Page 107 of Elven Throne

“As in our fortunes?” Rebecca asked.

The Peddler nodded. “That’s it.”

“She wants to read our fortunes,” Maleine echoed with a wry laugh. “This just keeps getting better andbetter.”

Maxwell let out a deeply disturbed sigh. “That does not sound like much of a trade at all. More like a trick.”

“No trick, shifter,” the woman replied cheerily. “That’s my price.”

His eyes widened at her huddled form rocking back and forth, as if he’d assumed she couldn’t hear his suspicious grumbling from that distance. But when the old woman chuckled again, Maxwell tore his gaze away from her to look at Rebecca. “She wants to provide us a service in exchange for another service. How costly couldthatbe?”

She dipped her head in subdued warning. “You’d be surprised.”

Anything to do with seeing the thread of an individual’s life—reading fortunes, divining prophesy, aligning duty with free will and calling it fate—made her squirm. It always had.

She’d had more than enough experience with that kind of thing for several lifetimes.

But she absolutely believed the Peddler possessed the information they needed.

It came at a steeper price than Maxwell assumed, but they had to be willing to pay it.

Rebecca had to be willing.

Without bothering to confer with the Blackmoon Elves standing in line with her, she nodded at the Peddler. “We accept.”

“Oh, wedo, do we?” Rowan snarled through gritted teeth, glaring at her. “That’s what we’re going for here? You call all the shots and just offer up ourfortunesto get what you need?”

“Your plan failed,” she muttered. “So now we have a new one.”

Scoffing, he turned toward Maleine next. “You’re okay with this?”

“I’m just along for the ride,” she replied, smirking. “So far, it’s been excellent.”

Maxwell offered no argument, and Rowan didn’t bother to ask.

“Then it’s settled.” The Peddler looked incredibly happy to hear the news, grinning fiercely at her visitors until a high-pitched laugh barked out of her as she rocked.

Rebecca thought that rocking had intensified, faster and louder than ever, but it could have just been her distrust of Peddlers in general and fortunetelling specifically.

“Take back the Pu’uzáh,” the woman said, nodding toward Rowan. “Save it for a rainy day, hmm?”

Rowan scowled at her, glanced at his rejected gift, then leapt forward to quickly snatch it off the table. The next second, the Pu’uzáh disappeared in a flash of silver-white light before he stepped back in line with the others.

The Peddler clicked her tongue. “You sit first, elf, and we’ll begin.”

It was impossible to think her blind gaze had landed anywhere but the center of Rowan’s face.

He looked terrified, then whirled toward Rebecca and hissed, “I can’t believe you just volunteered me for this.”

She shrugged. “That’s the price. And we’re going to pay it.”

Rolling his eyes, he took a deep breath, then glanced around the massive stone hall flickering with flame and shadow all around him. He took a moment longer to dust off the sleeves of his light jacket, stretch out his neck from side to side, and shake the remaining tension from his arms and hands.

He was stalling.

For good reason.

This was exactly as uncomfortable and risky for Rowan as Rebecca had known it would be, and his reaction perfectly matched what she’d expected.

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