Page 20 of The Elven Spymaster's Thief

“Actually, my first elf was Master Whispier.” I shoveled another bite into my mouth.

“You met him before?”

I shook my head. “Nope. My whole experience with elves has been completely contained in the last few weeks.”

“Which explains so much.” Master Whispier entered through the glass doors that opened into the gardens. “Why haven’t you changed?” He surveyed my clothing with steely disapproval.

I sighed. “Is everyone going to comment on my clothing?”

“These should serve for the time being,” Ergon announced as he breezed into the room with a pile of folded clothing draped over his arm. “I will see to having some things made for you, but until then, you cannot wear that.”

“Why not?” I asked.

At the same time, Master Whispier enquired, “Where exactly did you find those, Ergon?”

“Your chambers.”

Strangely, Whispier paled. “Must she wear them?”

Ergon studied his master’s face. “Considering their previous owner, I thought it appropriate.” He raised a pale brow. “Was I wrong?”

Whispier seemed to wrestle within himself for a moment before waving a graceful hand in my direction. “We have nothing else even close to her size, I suppose.”

Ergon draped a sage green silk tunic over my arm before adding a pair of tan leggings of supple moleskin. “I assume you would prefer to keep your own underthings for now.”

I wordlessly nodded.

“You can change in there,” Whispier ordered, waving toward what appeared to be Waldorf’s office. “Give the stained garments to Ergon. He can attempt to remove the stains and repair them.”

As tempted as I was to ask about the woman who had worn the clothing before me, something in Whispier’s expression warned me that now was not the time. I filed the question away for later and obediently slipped into the office to change.

When I emerged from the office, marveling in the comfort of the fine materials, I found Whispier was still in the kitchen. Ergon, on the other hand, was nowhere in sight.

Whispier didn’t acknowledge my reappearance. Instead, he continued his conversation with the cook. “See that you plan a diet that stimulates blood production in humans. And she must rest today.”

Waldorf nodded as he chopped herbs. “She lost a great deal based on the staining.” He then eyed Whispier without slowing the movement of his knife and the sharp clacking of the blade on the cutting board. “You as well.”

“A minute more and she would’ve died.” The muted horror in Whispier tone made my neck tingle.

I rubbed the spot where my skin had been warmer than usual. It spanned from my collarbone to my ear. How badly had I been injured?

“How do they fit?” His gaze flitted over my hand where it rested at the base of my throat. “Alice, my father’s companion, was only slightly taller than you if I recall.”

“The leggings are slightly long for me and baggy around the waist. My belt holds them up well.” I frowned up at him. “What do you mean I was moments from death? How severe was my injury? Why do I have to rest today? And what gives you the right to order me around?” My anger had grown as the questions slipped from my lips.

To my great annoyance, my questions seemed to amuse the elf. His eyes lightened, and one side of his mouth quirked ever so slightly.

“I am glad to see you have lost none of your fire. All you would need to do is hurl things at my head, and I might consider beginning training you today.”

“Training me?” I demanded.

Instead of answering me, his eyebrows lowered as he advanced on me. Before I could figure out what he intended, his cool fingertips brushed the underside of my jaw. Instinctively, I lifted my chin away from him, but he followed my retreat, bending closer to eye my throat.

“What are you—?”

“Hold still,” he ordered, his tone turned suddenly deadly. His hand caught my chin between the length of his thumb and his splayed fingers across my cheek.

Heat flooded my face, but he ignored it.

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