Page 22 of The Elven Spymaster's Thief

“I want my hand back,” I informed Whispier.

“You can have it after you give me your weapon.”

“No.” I twisted my arm around so the two of us were facing each other. As difficult as it was to glare up at him and not be intimidated by his height, I was determined to try. “Since I arrived, I have been attacked by a harpy and now threatened by a woman whom you call cousin. I would prefer remaining armed for the time being.”

His eyes darkened. “I only wish to examine it.”

“You will give it back.”

“Yes.”

“Immediately.”

He nodded.

“In the same condition that you received it.”

He snorted. “What do you suspect I am going to do?”

“Take away my only means of defense.”

“I want to make sure it is worthy.” His fingers curled around mine, gently asking me to release my grip.

I doubted him, but at the same time, he hadn’t lied to me yet. Besides, if he wanted to take it, he could. I held no doubts that he could have pried it from my fingers without any effort at all.

I let go.

Whispier deftly caught the weapon and stepped back to examine it.

“Plain, but solid.” He ran a finger along the blade. “Cared for.” He flipped it up into the air, slid it across the back of his hand, and balanced it on the end of his finger. “Well balanced.” He flipped it again, catching it in his palm again before offering it back to me. “You have had this weapon for a long time.”

I reclaimed my dagger swiftly so that he would not have a chance to capture my hand again. He didn’t even attempt it. Instead, he moved toward our abandoned food.

“What other weapons have you trained with?”

I sheathed my dagger. “Bow, longbow, crossbow, lance, sword, knife, and spear.” I listed them off for him. “Among other things.”

“Who have you trained against?”

“Human, woodwose, brownie—” This earned a smile and nod from Waldorf. “—pixie, and one magus, though that wasn’t a training session.”

“No elves?” He glanced over his shoulder as he picked up the bread from his plate.

“I avoid elves.” Realizing what I was saying, I rephrased. “I avoided elves.”

Turning to rest a hip against the counter, he studied me. “Why?”

“Mainly because I didn’t want to come to their attention.”

His eyebrows rose, and interest glinted in his gaze. “We do tend to be an observant species, but not a malicious one.” He finished off the bread and reached for an orange.

“Really?” I smirked in disbelief. “You expect me to believe that after the little demonstration a few moments ago?”

“Not all elves are like Loriena.” He began peeling the orange from the rind.

I snorted.

He acted as though he didn’t hear me. The pile of peelings on the counter grew. “Were you avoiding any particular elf’s attention?”

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