Page 88 of In Darkness Forged

“And the engagement?”

“That,” he returned, “remains to be seen. There have been a few changes since you left…”

“You have done what you came for,” Lord Dreichel interrupted coolly. “Now remove yourself from my house. Your stench is disturbing my guests.”

Some things, Aislin reflected, had not changed at all.

“Before I go,” she said boldly, “there are two things you should know. First and perhaps most importantly, that stone you hold in your hand is no more an object of good fortune than I am.”

Lord Dreichel stiffened and raised an imperious hand to beckon one of his guards—preparing, no doubt, to have her removed. But she would not be silenced this time.

“It is a moonstone, as common as any pebble from the river. The enchantment, too, is a simple one, and among night elves, these stones are used merely to light their homes.”

It was as if her words had taken Lord Dreichel by the throat. His face turned gradually purple, while his mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

“Also, the enchantment is unlikely to last for long. No night elf currently living can imbue them with enough magic to last more than a few years, so do not be surprised if it goes dark again in a year or two.”

Then she smiled and curtsied. It was beyond awkward, as she wore trousers rather than a skirt, but Aislin did not care. “I believe that’s all, my lord. I’ll be on my way now and return tomorrow for a receipt to show that our debt has been paid, as promised.”

“Yourdebt?” Lord Dreichel finally burst out. “Your debt is beyond payment, and I will never forgive it! First, you ruined my seer, and now you have ruined my stone. You corrupted my son’s mind and humiliated me in front of my guests, and now you dare… youdareto stand in front of me and pretend as if you have any power here? You havenone!”

Spittle flew from his lips as rage turned his face a deep and angry red. With a snarled oath, he strode towards her, stone clenched in one hand, ignoring the shock in the eyes of his guests, throwing off every hand that tried to restrain him.

He was, Aislin realized, past being reasoned with. She had seen his mercurial temper before now, even sensed the edge of madness lurking in his eyes, but it seemed he’d finally strayed beyond that boundary.

And Aislin… She, too, was beyond anger. Beyond fear. Beyond anything but pity and contempt. There were no other emotions she could summon for the wretched man before her.

Sandric, his face white and his lips bloodless, moved to stand between them. “Father, her family’s debt is…”

Lord Dreichel shoved him aside. Sandric staggered and fell, shock on his handsome face.

And then there was a hand around Aislin’s throat. In hindsight, perhaps she had been too hasty when she assured Tal she would be safe.

“You have made a mockery of me in my own hall,” Lord Dreichel said, his tone soft, steady, and emotionless. “You should know better than to believe I would allow you to live after that.”

“In the name of all Abreia, sir, take her to the dungeons if you must,” one of the visitors interjected. “You cannot simply kill someone in the middle of a crowded room.”

“Why not?” Lord Dreichel returned smoothly. “Her life belongs to me. The lives of all my people belong to me. They serve me, and I protect them, but if they do not serve me, they are mine to do with as I see fit.”

“No.”

Lord Dreichel looked around in irritation for the owner of that deep, implacable voice, and Aislin froze, right in the middle of preparing to kick her liege lord in a place he was unlikely to forget anytime soon.

She knew whose voice that was and was instantly torn between fear and relief.

Relief, because she knew she was safe. Lord Dreichel could no more harm her now than he could turn her into a goat.

And fear, because while her own life was no longer in danger, the safety of every other person in the hall was now in question.

Tal had followed her. She should have known he would not allow her to confront Dreichel alone, but how had he managed to bypass the guards? How could he possibly have walked right into the middle of Lord Dreichel’s great hall without being seen by a single soul?

Whether by magic or by stealth, he had done it, and every person in that hall suddenly seemed to shrink and pale beside the terrifying vision he presented.

Tal was broader and taller than any of them, a predator dressed in blood-stained clothing. His eyes were bright with anger, and his white hair flowed about his shoulders as he cut through the crowd, his blade held loosely in one powerful hand. That burning amber gaze fixed on Lord Dreichel as if the others were beneath even his notice, his aura of menace so utterly overwhelming that no one dared remain in his path.

And rushing along in time with his passage, a cold wind seemed to sweep through the hall, ruffling hair, rustling skirts, and causing the candles to flicker.

Only Sandric moved, scrambling to his feet and patting his belt as if searching for a blade that wasn’t there.

---