Page 105 of Elven Throne

And her smile remained.

“If you ask me,” Maleine murmured, “she’s gonna need alotmore light if she wants to see anything.”

Rowan jerked toward her and bit back a snarl before forcefully recovering his composure.

The Peddler’s hearty laugh billowed around them. “You aren’t the first to guess wrong. Come a little closer. That’s right.”

Despite their constant battling and bickering, Rowan and Maleine both took two small steps forward.

“All of you,” the woman added, her chair creaking peacefully as she rocked.

Rebecca and Maxwell exchanged a look, then did as the Peddler commanded.

This was weird as hell.

No old woman Rebecca had ever met gave off this same level of confusingly contradictory vibes—warm welcoming and cold, vicious brutality. No Peddler had ever left her feeling this way either, come to think of it.

With nothing else around her in this hall to offer evidence ofwhatshe truly was, Rebecca had a feeling this woman wasn’tentirelya Peddler, either.

For one, she had nothingtopeddle.

Rowan had said this one traded in information, but even if that were true, where the hell were all the items people had tradedforthat information?

“What can I do for you?” the woman asked sweetly.

If Rebecca didn’t know better, she would have mistaken this…whatever she was for someone’s harmless grandmother.

Rowan stepped forward again, stuck out his heel, and folded forward over himself with a ridiculous flourish to offer a dangerously steep bow. “Greetings, Peddler. Good health and clear sight be yours. We come to trade.”

“Well…” the woman mused. “Three elves and ashifter.Nowthat’san interesting pack indeed. Or did the three of you adopthim?”

Maxwell stiffened at that, as he did after any mention of his unique personal circumstances—a shifterwithouta pack.

Rebecca gently brushed the back of her hand against his arm, hoping it would be enough to calm him.

They were all just words, anyway, though she couldn’t help but wonder how a blind Peddler conducting her business out of a dark room underground with nothing to show for her business dealings—at least not visibly, anywhere around her—could tell exactly how many of them they were. Orwhatthey were.

This woman was definitely more than just a Peddler. That much Rebecca knew.

“Now,” the old woman added, still rocking away, “what could the four of you possibly be seeking that would lead you all here?”

“Information,” Rowan began, “lost to our people within the effort of protecting it.”

“It usually is.” Tittering, the Peddler tilted her head, swinging it from side to side as she listened to something only she seemed to hear, her unseeing gaze sweeping over each of them. “Closer, loves. It’s hardly a conversation across such a distance.”

Her friendly smile never wavered.

Neither did the pit in Rebecca’s stomach at the sight of it.

Still, she stepped even closer toward the table and the Peddler rocking behind it, Maxwell, Maleine, and Rowan all doing the same.

“We have a gift,” Rowan added hastily, as if only just remembering. He shuffled forward with the Pu’uzáh cradled in both hands, looking like he wanted to tell the woman what it was but then thought better of it.

The Peddler nodded. “On the table.”

He jerked forward, paused, then settled the object carefully on the center of the worn, dust-layered table and immediately pulled away to fall in line with Rebecca and the others again.

The rocking chair continued its ceaseless creaking back and for, and the old woman didn’t even direct her unseeing gaze toward the table. Instead, she craned her head back and smiled at the unseen ceiling far above them. “Ah, yes. A Pu’uzáh. I haven’t seen one of these in a very long time. How thoughtful of you.”

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