Page 17 of Elven Crown

Rebecca was Shade’s commander. Like the old man had just reminded her, she had the right to do almost whatever she wanted. Especially when it came to ceremonial rites and rituals like The Striving.

It was within her power to change or modify any part of this, however she saw fit. But that wasn’t the point.

The point was she didn’t want to risk sowing any more avoidable suspicion. She had a feeling she’d already overstepped that personal boundary with Maxwell, and she didn’t want to give anyone else reason to question where she came from or what her true intentions might have been.

The shifter’s doubts were more than enough.

She’d tried to be careful tonight, but she presumed an old-worlder like Bor could already see through her bullshit anyway, even if he didn’t have all the details.

When she looked down at the flask again, the liquid inside had returned to its normal glowing blue. No trace of silver or darker threads of interference from any other magic. No trace of anyone having tampered with it.

No one would ever know she’d just added a little something extra.

Besides, who would think to test the potion that had worked countless times to differentiate between those who were worthy of Shade and its mission and those who weren’t?

“Thanks for the reminder,” she told Bor as his shuffling footsteps grew closer. “Everything looks good here.”

“Of course it does,” he said with a gruff snort. “I’m the one who did it.”

Rebecca turned around to find Shade’s resident cook had almost reached her. “How many of thesehaveyou overseen?”

He shook his head. “Too many to count.”

“And how many initiates fail?”

The flicker of a wry smile that usually exposed Bor’s gruff humor disappeared.

Only then did Rebecca realize she hadn’t yet seen him look this serious since she’d joined the organization.

“More than I care to admit,” he replied, his voice now a low solemn grumble. “The Striving weeds out those who just don’t have what it takes to become a part of something like this. What Shade has become. At this point, I find myself genuinely rooting for every single initiate who walks through these doors.”

“But if they fail, it’s not a big deal.” Rebecca couldn’t help but try to bring a little more levity into the conversation, which had turned so unexpectedly somber so quickly. “We thank them for their interest, turn them away, and they go on with their lives.”

Bor pursed his lips before looking up at her, his wrinkled old face contorted further by the enormous scar stretching across from one ear down over the opposite side of his jaw. “Sure. If theysurvivesuch a failure of The Striving’s rejection. Most don’t.”

Rebecca wanted to laugh, but a deeper, wiser part of her wouldn’t allow it.

No, that part of her lingered instead on the old giveldi’s words as her heart skipped and stuttered before it felt like it was giving out entirely.

Most failed initiates didn’tsurvive?

She’d had no idea about that part. The Striving had been far too easy for her, and she’d assumed it was the same for everyone else. Basic, simple, no real recovery time needed afterward because it wasn’t necessary. No harm done.

But now, this old-worlder who’d been overseeing these ritual ceremonies for centuries, maybe even longer, had just implied the failures were mostly fatal.

With the worst possible timing.

Dammit, why hadn’t someone explained that very important fact to herbefore?

Before she’d hatched a desperate, last-second scheme to force Rowan into unwillingly failing this magical challenge that apparently killed those who couldn’t successfully complete it?

Rebecca stared blankly across the gym as the implications hit her one right after the other and fully settled in.

“What’s wrong?” Bor asked, his disturbingly bushy eyebrow dancing up and down in rhythm with its scarred twin as he studied her sideways.

Rebecca tried to respond, found her voice sticking on the way up, then had to clear her throat and try again as she stepped away from the central casting circle. “Nothing.”

“You sure? Because you look like you just found out someone pissed in your Cheerios.”

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