Page 108 of Elven Throne

With two quick, shuffling steps toward the table again, he leaned forward toward the Peddler, conspiratorially lowering his voice. “Might I request a more…private reading?”

The Peddler threw her head back and shrieked with laughter.

Now Rebeccaknewthe woman’s rocking had increased to a feverish lunging back and forth in the chair, the groan of the ancient wood mixing with echoes of billowing laughter.

“You’ve already comethisfar together,” the woman replied between gasping breaths, still chuckling. “No reason to separate you now. Sit.”

Rowan stared at the wooden chair in front of the low table and swallowed thickly.

If there had been any more light in the hall, Rebecca knew she would have seen all the color drain from his face.

And she knew why.

Rowan Blackmoon hadverygood reason to fear the telling of his fortune by a Peddler who dealt exclusively in information. First, because it birthed a new possibility for her to offer whatever details she’d gleaned about him to any of her future clients in trade.

Second, because having one’s fortune told always carried the potential to reveal one’s secrets with it.

Whether the person was aware of those secrets didn’t make a difference.

And Rowandefinitelyhad more secrets.

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Rebeccahadnoideawhat to expect from this beyond the fact that it would be a once-in-a-lifetime show. Hopefully one that didn’t also contain any serious physical threat to the Peddler’s four newest visitors in her hall.

The readings themselves weren’t inherently dangerous, she knew that. But the results of what those readings revealed?

That was what started wars.

That was what had gotten Rebecca here in the first place.

The second Rowan plopped reluctantly down in the crooked wooden chair facing her, the Peddler rocked dangerously forward in her chair and extended a hand over the table, waiting for Rowan’s.

He eyed that hand warily, hesitating still.

She cocked her head and smiled again, though now the image of it made Rebecca think of worms emerging from their own rotting holes in the side of an apple.

“If my price is too costly for the Blackmoon Scion,” the Peddler crooned, “you have every right to decline and be on your way. Though I can assure you the information you wish to buy will bemuchharder to come by than this. Fromanyother source.”

Wellthatwas creepy.

Not only was the woman blind, but she’d instantly recognized exactly who Rowan was.

Definitely more than just an old-lady Peddler, wasn’t she. And not entirely blind, either.

Not in every way that mattered.

With a thick swallow, Rowan finally relented and offered the woman his hand.

As soon as they touched, the lines of flame along both stone walls of the hall erupted, flaring higher and intensely brighter in every direction.

Not exactly a comforting reaction.

Rebecca couldn’t help but gaze around at the result, trying not to move too much because the Peddler could obviously see them somehow, if not explicitly with her eyes. Then her gaze landed on Maxwell.

He raised his eyebrows at her, silent and watchful as ever yet clearly on edge, ready to leap into action at a second’s notice.

That steady constant here with her now, in a place like this, provided a certain level of comfort and reassurance for Rebecca to hold onto until they had what they needed.

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