Page 36 of The Rowan
“I heard that,” she spits out. “I’m three hundred and twenty-eight years old, not twenty-eight, and quite capable of assessing my own health.”
Theron snarls, then crosses his arms. “Well, I’m one thousand eight hundred and thirty-three years old. At my age, I certainly know more than you do.”
“Damn, you’re old. Are you all that old? The air is stale around here, like moldy bread. It could explain the crankiness factor,” Arden teases. “Well?”
“I’m two thousand and six. Second oldest here. But I’m not cranky,” I protest.
“Hmm…time will tell, Fallon. Who’s the oldest?” she asks.
“Valerian,” we all state in chorus.
“I’m two thousand seven hundred and seventy-eight, lass. You’d be cranky, too.” Valerian answers as he steps into the room. He winks at her.
She cocks an eyebrow at Daire and Astor.
“One thousand six hundred and forty-five, gorgeous. I’m in my prime.” Astor wriggles his eyebrows as he replies.
Daire sighs. “One thousand six hundred and three.”
“Ah, so you’re the baby,” she teases him.
He scowls at her in return.
Interrupting the age discussion, I fill them in on my conversation with Cormal. “It’s unusual. Cormal has never let me down. The fact he can’t find a good lead means we’re looking at royalty. Which means this became a hundred times harder. Why don’t we start at the beginning? Arden, can you walk us through the attempts so far?”
Pacing, her long legs eat up the room while she lists out the facts. “The first known assassination attempt killed my mother. She’d left to meet my father, but we don’t know if he showed or not. Solandis went to the meeting spot a couple of days later and found her dead, a Killian blade in her heart.”
“Where did she find her?” I interrupt.
“In a hut on the edge of the Wilds, between the Elven and Fae territories,” she replies. “Solandis believes my mom died shortly before she got there, because she found her body still warm. She didn’t see, smell, or feel anyone, though.”
“The Wilds, huh? I’ll have Cormal check out the hut. Can you ask Solandis to send me the coordinates?” I ask.
She nods and continues, “The other attempts have been random. For most of my life, I’ve lived in a pocket dimension with Solandis, Vargas, and Callyx. I rarely left, but when I did, they only allowed me to visit the land of the Fae or the Underworld. And yet, the assassins always found me. We fended off fourteen additional attempts during those visits, which brings the total to fifteen. The sixteenth attempt happened before I came here. They found our home. Solandis and I killed them, but the third Killian blade came with them. My mother left instructions for me to find Theron when the third blade appeared. I came here the next day. Today was the seventeenth attempt.”
Several questions pop into my head. “Besides the Killian blades, did they have any special weapons on them?”
Arden thinks about it for a second. “The usual magical assortment, but nothing special.”
“Can you tell me anything about the attackers?” I probe.
“They seem to be from all races. Fae, demons, shifters, vampires, warlocks, trolls, witches,” she says, listing them off.
Straightening, I pick up on a lead. “What about elves?”
Arden closes her eyes to bring up the details of each attack. “No elves. Ever. That’s kind of weird, right?”
“Yes, it’s strange. But it might be an advantage for us,” I muse. “My reach and contacts are strongest in the Elven realm. My father’s, too.”
“I don’t want your father to know about Arden,” Theron interjects. “It’s too dangerous. If he’s a part of the problem, it could backfire on us.”
“I highly doubt my father has a contract out on Arden,” I argue. “He could be a big help.”
“No,” Theron replies.
“I agree with Theron,” Valerian states.
“Astor? Daire?” I say, asking for their opinion.
