Page 21 of Elven Crown

Or was he already expecting it?

There was still a chance that even after all this time apart, Rowan still knew how to predict Rebecca’s next moves. He’d grown rather skilled at it, centuries ago.

It was still possible that he’d anticipated her interference and had somehow prepared to face it anyway.

Whatever Rowan did or didn’t know right now made no difference.

Rebecca’s hands were tied. She couldn’t do a damn thing to reverse what she’d added to that glowing blue potion in the flask. She could do nothing to reverse the course along the path she’d set for him.

If Rowan failed the way she’d wanted him to, if he didn’t survive the way she hadn’t known was possible until five minutes ago, she wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about that, either.

She’d ordered The Striving for Rowan Blackmoon. Shade’s Roth-Da’al had no choice but to see it through to the very end, no matter what that end meant for Rowan.

As soon as the last security member stepped out of the largest outer spellbinding circle surrounding Rowan and the casting circle in the center of the gym, Maxwell spun. With his back to the crowd, he faced that central circle to stand at attention beyond the confines of the magic holding Shade’s prisoner in place.

The casting circle painted on the floor illuminated with a brilliant flash of green light. It pulsated in the same dark, ominous hues as Bor’s first set of flames, brightening into a pale, leafy-green glow that didn’t hint nearly so forcefully at terrible things yet to come.

The signal for those gathered here tonight that it was finally time to begin.

The same light flashed within the circles on the gym walls, but as soon as the glare faded away, Maxwell turned his head toward Bor sitting at the corner of the dais and nodded.

Rebecca didn’t realize he’d settled his gaze on her next until her flesh prickled with the warm weight of his attention and his presence, even from across half the room.

She flicked her gaze back toward him and was almost as alarmed by what she saw in the shifter’s expression as she was by her own stupid decision to force Rowan’s failure.

Maxwell’s silver eyes were wide, their inner glow reflecting the shifter’s unique brand of magical ability—all of it aimed at her, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

Or was it confusion?

When he tilted his head and his frown darkened, Rebecca couldn’t tell what emotion plagued her Head of Security. Shewascertain it unnerved her just as much as knowing Rowan could very well die tonight because of her.

She pulled her gaze away and shifted in her seat, trying to look a little more casual and apathetic about the whole thing.

If Maxwell had looked at her like that because she’d been giving away her own thoughts with her unguarded expression, he’d know something was different. He’d know something was wrong, and he would approach her about it.

She had to act like she knew what she was doing. She had to pretend none of this bothered her, that she didn’t care nearly as much as she did about the outcome of The Striving tonight and what happened to its initiate afterward.

She knew what she had to do, and it shouldn’t have been as hard as it felt—to sit still and pay attention without squirming, without being physically sick, without interfering in the ritual that had now officially begun.

The discomfort of Maxwell’s gaze on her didn’t let up, even when he left the central casting circle to head for the wall besidethe double doors and take his place with the rest of his security team for the duration of the ceremony.

For now, their job was to ensure nothing got too wildly out of hand.

The Striving could be endured and—if one was worthy—successfully completed by one soul at a time. Once the casting circles and the spell bindings had been activated, as they were now, the person standing at the center of that casting circle was on their own.

There was a whole security team stationed right there to make sure it stayed that way.

No matter what Rebecca might have wanted to do between now and the moment Rowan’s Striving came to an end.

Her mouth had gone so dry, it felt like every breath stuck to the inside of her throat and her lungs, like her next inhale might close up her airways and end her right there before she witnessed the worst of what she’d set in motion.

That didn’t change when the fires in the iron sconces along the walls and the central brazier flared again with a roaring whoosh and a crack of attention-grabbing magic. Shadows danced among green flames artfully morphing back to orange-yellow.

A round of eager, anticipatory cheers rose from the magicals gathered around the room. Then Bor rose from his stool on the dais to make his slow, shuffling entrance.

He stopped at the edge of the miniature stage to address the gathering from there.

The second the old giveldi lifted both crooked hands in a slow, sweeping gesture, every conversation around the room fell into an abrupt silence. Every mouth clicked shut. All eyes centered on the old-worlder among them who’d taken it upon himself to oversee every Striving within this room.

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