips twitched into a smile as she studied Cheyenne with scarlet eyes. “I don’t expect you to remember the name once you leave, Aranél. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Persh’al made a choking sound and leaned toward Elarit. “Come on. That’s not fair.”
She ignored him.
“Nice to meet you.” Out of pure habit, Cheyenne extended her hand. The troll woman stared at it blankly.
“It’s an Earth thing,” Persh’al muttered and waved Cheyenne’s hand aside.
“That activator isn’t,” Elarit said and slowly lifted her gaze from the web of metal strands around Cheyenne’s hand to the halfling’s face. “Did Persh’al buy you that toy?”
Cheyenne bit back a laugh. “Yeah.”
“Hmm. That’s what I thought. He’s always been cheap when it comes to gifts.”
Persh’al snorted. “Wait a minute!”
Elarit shot him a knowing glance and pulled a small coil of silver from the pocket of her flowing skirts. She nodded and offered it to Cheyenne. “You’ll have a lot more fun with this.”
“What is it?” The halfling took it, turning the coil over in her fingers.
“An upgrade. When you’re out of our mandatory dark zone down here, put it behind your ear.” The troll woman winked.
“Thanks.”
“We’re going right back to the Border,” Persh’al said quickly. “She won’t be able to use it.”
“I can build another with my eyes closed, Persh’al.” Elarit cut her gaze toward him and tilted her head. “She’ll want to see what these can do, and the way you’re headed will give her plenty of time.”
He grunted and rubbed the back of his neck, then finally nodded at Cheyenne. “All right. You can keep it.”
The halfling snorted. “I don’t need your permission for that.”
Elarit laughed and folded her arms. “You certainly don’t.”
“Okay, everybody laugh at the troll trying to make things right. Very helpful.” When Elarit’s smile disappeared, he pointed at Nu’ek, who was standing by one of the only two tunnels cut into the chamber walls that were big enough for a golra to pass through. “Go tell her I’ll be right there, huh? I need another minute.’
Cheyenne glanced at the trolls and gently slipped Elarit’s activator into her pocket. “Sure. Just don’t take too long.”
“I’ll take as long as I need, kid. Go mind your own business.”
With a curt nod and a barely hidden smile, Cheyenne gave Elarit a silent goodbye and turned to join Nu’ek at the other end of the chamber. Looks like I crashed a private troll party.
The golra snorted when Cheyenne stopped a few feet away, and they both watched Persh’al plead with Elarit in hushed tones for something she wouldn’t give him.
“Is that what it looks like?”
Nu’ek glanced down at the halfling and raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea what it looks like to you.”
“It looks like that troll expected somebody to wait a couple hundred years for him, and he came back a couple hundred years too late.”
“Then it’s exactly what it looks like.” Nu’ek chuckled, her folded arms bouncing against her stomach. She scratched a bicep covered in a strip of wiry red fur, which sounded like dry leaves being raked across dead grass. “Those two have been playing that game for so long, we’re all sick of watching it, even with the relatively long breaks in between. She’ll give in eventually, and when she does, I’ll be the first to lift a tankard and tell them both to piss off and make it official already.”
Cheyenne swallowed a laugh. “What do you call that on this side?”
“Putting Persh’al out of his misery.” They shared a short chuckle.
“I meant, the ‘making it official’ part.”
“I know.” Nu’ek rolled her shoulders back and looked at the vaulted ceiling of the cavern, stretching out her muscular gray neck. “It’s called a myrein. When all this is finished, we’ll need something to celebrate. Take our minds off what’s been done.”
Cheyenne frowned. “I’d think stopping the Crown would be enough to celebrate.”
The golra folded her arms again and shook her head, the smile gone from her steely features. “After so much loss, Aranél, even a definitive win starts to feel like just one more struggle to overcome. There’s little to rejoice about when you’re the last ones standing in a battlefield. But a myrein? A myrein focuses on the future.”
“Right.” Cheyenne glanced up at the huge winged magical beside her, but Nu’ek had turned her attention to the others still gathered in small groups around the table. That’s why they’re here. Focusing on the future and forgetting everything they had to give up to get there. This thing is a lot bigger than I thought.
Persh’al grabbed Elarit’s hand
