Page 101 of Pretense

Instead of climbing, the man threw himself from the tree. As if he thought he still had a chance to run.

This far away, Farrendel did not hear him land, though he sensed the landing through the crackling bolts of his magic. He held his breath. Had the man died? Broken his neck?

A scream of pain rang out through the forest.

Nope, still alive then.

Farrendel released a long breath, letting all but the magic surrounding the fallen assassin dissipate.

It was over. He had captured the assassin who had tried to kill Essie. He straightened, taking a step toward where the man had fallen.

He was not even sure what alerted him. A prickling between his shoulder blades. An itching sense from his magic.

Even as he threw himself into a roll, something whipped past him, so close it sliced through a few strands of his hair.

He blasted a shield of magic around himself once again, even as he came up in a crouch, searching the trees that had been behind him.

There was a second sharpshooter. Someone who had waited until he had let the alert magic drop while he had been concentrating on the rest of his magic. Then, when he had released his magic entirely, thinking he had captured the threat, this second assassin had taken the shot. Only his instincts and quick reflexes had saved his life.

There, perched on a branch not far from Lethorel, crouched a woman with dark brown hair in a braid over one shoulder. She raised her gun again, aiming at him as if she thought she had a chance of getting to him through his magic.

Even as he held the magic around himself, he hesitated. He had fought woman warriors before. Yet it was one thing to stab a troll woman who was coming at him with an ax. For some reason, it felt different to lash out at a human woman who, with her braid and rifle, reminded him too much of Essie.

A blast of blue magic shot out, wrapping around the rifle and yanking it from the woman’s hands.

The woman screamed as the magic touched her fingers. She let go of the gun and hunched over her hands, her fingers curled as if in pain.

For a moment, Farrendel just stared at the woman. That magic had not come from him. Then he dragged his gaze toward Lethorel.

Essie stood in the window, Melantha at her side. Essie’s jaw was set and, when he met her gaze across the distance, she gave a single nod.

He had hesitated, but Essie had not.

This time, he sent a low-powered surge of magic through the forest, holding it as he scoured several miles around Lethorel until he was certain no more threats remained. All he could sense was a burst of elven magic coming through the root system toward Lethorel.

Hopefully it was a message that Weylind, Rheva, Rharreth, and Leyleira were all right. Then he could let go of the last of his worries and get back to the life he and Essie had fought so hard to live.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The room in the infirmary remained quiet this late at night. Jalissa shifted on the chair grown into the wall next to the bed. The door to the room stood open, and Sarya had stationed herself outside in the hallway.

Edmund lay, still and sleeping, with the blanket pulled over him. Rheva had assured Jalissa that Edmund would be fine, once he rested and the healing magic completed its work. It had to go slowly, patching such a grievous wound without overstraining his human body.

Jalissa watched his chest rise and fall, the motion reassuring. The blanket had fallen partway down his chest, giving her a view of his bare, muscular shoulders and just a few curls of dark chest hair peeking above the blanket.

She dragged her gaze away, her mouth a little dry. Apparently, she found chest hair appealing. Odd, since male elves did not have facial hair or chest hair.

“Keep staring at me like that, and I might get the wrong impression.”

Jalissa jumped, snapping her gaze up to Edmund’s face. Her ears burned as she gaped at him.

His eyes were half-open, lids droopy, while a sleepy grin quirked his mouth. He drew one hand from underneath the blanket and held it out to her as if expecting her to take it. “First you don’t want me to die, now I find you waiting at my bedside. Keep this up, and I’ll get the idea that you like me.”

“I do not…” She choked the words out, her mind a buzzing, panicking mess. She was not even sure how she planned to end that sentence.

Edmund’s grin faded, and he withdrew his hand, resting it over his stomach instead. “I know you don’t. It’s just as well that I will never return to Tarenhiel. It seems I can’t help flirting with you even when I know better. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came. What was she doing here, anyway? He was right. Staying at his side like this was the action of someone who loved him.

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