Page 125 of A Crown of Lies

And chaining his son to the Runecleavers for all eternity. He didn’t know if he could do it.

Not until Faelyn put his hand on Ruith’s arm and said, “Dad, it’s okay.”

It was the first time Faelyn had ever called him that. Ruith sometimes, occasionally father, but dad had always been too familiar.

His chest aching, he kissed Faelyn on the top of the head and seized the pen from Vinolia. With a heavy heart, he affixed his signature to the parchment, pricked his thumb and pressed it to the page. The scroll glowed with a bright red outline before the color faded.

“The boy must sign too,” Vinolia insisted. “He must be bound to the promise.”

Ruith sighed and knelt in front of Faelyn, holding out the pen. He waited helplessly as his son scribbled a messy signature to the document. Then Ruith took Faelyn’s hand in his. “Just a drop,” he promised.

Faelyn didn’t even grimace as Ruith pricked his thumb.

With the third bloody fingerprint, the scroll glowed even brighter red.

“It is done,” Vinolia said, taking the scroll and rolling it up. She offered Faelyn a predatory smile. “I look forward to seeing you in a few years’ time, young Faelyn.”

Thirty-Seven

NiroandSayaguidedAryn and Mercia down a hallway and then another, turning to the right. The walkways in the Wolfheart Clan House, like in every major clan house, had been designed as a maze to make it more difficult for assassins and invaders to find their way. Aryn tracked their direction as best he could and frowned when he realized they’d crossed back into the restricted side of the dwelling. Only the head of the clan and his immediate family occupied the inner sanctuary, their private residence. They would’ve been expected to entertain their guests in the public half of the clan house.

“We’ve given our staff the night off,” Niro said, leaning in. “So we don’t have to worry about any unwanted intrusions.”

They stopped in front of some sliding doors that Saya slid open. Beyond was the family’s private dining chamber, a large, warmly decorated room with a single long table in the center. Like all dining tables in D’thallanar, it was squat and close to the floor. Elves did not sit in chairs while they ate like humans, but rather reclined or sat on soft cushions on the floor. There were several covered dishes on the table already.

Saya slid off her shoes and rushed to uncover the food while they did the same, abandoning their shoes to file into the room. The scent of a savory soup hit him first and Aryn’s mouth began to water. It took him an extra moment to realize that it was the gara—an elvish root vegetable. There were small fish called yeris served with a sweet plum and ginger sauce, pickled vegetables, and a sweet jasmine rice. A classic elvish meal, but made up of many aphrodisiacs, a fact that would be lost on Mercia, but not on Aryn.

They sat, invited by their hosts, and started to eat, all of it delicious and perfectly prepared.

Niro lifted a ceramic pitcher without a pour spout and began pouring drinks. “Have you haddaribefore, Mercia?”

Mercia covered her cup before he could pour some for her. “I have, but that was another life. I’ve been sober for almost six months now.”

“Ah, congratulations,” he said, skipping her cup and gesturing to Saya, who retrieved a hot tea from a warmer.

“She doesn’t like it anyway,” Aryn said, and looked to Mercia. “I believe your words were, ‘That’s not a drink. It’s a punishment’ when I gave it to you.”

Both Niro and Saya laughed.

“I find human palettes to be very different,” Saya said, passing the drinks her husband poured around the table. “You favor milder flavors. Elves, I think, are a bit more extreme, but we’re fonder of sour tastes than humans.”

“Saya is a chef,” Niro explained proudly.

“Anaspiringchef,” Saya corrected with a blush and a smile. “I’m not classically trained.”

Mercia lowered her forkful of rice. “You made all this?”

Saya nodded excitedly.

“It’s very good,” Aryn said, and that was true. After eating human meals for years, there was a certain nostalgia to a more traditional elvish meal that made it taste even better, and the company didn’t hurt either.

They talked about the campaign, which was going as expected, and a few measures that would be up for a vote soon. Saya commented regularly on the food they were eating with excited smiles.

Niro and Saya were much warmer and more affectionate with each other than Aryn expected, but it didn’t stop Saya from throwing hungry looks at Mercia. At first, Aryn bristled and had to fight against the small surge of jealousy. That was his own fear talking, and it quickly quieted as the conversation turned toward more flirting.

“I love the color of your dress,” Saya offered, and moved closer to touch it. “I’m a little jealous of how well you wear it. I could never wear something so revealing. I just don’t have the chest for it.”

“I have no idea how you walk at all in your elvish dresses,” Mercia said, seeming blissfully unaware that Saya was even hitting on her.

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