Page 13 of The Elven Spymaster's Thief

“No.” Her gaze flicked up to assess his expression. “I didn’t have the information he thought I did.”

“Did he release you?”

“No.” She drew the word out softly. Her assessment widened to include my features as well. I kept them neutral. “I ripped his wing and ran.”

“Obviously to great success,” Troy observed.

“Why do you say that?” Her finely arched brow creased above her nose.

“You are alive, aren’t you?”

She smiled, a sudden lightening of expression that seemed to brighten the room. “True.”

“Let me assure you that not a single gargoyle in my eyrie would dare do that to anyone, or they would be answerable to me. Humans are not playthings to be flung about like rag dolls.”

She bowed her head to him graciously. “I appreciate your wise perspective, Rexaer Troy. If only all gargoyles shared your morals.”

Troy threw himself back in his chair with a great crow. “Ah, she has fooled me. Playing the timid child and then calling me by the title only known among my people. Why the fraud?”

“No deceit, Rexaer. I speak without guile. Just because I am appropriately hesitant thanks to my experience, I am not one to embark on a mission without gathering all the intel I can about those I might meet.”

“So, you purposefully crossed into gargoyle territory?” Troy’s narrowed gaze held no anger, but there was no way for my companion to know that.

Silently, I rested my fork on the edge of my plate and watched the interplay between them with interest.

“I knew my mark might purposefully cross into your people’s territory in hopes that I would give up my pursuit.”

“And the gamble didn’t work?”

She nudged her broccoli. “It did, sadly. I did not count on him being allied with a gargoyle.”

“Was this mark in the service of a magus?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “My master, Warlord Grimore, does all he can to oppose the magus plague.”

“Grimore, you say?” Troy’s gaze slid over to me. “I thought you called her companion.”

“She is.”

She tensed at Troy’s tone. “I misspoke. Grimore is my former master. Master Whispier is now my master.”

“Companion,” I corrected. She lifted her face and met my gaze across the table. “You are my companion, and I am yours. We are equals in this bond.”

The depths of her dark eyes flashed with sudden, intense emotion. Troy moved to speak, but I lifted my hand to stop him. “You wish to say something, Avril?”

“There is nothing equal about our bond. I agreed to spend time in your presence. What have I received in return?”

“Safety, security, food, rest—”

“And no freedom.”

“Hardly. You can come and go as you please. Just return by nightfall.” I purposefully picked up my glass with a careful movement. “I told you that you were free to do anything short of attacking me.”

A biscuit bounced off my head with such force that it rebounded across the room and struck the far wall.

Troy burst into booming laughter.

By the time I lowered my cup, Avril’s attention was once again fixed on her plate.

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