by Martha Carr
“I thought you said you got used to it?” Ember called from the kitchen.
“Yeah, I guess I’m still working on that.”
Corian dipped his head toward her and kept one foot on the other side of the portal. “Time to go. And bring the salve.”
She frowned. “Okay.”
The nightstalker nodded at Ember as Cheyenne grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. Ember jerked her chin at him and unscrewed the lid of the pickle jar with a pop.
Cheyenne stepped toward the portal and raised an eyebrow. “Any specific reason I need to bring the whole jar?”
“Just good to be prepared. Come on.”
“Later, Em.”
“Bye. Have fun.” The fae crunched a pickle spear and watched Cheyenne and Corian disappear through the portal, her smile widening.
They stepped into Persh’al’s warehouse, and Cheyenne grabbed the nightstalker’s arm to keep him from storming off. “Hold on. I get two minutes, remember?”
He glanced across the warehouse before begrudgingly meeting her gaze. “Okay. What’s up?”
“You should’ve come to me first about the Nós Aní thing.”
Corian shifted his weight. “That wasn’t meant to come across as going behind your back.”
“That’s what it feels like. She told me all about what it is and what she’ll have to do, at least in the general sense. Did you not think it was important for me to know?”
He squinted, bit his bottom lip, and lifted his chin. “That was a conversation between two Nós Aní, kid, and those are rare enough as it is. The important thing is that she didn’t waste a second before telling you everything you needed to hear, which is exactly why she’s the one you want stepping up to this.”
“I already knew that. Just don’t pull that crap again, all right?” Cheyenne followed his gaze across the warehouse and shook her head. “If we’re gonna be fighting a war and saving at least one of these worlds, I have to be able to trust you.”
“You can.” The nightstalker’s silver eyes settled on her face and softened. “It won’t happen again.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She couldn’t help but frown as she watched him walk past Persh’al’s empty workstation tables toward the center of the warehouse. That was surprisingly easy.
“We ready to do this or what?” Already standing in the center of the warehouse, Persh’al rubbed his hands together and shifted from one foot to the other.
“Ask him.” Corian nodded at L’zar, who sat cross-legged on the cement floor, his eyes closed and his hands raised in front of him to form an open circle.
“Yeah, I already tried that. He’s in deep.” When Persh’al blinked, it looked a lot like a facial tick.
Maybe all those energy drinks finally caught up to him.
“Well, Cheyenne’s here.” Corian waved her forward. “So we’re just waiting for this last part, and then you guys can head out.”
“Shit.” The blue troll vigorously rubbed his bald head, his orange mohawk quivering, and paced in a short line beside the meditating L’zar. “It’s the wait that’s killing me. I think.”
“You’ll be fine.” Corian stuck his hands in his pockets and briefly glanced at L’zar again. “You know what you’re doing.”
“It’s been a long time, man.” Persh’al noticed Cheyenne had joined them and looked away before spinning around to pace again. “Long time.”
The nightstalker smirked. “Just like riding a bike, as I remember it.”
“Your jokes aren’t funny, you know that?”
Cheyenne leaned sideways to get a better look at L’zar’s profile. “What’s going on?”
“Just a little preparation.”
“For what?”
Corian nodded at the cross-legged drow.
A purple light flashed and grew brighter in the space between L’zar’s curved palms. The flashes sped up into a violet strobe, and when the light disappeared the next second, something round and silver appeared in its place. It dropped to the floor with a clink, then L’zar’s golden eyes flew open and he gave a sharp, raw gasp.
Corian stepped back. “Is that it?”
L’zar looked down at the thick silver wrist cuff in front of his crossed legs. “Yeah. That’s it.”
“Crazy, man.” Persh’al shook his head and picked up his pacing again. “I don’t know how you last that long and don’t lose your mind.”
Picking up the cuff, L’zar smirked. “Maybe I lost my mind a long time ago. You ever think of that?”
Persh’al stopped and shot the drow an unamused glance. “So I’ve heard. Everything’s a rumor these days, isn’t it?”
“Not everything.” L’zar rose fluidly to his feet and noticed his daughter standing slightly behind him. He turned toward her with a wide smile, though his golden eyes narrowed. “Good. You’re already here.”
“Sure am.” Cheyenne spread her arms and glanced at the magicals standing around her. “Still wondering why, though.”
“Here.” L’zar handed her the metal cuff and nodded. “This is for you.”
“Not my style, but I appreciate the gesture. I think.”
“It’s not a fashion statement, Cheyenne. Take it.”
Frowning, the halfling accepted the cold, heavy band of metal and turned it over in her hands. “What is this?”
“Put it on and keep it on.” L’zar stared at the cuff. “Right now. I want to watch you do it, so I know it’s working.”
Corian nodded. “Go ahead.”
“As a drow, if you would,” L’zar added without meeting her gaze.
Cheyenne pulled up her drow magic and transformed in a split second, then slipped the metal cuff onto her wrist next to the wrapped silver chains. A wave of icy energy tingled up her arm, and that was it.
Pursing his lips, L’zar looked her over intently and nodded. “That’ll do.”
“Awesome.” Persh’al rubbed his head again. “Good to know you didn’t waste all that energy conjuring a dud.”
Corian shot him a warning look, and the troll hissed in irritation before turning away to walk in a tight circle between L’zar and the back door.
“What does it do?” Cheyenne turned her wrist over and studied the plain silver band.
“I’ve made improvements on that one.” L’zar clasped his hands behind his back. “This will make your halfling identity almost impossible to detect. They won’t be able to see what you really are.”
“I’ve already got a handle on my magic. I don’t need a charm for that.”
“I’m not talking about hiding your drow face from humans who wouldn’t recognize what they saw.” With a deep inhale, L’zar raised his eyebrows and gave her a thin smile. “And this is not a charm. I’d call it a shield. Now there’s nothing on the outside to hint that half of you is human.”
“What?” Cheyenne looked at Corian for an explanation. “Why would I need help to hide being a halfling?”
“Because it’s a lot harder to do on your own where you’re going.”
“Where am I going?” Her eyes widened as she glanced from the nightstalker to L’zar.
Persh’al clapped his hands again, then shook them out as he rejoined the loose circle. “Then I guess we’re all good, and I’m startin’ to get twitchy.”
“One moment.” L’zar lifted a finger toward his troll friend but kept staring at Cheyenne. “When the time is right, you and I will be doing this together. Unfortunately, I can’t be the first one to take you, because the Crown has been keeping tabs on me, more or less, for a very long time. I’ve managed to stay under her radar so far, and we don’t want to blow that wide open.” He looked at Corian and pressed his lips together, nodding once. “Corian and I are working on a little something to help in that respect, but it will take time. Until then, you need to know what you’re getting into.”
“Yep.” She couldn’t pull herself away from those golden eyes boring into hers. This isn’t gonna be good. “I’d love to know what tha
t is.”
“Yes.” L’zar’s lips twitched into a vanishing smile. “Before you take your marandúr to Ambar’ogúl to claim your legacy and all your rights as a drow who’s passed her trials, you need to know what to expect. Scope out the lay of the land, as it were.”
Cheyenne tried to ignore Persh’al’s continued nervous pacing and glanced at Corian. “I don’t get it.” There’s no way he’s serious about this.
“Yeah, you do.” Corian nodded at her while L’zar stepped away, hands still clasped behind his back. “You’re taking your first trip across the Border, Cheyenne, and Persh’al’s going with you as your guide.”
A laugh burst out of her, and she glanced at the millennia-old magicals staring at her. “Good one. I can’t go across the Border. I don’t belong there. What’s really going on?”
“You can, and you will.” L’zar pointed at the silver cuff on her wrist. “And as far as anyone else is concerned, while you’re wearing that, you belong in Ambar’ogúl just as much as the rest of them.”
“You guys are serious.”
“Completely.” Corian nodded at Persh’al, who cleared his throat and took off across the warehouse to his computer tables. “This is important, Cheyenne. Things are coming together quickly now, and we all agreed this is what needed to happen next. To be prepared.”
“What about the war machines?” She shook her head, feeling the smile on her face and somehow unable to rip it off. This has to be a joke. “We still don’t know where they’re coming from.”
“We got a tip about an hour ago. Byrd and Lumil are on it as we speak. Ember’s safe for now, with the wards around your apartment. I’m happy to check on her if you want me to.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll go home and tell her what to expect.”
“You don’t have time for that,” L’zar countered, standing stock-still two yards away. “Corian will make sure she knows what’s happening. Right now, you should leave.”
“What? How much time do I have?” Cheyenne frowned at her stoic drow father, but he didn’t answer.
Persh’al joined them again in the center of the warehouse with a grunt, hiking up the stuffed-full trekking pack over his shoulders. “None. Time to go.”
“Right now?”
“Come on, kid. I’m not carrying this thing just for fun. My car’s out front.”
Cheyenne swallowed and looked at Corian, still hoping he’d crack a smile and tell her to relax. He raised an eyebrow instead and flicked one finger toward the front door as Persh’al opened it.
“Shit.” A small, dry laugh of disbelief escaped her, and she spread her arms. “I’m going to Ambar’ogúl.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Cheyenne Summerlin closed the door of Persh’al’s SUV on the frontage road and tightened her grip on the straps of her backpack.
“Don’t just stand there, kid.” The blue troll nodded across the dirt road toward the tree line. A strong breeze sent the first fallen leaves of autumn skittering across the ground. His neon-orange mohawk fluttered slightly, and he gazed up and down the road with a grimace of distaste. “We’ve already been waiting long enough.”
“Please.” Cheyenne followed him into the thick woods, her black Vans crunching over sticks and underbrush. “You guys whipped this plan up after I told you about the war machine in Peridosh.”
Persh’al threw his hands in the air, and his stuffed trekking pack swung against low-hanging branches when he turned to look at her. “Now you have something to say, huh? Two-hour drive, and the first thing you say to me is that I’m wrong.”
“I didn’t say that.” Cheyenne kept her voice low, glancing around the forest. Apparently, we don’t need to be quiet this time. I’d be able to hear us from five miles away.
“Not in so many words. But that’s what I’ll tell you, Cheyenne. You’re wrong.”
“About the half-cocked planning method you guys rely on so much?”
“No, not that.” He stepped over a fallen tree and sniffed, taking a moment to scan the trees. “Fine. This wasn’t the original outline, sure, but there’s been a Border crossing in your future since the minute you passed the drow trials.”
She squinted at the back of his bulging pack. “Which happened less than forty-eight hours ago. You’re not building a strong argument.”
“You know what?” Irritation built in the troll’s voice, then he chuckled. “You’re good at that—picking apart all the details until the other person talks themselves into a corner.”
“I’ve been doing it for a while.” And I have a master of manipulative negotiation for a mom.
“Yeah, I bet. Reminds me of someone else I know.”
Cheyenne rolled her eyes.
“I’m gonna try again because I don’t like not finishing a thought.” Persh’al ducked when a raven swooped down from the treetops on their right, then snorted when the bird hopped off into the bushes. “You haven’t been waiting that long for this next big step in claiming who you are. And yeah, technically, the rest of us have only been waiting twenty years to see if the kid L’zar was so sure about would make it through the trials without—well, you know. That kid’s you, all right?”
“That part’s been covered already.”
“Thing is, though, kid, before you came along—and I mean before you were conceived, not only before you were aware of all this shit going on now—the rest of us have been walking a tightrope of waiting and trying to live something like a normal life for centuries.”
Cheyenne frowned and walked a little faster through the underbrush to catch up with him. “Why would some other kid of L’zar’s have to make the crossing? I thought they were all drow.”
The troll let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “They were all at least half-drow, I can tell you that much. L’zar’s half of the DNA.”
“What?”
He turned again to shoot her a confused glance, and his eyebrows twitched. “Sorry, kid. If you thought you were the only halfling who sprang forth from L’zar Verdys’ overactive loins, you’re wrong.”
“Dude. I don’t wanna hear about his loins.”
“Oh, you don’t wanna hear about ‘em? Try spending centuries with Ambar’ogúl’s most wanted while he tries to break through his damn prophecy over and over with those loins. In the beginning, I tell you what, man, that drow was fellfire-bent on proving that old crone wrong, and talking about his plans and his deeds and his seeds was pretty much all he did. I almost slit his throat myself once, just to get him to shut up about it.”
Cheyenne stopped when the troll pushed through the scraping branches of a thorny bush without bothering to hold them aside for her. They swung back into place, then she lifted them again so she could follow without being smacked in the face. “No, you didn’t.”
“Ha. True. But I thought about it more than once. But believe me, kid, that drow father of yours has made this crossing more times than even he can count. Fathered plenty of full-blooded O’gúleesh drow who would’ve grown into fine dark elves on their own. You know, if they’d made it. And I know of at least three others who were Earthside halflings like you.”
She grimaced at the thought. So Bianca Summerlin wasn’t the first woman to get her pants charmed off by a mystery drow in a human mask. Not sure that’d change her opinion of it.
“And none of them made it either,” she muttered.
“Nope. Not a one.” Persh’al shrugged and tightened the straps of his pack. “Of course, I think some of the earlier casualties were a product of the times. One of these kids made it right up to the Great Depression.”
“All right. Stop.” Cheyenne opened her clenched fists to let some blood into her fingers. “I don’t wanna hear about his other kids.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Persh’al cleared his throat and kept trudging through the woods. “It’s sad, man. It sucks, but you had nothing to do with it. So don’t start blaming yourself for what happened to them, huh?”
“No, I’ll blame L’zar.”
/>
He wheezed out a laugh and shook his head. “Everybody does. But his endless search for an heir stops with you, kid. If I were you, I’d think of it that way. No more lost hope for the next heir.”
“I said I don’t wanna hear about it,” Cheyenne snapped. Two birds took off from their nest yards away, startled by her shout.
Persh’al stopped and turned all the way around to look at her. His mohawk fluttered at the tips when he nodded. “Okay, this is me taking the hint.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath and shoved her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie. The cold, heavy silver wrist cuff sliding against her fingers reminded her of what she was about to do. Head in the game, halfling. Leave the rest of it in the past where it belongs.
They walked for another five minutes until they breached the tree line again and entered the wide clearing of the six-month-old portal ridge. The fists of stone shot toward the sky in a long line of glistening black stone cutting across the clearing and into the woods for at least another mile. The thin wall of light rising from the center of the ridge still shimmered with the soft pink light of Maleshi’s shield.
Persh’al pressed his lips together and nodded. “At least it’s still holding. That’s a plus.”
“So, how are we supposed to get through?”
“Why do you think I’m here?” Maleshi stepped out from behind the closest end of the portal ridge, where Cheyenne had decimated the black columns to send those writhing creatures back to the in-between. The rubble lay untouched, but the nightstalker woman walked a wide path around it anyway, careful not to get too close to even the smaller fragmented chunks.
Persh’al cocked his head. “How long you been waiting for us?”
“Long enough,” Maleshi said, her illusion spell gone to reveal the dark fur around her face and on her tufted ears. Her glowing silver eyes narrowed slightly. “I almost called Corian, but he’d panic and send out a search party.”
The troll snorted.
“So, I spent my time taking a walk up and down this thing.” Maleshi shot the portal ridge a disapproving glance. “Still no clue how it got here, but it feels pretty established to me. I guess six months will do that.”