Page 65 of Rogue Elves of Ardani

“You’ll just have to keep guessing.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’d guess you didn’t. But you’ve been doing all kinds of unexpected things lately, so who knows?”

Crow crossed her arms. “You knew I was coming, and you left no snares for me? Maybe I’m the one who should be disappointed in you.”

“You know I don’t want you hurt. You’re my most valuable asset.”

“I’m not yours. I’m done with that.”

“Oh?” He leaned forward, looking at her closely. “When did you decide that?”

“It’s a long time coming.”

“I wish I’d known you were so dissatisfied with your position. Maybe I could have found a way to settle you down and prevent this waste of both our time.”

Crow’s face was tight, barely concealing deep contempt and hatred—the kind of deeply set emotion that took years and years to build up.

The man turned and looked in Vaara’s direction suddenly. “You. Why are you hiding? I didn’t know Varai were so skittish.”

Vaara slowly stepped up beside Crow. He saw neither of them reflected in the glass—only Patros in another room somewhere far away.

“At least one of you comes when summoned.” He studied Vaara. “I see. She used the soulbinder on you.”

Vaara stiffened. Patros’s eyes returned to Crow.

“Just how quickly did you make the decision to try to betray me, Crow? Are you starting to realize how dangerous a mistake it was?”

“I’m coming for you, Patros. You can’t evade me forever.”

“Good. The sooner we meet again, the sooner you can return to your correct place at my side, and we can get on with more important business.”

Crow’s lips twitched. Abruptly her hand shot out and grabbed the frame of the mirror. She flung it to the floor, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Vaara cursed, stepping back to avoid the shards.

The man on the other side of the mirror went quiet. Vaara peered into the scattered glass, and only his own broken face was reflected back at him.

Chapter 17

Crow stalked out of the room. Vaara watched her walk down the hall into a space by the window at the front of the house, then slump into a chair. He waited to see what she would say next. She just stared out the window, visibly seething.

It was difficult to glean anything about the man in the mirror from the things in his office, other than the fact that he was obsessively organized and tidy. Vaara picked through the room, carefully flipping through papers and checking drawers. The desk drawers were all locked, and there was some kind of enchantment on the ledgers that prevented him from opening them, as if the pages had been glued together. His ability to read Ardanian was, admittedly, poor, so perhaps none of that would have been any use anyway.

Outside, Crow was still sagging in her chair, her face resting on her hand. Vaara watched her for a moment, then turned and quietly wandered down the hall to the only other room that had caught his interest during his exploration of the house.

The room was out of place. Like it had been taken from another house and squeezed into this one even though it didn’t quite fit.

The bed was small and old, like it had originally been made for a child and had never been replaced after the child had grown up. The books on the shelf were not perfectly aligned or arranged in a neat order, and the rug on the floor was old and well-worn. Candles on the bedside table had been burned down, red wax pooling on wood, as if the owner of the bed had spent a lot of time reading there in the darkness.

A desk against the wall had papers and books scattered over it, annotated maps of Ardani and what must have been Valtos hanging on the wall over it. And on the corner of the desk was a large collection of sewing and embroidery supplies. Dozens of spools of thread hung on a rack, some so brightly colored that he wondered if they had been made by magic. For having such a dull landscape, Ardanian craftsmen had an amazing assortment of colors in their work. Dyes for colors like these were rare in Kuda Varai.

A half finished piece in an embroidery hoop sat on the middle of the desk. In its semi-complete state, it took him a few seconds to make out the image she’d been creating: a woman with a sword in one hand and a severed head in the other.

He had not expected to find that he and Crow had the same taste in art.

He went to the books on the shelf next, pulling them out one by one to study the titles. It was a struggle to read them. Ardanian characters all looked the same.

The books all had titles likeBattle SongandGuardians of FateandWindrider. The fourth book he pulled out was written in Ysuran script.

There was a soft footstep at the door. He turned to find Crow watching him impassively.

---