“Wow. Somebody’s in a mood.”
“It’s definitely not the mood for figuring out how many different ways I can say keep going.”
Cheyenne scowled at the nightstalker and nodded slowly. “Got it.”
“Cheyenne, I’m just—”
“No, it’s fine. If anyone can spot the signs of a magical about to lose their shit, I can. I hope you cool off before we need your head back in whatever game he’s playing.” She nodded at L’zar, who was busy pulling himself up over the lip of the mountain peak when the footpath just stopped.
“I’m fine, kid.”
“Good.” Cheyenne headed after her father. It’s reassuring to see someone else who’s frustrated by L’zar and his secret plans. I wish he picked a better time to let me see it.
She reached the end of the path and glanced up at the overhanging ledge of earth, the soil dry and crumbling, with bits of grass and protruding roots dangling toward her face. The second she got a good grip on the ledge with one hand, L’zar loomed over the edge and blotted out the sun.
“Jeeze!” Cheyenne stepped backward, away from him and his glowing golden eyes. “What?”
L’zar slowly extended a hand and grinned. “Thought you might want some help up.”
“Uh-huh.” Narrowing her eyes, she gripped the ledge again with one hand and accepted his help with the other. She kicked once against the loose earth and let him pull her up the rest of the way.
“There. And here we are.”
As soon as he released her hand, Cheyenne wiped her palm on the outside of her trenchcoat, then stuck both hands in her pockets. “And there he is.”
She’d been right about the white stone temple at the center of the mountaintop plateau, which still glistened under the sun and cast a glare in every direction. It was a lot easier to see what was inside the temple, which only had four stone pillars, a stone base, and a stone roof. There were no walls, curtains draped around the pillars, or an altar. Just a magical sitting cross-legged on the stone, his back turned toward them and his bone-white hair fluttering in the breeze.
Corian and Maleshi quickly climbed up over the ledge and stopped beside L’zar and Cheyenne. The general dusted off her hands and cocked her head. “Hell of a climb just for this.”
“We’re not finished yet.” L’zar stepped silently toward the temple, his hands clasped behind his back as he considered the best way to introduce himself to the younger drow deep in mediation. He never got the chance.
“Welcome.” The other drow’s voice was soft, almost emotionless, but it didn’t contain the same numerous tones as Yilas’.
L’zar stopped and studied his nephew’s back. “Thank you.”
The younger drow stood in one fluid motion without using his hands and turned to face his visitors.
Cheyenne’s eyes widened; the face staring back at her looked exactly like L’zar’s, only younger, thinner, and the wrong color. His skin had faded from the usual slate-gray drow color to pale, washed-out violet, but the gray was still there beneath the surface. His eyes, though, were so much lighter than her own, they were almost yellow. Even then, a soft glow emanated from them as Ba’rael Verdys’ son swept his slow, discerning gaze over the four magicals who’d come to speak to him.
No way this is a trick of the light, even if I can’t tell what color his eyes are. The halfling shot Corian a sidelong glance and whispered from the corner of her mouth, “That’s not normal. Right?”
The nightstalker shook his head. “Not beyond these walls. But for Nor’ieth?” He shrugged and met her gaze for a split second before returning his attention to L’zar.
Great. Too much time spent in this secret plane, and we’ll all get the color drained right out of us. Cheyenne took a step forward but couldn’t bring herself to move any closer.
L’zar dipped his head and grinned at his nephew. “You saw us coming?”
The light-skinned drow passed his gaze over L’zar and returned it immediately to Cheyenne. “We see many things.”
He talks like the olforím too. We’re not dealing with a drow at this point. The halfling swallowed.
“I’m sure you do, all the way up here.” L’zar looked over his shoulder. “Great view.”
His nephew kept staring at Cheyenne.
“What’s your name?” the Weaver asked.
“We are called Aut Na’mor.”
“Sure. When the olforím address you.” L’zar chuckled. “I mean your real name. The one you were born with.”
The light-skinned drow’s pale yellow eyes moved slowly back toward his uncle. “We have no name.”
“Ha.” Turning around to fix Cheyenne and the nightstalkers with a growing smile, L’zar gestured at Ba’rael’s secret heir. “He has no name.”
Corian rubbed the back of his neck and shot Cheyenne a quick glance before stepping forward to join the drow thief. “Do you know who we are?”
“If you’re referring to the names you use for yourselves, then no.” The drow eyed Corian now, his wide eyes and blank expression looking so much like L’zar’s when he’d cloaked himself in magic that Cheyenne had a sudden urge to slap a reaction into him. “If you’re asking if we know what you are, we have our suspicions.”
“Oh, indeed?” L’zar blinked at his nephew, tilting his head from side to side as his grin widened. “What do you suspect we are?”
“Telling you would not change the truth one way or the other.”
“Ah. I would still very much like to hear it from you.”
Ba’rael’s son blinked slowly and stared at Cheyenne. “No.”
L’zar chuckled. “No. Well, then. Is there anything you will agree to discuss? Seeing as we climbed all this way to speak to you.”
Cheyenne frowned at her father and tried to ignore the strange itch spreading across her face beneath her cousin’s intent stare. This guy’s been brainwashed, and L’zar thinks it’s one big joke.
“Hello?” L’zar leaned toward his nephew and flicked his fingers in front of the other drow’s face. “Should I repeat the question?”
“Her.” The light-skinned drow barely lifted his chin
