Page 23 of Elven Lies

She felt Maxwell searching the side of her face again, this time in confusion. His frown had its own specific feel brushing it across her skin—like a rough patch of sandpaper on her cheek.

Of course he didn’t understand why Rebecca would put on airs here with Nyx’s life on the line, but she couldn’t look at him, and she didn’t have time to explain.

What mattered was thatsheunderstood Harkennr’s priorities as well as her own, and he was a stickler for decorum and etiquette.

Two things particularly difficult to come by when someone else’s safety was at stake. That was all part of the fun for this sadistic warlock sitting before them at the head of his own table.

Harkennr delicately scooted himself forward under the table. “I’m happy to provide that information, including proof of life, though I must first inquire as to what you’re willing to give for it in return.”

He’d taken his eyes off her already to focus on the feast covering the table, deliberately downplaying the importance of her request.

Downplaying Nyx’s importance, just like Rebecca knew he would.

Maxwell growled beside her, all but seething at their host as before he took a lunging step toward the table—as if he thought he could intimidate someone like Harkennr the same way he successfully intimidated almost everyone else.

The rage pulsing off him in hot, agitating waves almost overwhelmed Rebecca and her common sense necessary to bring them through this meeting unscathed. The shifter’s roiling emotions were nearly contagious, but before he could act on them, she recovered her presence of mind and automatically reached out to grab his forearm.

Her grip was much gentler than it had been in the corridor up above, but it had the same effect.

Maxwell froze, breathing heavily through his nose and fighting back a snarl.

With her other hand, Rebecca reached into her jacket pocket. Her fingers closed around the second stone figurine, its cool weight steadying her before she withdrew the white, vaguely humanoid carving. Then she extended it toward Harkennr. “I have this, and I’m willing to give it in return.”

His bright, cruelly intelligent green eyes regarded her from across the length of the table, but Harkennr barely glanced at the figurine. Just one more piece on the game board—Rebecca’s single-use ticket to get from him what she wanted today. It also served as her willing acknowledgement that, at least for now, Harkennr had the upper hand, and Rebecca now agreed to play by his rules.

Rules he’d brought with him from Xahar’áhsh.

She really wished old-worlders would stop doing that.

After a long, tense moment of Harkennr scrutinizing Rebecca’s authenticity and Maxwell’s baffled stare nearly burning a hole through the side of her face, Harkennr nodded before returning his attention to the mouth-watering dishes laid out across the table. “That will suffice. Now come. Join me.”

The instant change in Maxwell’s emotions, from anger and distrust to confusion and indignation, radiated off him in response. Rebecca felt it all with equal intensity before she shot him another fleeting glance and hoping he caught its silent message:“Just roll with it.”

Then she nodded toward the table and headed that way.

He didn’t try to stop her within his stoic silence, but she did feel the pull of his physical presence following after her across the room before his slow, calculated footsteps echoed behind her. At least he’d chosen to let her take the lead.

Harkennr was already operating at an astronomical advantage, and Rebecca didn’t want to hand over any more of it on a silver platter by arguing with Maxwell over best next steps.

But without knowing what their host had in store for them now, there were also no guarantees that Maxwell’s cooperation would last long enough for them to survive this encounter. Or Rebecca’s.

8

When Rebecca finally reached the far head of the table where Harkennr sat, her pulse pounding in her head as she struggled to breathe evenly and keep from wiping her hot, instantly clammy hands on the legs of her jeans, she couldn’t help wondering what new hellish trap she was about to willingly enter. Her only choice was to play along, wait, and see.

She chose the second seat to Harkennr’s right and pulled it out for herself to sit. The first chair would have positioned herself as a confirmed ally, swearing allegiance to the head of the table, and Rebecca certainly wasn’t that.

One seat down, however, left space between them while also inferring both her hesitation to sign up for whatever the guy was selling and her willingness to let him try to change her mind. It said she was open to this current conversation for the time being, that she accepted his hospitality and understood that once this gathering was over, they would be back to square one. Neither allies nor enemies.

After this meeting, anything could happen.

The simple reminder of all this etiquette and the vastness of what could be inferred with something as simple as picking the right seat at the table made her stomach churn all over again. A flood of memories rushed through her—everything she’d been trained and groomed and forced to do and to endure at court in Agn’a Tha’ros.

When it came to tradition and decorum, the Bloodshadow Court didn’t mess around. If she’d had her way, Rebecca would have never needed to implement this knowledge again in her life. But Kordus Harkennr expected it of everyone, including her and especially within the new domain he’d built himself right here in Chicago.

The antique chair creaked beneath her as she settled her weight into it before leaning slightly forward toward her host. The second figurine of pale stone in her hand hardly made a sound when she placed it delicately at the edge of Harkennr’s place setting.

He didn’t reach for the token himself, nor did he offer it a single glance. But hehadaccepted it.

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