Page 110 of Elven Throne

Moving faster than ever, the Peddler roughly snatched Maleine’s hand, like a venomous snake striking its prey. The flames cutting along the walls flared up once more time, scattering shadows with their blinding light before dimming almost imperceptibly.

The second the Peddler touched Maleine’s palm with her outstretched fingers, her smile disappeared, and she began the reading.

She spent even less time investigating and silently musing over Maleine’s fortune than she had Rowan’s.

“Oh, you arefarmore important to the Threads of Fate than anyone’s ever realized,” the woman crooned. “Including you. Your path has been set, yes, but to play your part and fulfill your own destiny, you must plan every move, take every step, withperfect precision. Many lives, maybe even entire kingdoms, depend onyourchoices.

“A bit of advice, child. Many will try to sway you or change your mind. They will tell you you are wrong. But youknowwhat you want, and when you seize it, suchgreatnesswill be achieved…”

The fires along the walls died and dimmed again, just as before, and the Peddler released Maleine’s hand with another violent shove.

After a moment of sitting there and studying the old woman, Maleine rose from the chair and practically skipped back toward the others, her chin held high and her haughty smile fully returned. “Wellthatwas better than I could’ve hoped for. I might actually like this fortune-telling stuff.”

Rowan scowled at her. “You said it’s all bullshit.”

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch just becauseyourfortune sucks.”

Clenching his fists at his sides, he tilted his head, closed his eyes, and grunted beneath the effort of not attacking his own sister in the Peddler’s hall.

Rebecca hardly noticed, though, because she was too focused on the sight of the old woman turning her white eyes onto Maxwell next.

He stiffened again, even before she crooked a finger at him. “Step forward, shadow.”

Maxwell and Rebecca both felt the weight of those words simultaneously before sharing a knowing look rippling with the same thought.

Only shifters used that term. Even Rebecca hadn’t known about it until they’d reached the Sparta pack’s compound.

How would anyone else know, especiallythiswoman?

As if that one word had wrapped him in a completely different type of spell, Maxwell dutifully stepped forward toward the chair.

Rebecca nearly leapt after him. “Hold on—”

The shifter lifted a gentle hand to stop her and nodded. “It’s fine.”

Hemight have believed that, but Rebecca didn’t.

She had to let him sit at the Peddler’s table, though. The old woman had made that perfectly clear. Four would enter, and four would pay.

One more time, they were forced to bear the entirety of something they wanted no part of, and something told her this would be particularly uncomfortable to watch.

In the same way with the others, as soon as the Peddler took Maxwell’s hand, the fires flared along the hall. But with him, the old woman refrained from searching his palm with her fingers and said nothing for a long time.

Scrunching up her face, frowning, turning her head from side to side, the woman took so long to utter a single word that Rebecca’s seedling misgivings took root and grew.

Something was wrong.

Was it because he was a shifter, and this Peddler using old-world magic couldn’t get through to him?

Then the Peddler’s curious frown deepened into perplexed surprise. “Thisis interesting…”

Maxwell heaved a massive sigh and bowed his head. “I understand. You see nothing, because there is no fortune to be read. My fate is sealed.”

With a little chirp of surprise, the woman cocked her head toward him, her milky eyes settling on his face, then burst out laughing.

She cackled so loudly, her mirth so complete and overwhelming, it felt like the entire hall around them rumbled its deep, stony laughter right along with her.

Or maybe it was just seconds from falling apart and crumbling down on all of them…

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