Cheyenne snorted. “I told her to call off the fighting, not freeze the whole damn courtyard.”
The general threw her head back and let out a deep, unhindered laugh. “That drow bitch wants every thinking mind in this world to believe she’s got everything under control, but she’s as fond of stretching the truth as her brother.”
Catching sight of L’zar beside the open and almost empty trunks of metal drinking cups, Cheyenne wrinkled her nose. “Still weird to think of that connection. I did not see that coming.”
“If you’d known all that before you agreed to come here and return your marandúr, would it have swayed your decision?”
The halfling blinked quickly and shook her head. “I don’t know. But I should’ve been given all the facts first.”
“I agree, you should have. You deserved to know the truth like the rest of us.” Maleshi dipped her chin and took a deep breath. “But we couldn’t take the chance that telling you would drive you away from your birthright. That’s part of being a leader, Cheyenne.”
The halfling snorted. “Being lied to?”
“Letting what you deserve take a back seat to doing what’s right for those you’re responsible for protecting.”
“Wow. You sound almost as philosophical as Corian right now.”
Maleshi’s smile tightened as she turned toward Cheyenne and shot her a quick wink. “I’ve had thousands of years to ruminate on my choices, kid.”
“And last but not least!” The huge orc with the black bands of paint around his tusks stomped toward them with a metal goblet in hand. “For you, Aranél.”
Cheyenne gave him a deadpan stare as he bent low in a semi-mocking bow, delivering the goblet with his other hand behind his back. He chuckled and stared up at her with narrowed yellow eyes until she took the thing and turned it over in her hands. Made of black metal, the goblet seemed to suck away the light around it and funnel it into what looked like rubies studded all over the cup above the long, thick stem. “I get the fancy cup, huh?”
The orc’s laughter rumbled through his chest. “It’s a replica. The gems are fake. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Wonderful.”
“So feel free to smash it at the end of the night. It’s been done before.”
Cheyenne couldn’t help her wry chuckle as she stared at the dark goblet. Not that many times if they’ve been waiting this long for something to celebrate.
The orc straightened and fixed his gaze on Maleshi. A hush fell over the bunker’s main room when the other rebels realized what was happening. Some of them nudged their neighbors to interrupt the conversation and point out the next interesting moment.
“And for the Hand of the Night and Circle,” the orc’s lower lip turned down as he grinned around his thick tusks, “a token of our undying gratitude for the spark of this fell-damn revolution.”
Maleshi lifted her chin and stared him down. Despite the orc having at least six inches on her, the general could have been the tallest magical in the room. “Well?”
He whisked his other hand out from behind his back and thrust a mangled, glinting silver shape twice the size of his palm under her nose. Maleshi blinked. The quiet rebels around them sniggered and tried to fight back their amusement. It took Cheyenne two seconds to realize the unusual shape was a creature’s skull with the bottom jaw removed.
Maleshi’s nostrils flared as she looked up from the silver skull and scanned the tensely waiting magicals scattered around the chamber. “Which of you brainless morons went through my personal effects when I made my great escape?”
No one said a word. On the far side of the chamber, L’zar cleared his throat and nodded toward Corian, who was standing behind him. The nightstalker blinked in surprise at the skull in the orc’s outstretched hand, one tawny, tufted ear twitching above his light-brown hair. Then he laughed and slowly pressed a fist to his heart as he met Maleshi’s gaze. “My blood for the Hand of the Night and Circle.”
“In battle or the bedroom, vae shra’ni?” jeered a goblin with his arm in a makeshift sling.
The rebels exploded in boisterous laughter again, pointing at Corian and falling over themselves in their mirth. Feet stomped on the stone floors as the rebels pushed each other around and laughed harder. Corian grinned at Maleshi, and she snatched the silver skull out of the orc’s hand with a half-joking hiss. “And you sent Jara’ak to return it to me for you.”
“I wasn’t planning on returning it at all,” Corian shouted above the howling laughter and the pounding echoes. He turned slowly toward L’zar, who looked at his nightstalker Nós Aní with a mocking shrug.
Maleshi laughed and stormed toward the bottles of fellwine and the metal keg on the table. “Dahal would be rolling in his grave if he saw this skull empty in my hand. What are we waiting for?”
The rebels lifted their mismatched metal goblets, tankards, and simple cups in a cheer of agreement. The general snatched one of the fellwine bottles, ripped out the cork with her teeth, and spat it onto the floor with a roaring cheer. The shouts and snarls of approval rose in a deafening roar as General Maleshi Hi’et poured a splashing stream of fellwine into the overturned silver skull in her hand. Sloshing the sparkling green liquor all over the place, she handed the bottle off to the magical beside her and raised the skull, whirling to face Cheyenne. “To the Aranél!”
The rebels lost it when she guzzled from the silver skull, fellwine splashing down the front of her military jacket and bubbling in small pools on the stone floor. The other fellwine bottles were snatched up and uncorked, and Sakrit cranked open the spout on the metal keg before filling whatever goblet was thrust his way to catch the shimmering golden Bloodshine spilling out of it.
Cheyenne’s eyes widened at the unbelievable amount of fellwine Maleshi put away, and she forced
