Page 3 of The Elven Spymaster's Thief

I closed my eyes. Abruptly the sensation ceased. I jabbed my knife into his gut, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to get him to back up ever so slightly.

“Your death will be more painful,” I growled as I opened my eyes to glare at him. The spell was still there, trying to invade my head again. However, now that I was aware of it, I could resist it.

“I will heal.” Something changed in his eyes.

“But you will suffer while you heal.” I frowned. What had changed in his eyes? Laughter? “You are laughing at me!” I shoved at his chest hard. He complied, but the way he did it—moving long enough after I pushed—made it clear he was doing it because he wished, not because I forced him to.

He tossed the blade in his hand. It disappeared into the air. The magic was so neat and tidy that the blade blinked out without a sound, flash of light, or puff of air. It was hard not to gape in wonder at the trick. And he knew it. His mouth quirked briefly. “You will stay.”

“I beg your pardon?” I glared at him. “I am going to take this and leave.”

“You will find that impossible.” He turned his back on me, clearly not caring in the least that I was still armed. Prowling over to the large desk before the great windows opposite the door I had entered, he started flipping through papers. “What is your name?”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with the matter.” I knew about the tricks the elves and other fae played once they knew a person’s name. There was no way he was getting mine.

“Family name then, paranoid one.”

“Soleil,” I reluctantly offered.

“Ah, I thought so.” He straightened, a strange pen glowing in his hand. “You have a brother.”

“Yes.”

“He is in my service.”

“He contracted himself into Whispier’s service.” I emphasized the name. Why would I deal with an underling when it was Whispier I wished to hurt for taking Solon from me? “I don’t know who you are.”

This time his eyes lightened. “Do you want to free him?”

I pressed my lips together to suppress the urge to scream at him. I glared at him instead. “Why do you ask?”

“That is a yes then.” He plucked a document from the air. The glowing edges gleamed despite the dimness of the room. “What if I offer you a bargain? Your brother’s freedom for your companionship.”

“What?”

“Friendship, conversation, company—nothing untoward or physical beyond being in the same room frequently.”

“Only Whispier has that power,” I pointed out.

He tilted his head slightly to the side. “I am Whispier. The fact you haven’t figured that out yet doesn’t speak well of your intelligence.”

“In that case, I might kill you.”

His mouth did the funny little quirk again. “You might find me hard to kill.”

I eyed him from beneath raised eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

“You won’t be able to kill me. The bond will prevent you from attacking my person.”

“What about maiming? Poisoning? Papercuts?”

His eyes turned silvery. “Papercuts aren’t lethal.”

I just grinned at him.

“Besides, I heal quickly.”

“How about cuts from iron-edged paper?”

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