“Looks like someone programmed an immediate return,” she muttered.
“Smart. Nobody wants to give Grimmer an open invitation to the capital, or they didn’t, anyway. Any of these people set foot in Hangivol, it’d be like open season for the Crown to snatch ‘em into the walls and bag ‘em for whatever she’s doing.” Persh’al shook his head and turned toward the woods. “Not our problem right now.”
“But it will be.” Cheyenne cast a final glance over her shoulder at the quickly receding blue glow of the shuttle. “When I come back with L’zar and his coin.”
“Your coin, kid. But yeah, then it’ll be our problem.”
They trudged through the forest, which fortunately hadn’t been touched by the poison that had taken the far half of the Outers. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and twigs crunched underfoot. Something small and dark flitted from the branches and swooped toward the ground, followed by a squeak that cut off abruptly.
Cheyenne stared at the deflated pack thumping against Persh’al’s back. “What did you smuggle across the Border in that thing?”
“In what thing?”
“Your pack.”
He snorted. “Oh. Basic plans, kid. Personal messages from L’zar. Schematics, I think.”
“Of what?”
“Uh, the center of Hangivol.” An unsure chuckle escaped him as he ducked beneath a low-hanging branch in their path.
“He has schematics of the Crown’s palace.” Cheyenne scowled at the thick vegetation growing wild through the trees. “How does L’zar—”
“We already told you, the drow have been passing their trials in the Crown’s Nimlothar court for a long time.”
“You were around when the new Cycle turned, weren’t you?”
Persh’al nodded. “Oh, yeah. Spent half my life in the old Cycle that should’ve lasted a hell of a lot longer than it did and the other half darting around under this bitch of a Crown’s new reign.”
“L’zar’s not that much older than you.”
“Ha. Drow live a long-ass time, kid. He doesn’t look it, good for him and everything, but he’s got a few thousand years on me.”
Bingo.
“Then there’s no way in hell L’zar had to pass his trials in front of the Crown. Not the one who’s sitting on the throne now.”
Persh’al paused, his boots crunching on fallen twigs, and glanced up into the treetops. “You’re right.”
“Then how does he have schematics of her—you called it something else earlier.”
“The Edhilór. The center, basically.”
“Sure. That. If he wasn’t summoned or whatever to pass his trials at the last Nimlothar in front of her, he had to get blueprints of that place some other way. I seriously doubt you can just Google ‘blueprints of the Crown’s Edhilór in Hangivol.’”
“Well, Google doesn’t exist over here, so you’re right again.”
“So how did he get them?”
Persh’al glanced at her over his shoulder, then picked up the pace through the woods. “Jeeze, you’re pushing this, aren’t you?”
“When I wanna know something, I push. When I still don’t get answers, I get pissed off. That’s not easy information to come by, so how the hell did he get it?”
“I didn’t say the schematics came from L’zar, kid. You put those pieces together on your own.”
Cheyenne stopped and glared at the back of the troll’s mostly shaved head, his limp mohawk fluttering. “Because they fit.”
Persh’al walked a few more paces before realizing she wasn’t behind him. He turned and cocked his head. “Just because a thing makes sense, it doesn’t mean it’s the truth. That works the opposite way too, you know. Things you can’t logically fit together aren’t automatically impossible, which I’m sure you’ve figured out by now.”
She folded her arms. “You’re deflecting again. Cut it out.”
“I’m trying to make a point. Most of the time, you’re right on target. Maybe even ninety-nine percent, which is creepy and makes me feel weird. But don’t let it go to your head. If you get all cocky and start jumping to conclusions, that opens a big-ass door to seriously screwing up. People get hurt that way. People die for assumptions.”
He’s still hiding something. “I’ve figured that out too. Why won’t you just give me a straight answer?”
“I will. Guess who else spent centuries inside the Edhilór, memorizing it from the inside out?”
Cheyenne bit her lower lip and held the troll’s orange gaze. Damn. Maybe he’s right. “Maleshi Hi’et.”
“Tada!” Persh’al spread his arms and gave her an exaggerated bow before spinning around and tromping back through the trees. “She finds another piece, and it fits too, doesn’t it?”
Scowling, Cheyenne grabbed the straps of her backpack and trudged after him. I don’t jump to conclusions, not when I can feel something’s off. But it makes sense.
The ground angled upward in a shallow incline, and they kept climbing. The halfling studied the forest around them, listening for the rustle of branches or the sharp snap of twigs that didn’t come from Persh’al’s loud stomping. He really doesn’t know how to be quiet.
Then it hit her. “Wait. You said, ‘Guess who else.’”
“What?”
“As in, Maleshi isn’t the only one who knows their way through the Crown’s Edhilór. L’zar does too, doesn’t he? I was right.”
“Endaru’s balls, Cheyenne.” Persh’al craned his neck and slumped his shoulders, grunting at the thin slivers of starlight falling through the branches. “You’re still goin’ on about that?”
“Yeah, because you said—”
“I know what I said, and it’s a figure of speech, okay? Just drop it already. You have your answer.”
“Shh.” Cheyenne reached out toward the troll and froze.
“Don’t shush at me like I just stopped wearing diapers.”
“No, I’m serious, Persh’al. Stop.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously,” she spat in a harsh whisper. “Shut up.”
The troll stopped moving and scanned the trees around them.
Cheyenne cocked her head and let her enhanced drow hearing find the sound she’d heard. What is that? Whispering? Crying?
She blinked and nodded toward the top of the hill. Persh’al cringed when she moved swiftly toward him, making almost no sound in the underbrush. He stared at her feet with wide eyes and whispered, “How do you do that?”
“Practice. Be quiet.” Leaning toward
