“No, he went in the opposite direction.” Elarit stared at the arch where L’zar had disappeared.
Corian glanced at the troll woman. “Until you, Cheyenne.”
“I haven’t improved anything, either.”
“You have. More than you know. And things will continue to improve.”
Cheyenne shrugged and stared at her drink. “Only after the Crown steps down in two weeks.”
The nightstalker wrinkled his nose. “If she steps down.”
“What?” The halfling’s glowing golden gaze cut toward him again. “Nobody told me there was a loophole to our loophole.”
“In two weeks, you’ll bring her your terms. Once we’ve hashed out the details, of course. But she has the option not to accept them.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Cheyenne turned to Maleshi, not having to lean forward since Ember sat stiffly back in her chair in disbelief. “What happens if she doesn’t accept?”
With her elbow propped on the table, Maleshi lifted a finger from around the silver skull and extended one slicing, glinting four-inch claw from the tip. “You get to fight again. Alone.”
“I have to fight her again,” Cheyenne said. “Great.”
“To the death,” Jara’ak added with a sneer.
“Oh, even better.”
“Which is why we’ll be focusing on arranging the terms in a way Ba’rael Verdys can’t possibly refuse.” Corian stared at Maleshi’s extended claw until she retracted it with a sharp sound. “A fight for the Crown isn’t an option any of us are willing to entertain, but know that it exists.”
“And you’d win,” Maleshi added before burying her face in the silver skull and chugging noisily.
Ember snorted. “Sounds like someone’sentertaining the option.”
“After the Crown steps down,” Corian continued, “we’ll turn our resources to washing out all the O’gúl filth lining Hangivol’s streets. Things will change around here, but now that I’ve seen what’s going on, it’ll probably take us as long to clean up Ba’rael’s mess as it took her to shit all over everything. Or longer.”
“Wonderful visual. Thanks.” Cheyenne raised her eyebrows and stared at the table. I haven’t had nearly as much to drink as the rest of these warmongers. Why am I so dizzy? She felt Ember’s gaze on the side of her face but couldn’t bring herself to look at anyone.
“Okay, if Cheyenne’s not gonna ask it, I will.”The fae girl took another long drink of her Bloodshine. “Say we go back in, the Crown accepts the terms and steps down, and Cheyenne doesn’t want to take her place?”
The halfling grimaced but didn’t stop her friend.
Corian took a deep breath. “Then someone else will take it.”
Cheyenne looked at him. “Someone like L’zar?”
The table burst into raucous laughter again. Maleshi pounded the metal surface so hard her fellwine sloshed all over her other hand, the edge of the table, and her lap. “No fucking way, kid. The last thing that drow thief wants is to sit on a dead O’gúl throne.”
“Right.” The halfling let herself grin as the howling laughter grew around her. “Because he could’ve taken it if he wanted to.” So why the hell did he need me for any of this?
Foltr leaned toward her and cleared his throat. “If you do not want the rule the of new Cycle for your own, Aranél, there is a way to hand it off to someone else.”
“What? You mean I can give someone the throne and say ‘Here, have fun?’”
“There is a bit more involved, but yes.”
“Of course there is.” Cheyenne ran a hand through her hair and sat back in her chair. “Does it have to be a drow?”
Maleshi shrugged and stared thoughtfully at the tabletop. “Nothing in the old laws says a thing about who the Crown should be.”
Corian laughed. “But show me a drow who doesn’t want all the power and control for themselves, eh? You can’t.” When he turned his silver eyes on Cheyenne, Ember pointed at the drow halfling and cocked her head. “Oh. Your circumstances are a little different, kid.”
“Why? Because I’m not full drow?”
“Probably.”
Cheyenne tossed a hand toward him. “Fine. What about you then, Corian? Why don’t you be the nightstalker to defy ages of drow rule and sit on that throne your own damn self?”
“Hmm. Tempting. Also, no.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”
“I go where L’zar goes, Cheyenne. You understand that a lot better now with your own Nós Aní sitting beside you.”
Ember raised both hands in front of her and shook her head. “I didn’t tell her to give you the throne.”
“Trust me, that wouldn’t have made a difference.” He fixed the fae girl with a tight-lipped smile and drank from his tankard.
“Then who the hell am I supposed to shuck this whole Crown thing onto, huh? Seriously.” Cheyenne leaned over the table and raised her voice. “Who here wants to sit on the throne of Ambar’ogúl as the Crown of the new Cycle? Anyone? Speak up now. I’m making a list!”
“To the Aranél!” Sakrit bellowed.
“The Aranél!” The other rebels took up the cry, swinging toward the table with sloshing tankards and cheering Cheyenne, daughter of L’zar Verdys.
Beside her, Foltr snorted into his tankard.
Cheyenne slumped back in her chair again and shook her head. “I don’t want it. This is ridiculous.”
“For now, this is what you have to work with, kid.” Corian shrugged. “Besides, even if you promised to abdicate right now, it doesn’t mean shit until we sit down with Ba’rael and turn the new Cycle officially. The old laws don’t include promises made at a drinking party underground.”
“Ha!” Jara’ak pounded the table. “Maybe they should!”
“Feel free to rewrite them to suit your needs, orc.” Foltr narrowed his eyes at the orc with the black bands around his tusks. “You wouldn’t make it past the first two words.”
“Bah.” Jara’ak guzzled his drink noisily and reached for the nearly empty bottle of fellwine before emptying the rest of it into his tankard.
Chapter Seven
Cheyenne frowned at the few empty seats left at the table, then turned to scan the drunken magicals around them. Two of them didn’t make it. Why
