Page 12 of Horn of Winter

“But not enough to intrigue you back to my bed, I’d wager.”

“No. And you know that.”

“Yes, but accepting the utter lack of hope given the centuries of living that remain ahead for us both is an entirely different matter.”

I laughed. “Hopefully, I’ll be spending those centuries with someone who loves me.”

“I do wish that for you, but it will never negate the optimism that burns within.”

Up ahead, a dark-haired man in his mid-fifties climbed out of the driver’s side of a silver Mercedes and walked around to the rear passenger door, opening it once we drew closer. “Where to, sir?”

“Kaitlyn’s, thank you, Henrick.”

The driver closed the rear door, then returned to the driver’s seat. As he drove off, a privacy screen slid up between him and us.

“She’s not going to be pleased at being woken at an ungodly hour,” Mathi commented.

“Do I look as if I care?”

He smiled. “No, but she’s definitely more taciturn when she’s had less sleep.”

Suggesting he had personal experience. I frowned. “Surely even a broker of her stature would be working mostly at night.”

“Surprisingly, only the lower rung operators do so at night. The higher up the brokerage tree you get, the less likely it is. I think they believe it adds an air of legitimacy if they work standard hours, though it does also make good business sense, as most of their higher-paying clientele would be keeping regular hours.”

“The Myrkálfar don’t.”

“Elves, be they Myrkálfar or Ljósálfar, have no need for her services.”

And yet, his statement about her crankiness suggested that wasn’talwaysthe case. “Even if the contract was brokered by a lower rung operator, she’d still be aware of its circulation.”

“Yes, because the wise man—or woman in this case—always keeps a close eye on the marketandthe competition.”

Something in the way he said the latter had me glancing at him. “You and Eljin are not in competition. You left the race eight months ago.”

“I wasn’t talking about me. I meant Cynwrig.”

“Then Eljin has nothing to worry about. In fact, he’s the only horse in the running right now.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be putting money on that.”

“Mathi, Cynwrig’s highborn, and they, like your lot, do not get serious about anyone outside their own race.”

“While highborns don’toftenmarry outside their own race, it has happened. It’s certainly not unknown for them to become serious about a partner not of their own kind.”

“You never did.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Iam a Ljósálfar, and a very different proposition to Cynwrig. Besides, I was monogamous for nearly eight years, dear Bethany, and that is very much a record for me.”

Or indeed foranylight elf. Myrkálfar elves were almost the exact opposite; not only were they far more emotionally connected than their Ljósálfar counterparts, but they also married for love, not profit or standing. Once their heart was committed, it never strayed.

Or so said the myths. Who actually knew if that remained true in this day and age?

“Does that mean there was someone else before Gilda?”

“A couple of someones. Occasional dalliances; nothing more.”

I harrumphed and glanced at the window, watching the steady procession of bright street lights sweep by for a second. “The thing is, Cynwrig is not only highborn, but heir to the Myrkálfar throne. He wouldn’t jeopardize that position for someone like me. Why would you even think that?”

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