Page 66 of Elven Throne

Rebecca sucked in a breath through her teeth, then hoped he hadn’t noticed, though she couldn’t imagine how he wouldn’t. Rowan was bound to come up in this little chat sooner or later. She’d expected it, though not so soon and probably not because Maxwell had so blatantly asked, but here they were.

“He’s one of them, yeah,” she replied.

It hurt so much more than she’d thought it would to admit out loud to them both that Rowan had come after her only because she was the Bloodshadow Heir and because he’d requested an assignment from the Council himself.

If he’d cared about her, wouldn’t he have tried to find her on his own a lot sooner? He’d had plenty of time for it. Centuries, in fact.

Gritting her teeth, Rebecca pushed herself past the discomfort of talking about Rowan; while he was involved on multiple levels, this wasn’t about him. Not entirely.

“Though I wouldn’t go so far as to say he wants the Bloodshadow Heir’s power for himself,” she added. “He has…different goals. He’s just going about reaching them the wrong way. I think he really does believe hauling me back to Agn’a Tha’ros will help him achieve those goals. Who knows? Maybe he even really still believes it’s the only way to save our people. I really don’t know anymore.”

A bitter laugh burst out of her. “Pretty ironic, though. I’d managed to stay under the radar for so long, trying to stay out of everyoneelse’shands, and the whole time I’ve been in this world, no one who was looking for me had any idea where I actually was. No one knew I was here. Until Rowan—Blackmoon.”

The mistake of referring to him by his first name—out loud, at least—made her guts twist on themselves. It was just too much familiarity, too many positive things about the Blackmoon Elf she’d associated with his first name.

That little slip of the tongue only reminded her of how deeply Rowan’s betrayal had cut her and how painful it still was, no matter how often she reminded herself he was no longer the same Rowan Blackmoon of her childhood. The same Rowan Blackmoon she’d left behind, in Agn’a Tha’ros without a word, because she’d thought it was better for him that way.

And for her.

Surprisingly, though, she didn’t feel any new surge of anger pulsing from the shifter beside her. No flash of brighter silver in his eyes or warning rumble in his throat.

He had to have noticed. He noticed everything, but he didn’t react.

In fact, he took in all this new information with an almost eerie neutrality, as if they were discussing someone else and not Rebecca.

To him, maybe they were. The Bloodshadow Heir was not the Rebecca he knew, even if they shared the same body.

And the same haunting past.

When he said nothing, not even asking for clarification, Rebecca continued.

“None of the Bloodshadow Court’s enemies had any idea where I was, or whether I was even still alive. That attack on the dome under the bridge? That was ordered by a powerful enemy of Agn’a Tha’ros. A conglomerate of warlords, more or less, all operating under the same banner. The Azyyt Ra’al. They knew Blackmoon was in Chicago.

“I’m sure it wasn’t hard to discover. He made it only too easy for them. Keeping a low profile has never been one of his strong suits.”

Maxwell snorted, but that was it.

“Getting rid of him, the Scion of the Blackmoon Clan, without the power of Agn’a Tha’ros to back him in this world?” she mused. “That would have been a powerful blow against our people. The only reason they didn’t succeed was because I just so happened to be there too.

“And now, everything’s just gotten a thousand times more dangerous. For me. For Shade. For everyone who has anything to do with me. The Azyyt Ra’al knows where I am now. That nurúzhe who escaped? He’s told his masters everything. They’ll be looking for me soon, if they aren’t already. And they’re the furthest possible thing from Eduardo, or Big Boss, or even Harkennr. Honestly, those guys are toddlers playing a sandbox in comparison.

“This world is laughably unequipped to deal with an old-world force like that. Hell, Xahar’áhsh is hardly equipped for it, either.”

Then she stopped, some long-buried resistance rising inside her after she’d said so much. After she’d opened windows into things she had always known but had never dreamed of telling anyone. For their own protection.

Even before she’d told Maxwell, he’d already had enough working information about her to endanger him, whether or not he was aware of it. But now?

Now he had more knowledge of her than any other Earthside being who hadn’t already known her—or knownofher—and that made this particularly dangerous.

And after she’d said so much, after she’d opened herself up to tell even one person the truth—to tellMaxwell,the way their connection and that other presence always there between them seemed to crave so forcefully—she couldn’t tell how she felt about it.

Relieved to finally get it all out? Regret that she’d gone too far and said too much? Fear that, with a newfound understanding of her personal burdens and the massive weight they carried, Maxwell would decide she wasn’t worth it? That he might wish they could put this all right back into the Pandora’s box she’d opened and never speak of it again?

However she felt about it, it was done. And it didn’t change what Rebecca still had to do.

She stopped and turned on the thick pile of leaves beneath her bare feet to face him. “That’s why finding the Bloodshadow prophecy isn’t just an excuse to get away. To shirk responsibility or to…I don’t know. Distract myself from everything I never wanted to follow me here. It’s not something I can just put off for later, either. Not anymore.

“Ihaveto find it. I have to see it with my own eyes and translate it for myself. Understand the words in their original form. Hopefully, there’s been enough word-of-mouth mistranslation over the last several thousand years to have left plenty of room for a loophole.

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