“I’m sure it’s great, Sam,” Jo assured.
“And, if not, we can get a hotel,” Wayne muttered as they stepped into the cluttered work room.
“Not very large” may have been a slight understatement.
The workshop had one clear space that Jo could only assume was Samson’s equivalent of a front desk, and even that was threatened by a litany of screws and baubles at its edges. Every other space was overflowing, lost beneath a mix of trinkets and unfinished projects. It left a pang in her heart, how similar every space Samson occupied tended to be, as if he was holding on to something too tightly, trying to keep a part of himself liminal and unchanging. An indirect kind of stability.
“You three can stay in the loft. I have a bed over here.”
“Or a hotel.”
“We’re not getting a hotel,” Takako insisted. “We need to fly under the radar.”
“Yeah? Just like Jo’s demolition was under the radar?”
“We were out of options.” Jo didn’t spare him a long side-eye. “Hand-to-hand combat wasn’t going to be less conspicuous.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” Takako sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Look, it was a long journey to get here.” She was right about that; four days of travel had never felt so long. “We’re here, in one piece, and hopefully out of Pan’s reach.”
“You said the Luanian government doesn’t much like working with Aristonia?” Jo asked Samson.
“Not with anyone. They like to stay out of things. And I don’t go by Samson here. We should be safe . . .” he said hastily, as if trying to predict their next concerns.
“Still, we shouldn’t stay here for too long if we can avoid it.” Takako walked over to one of the tables, resting her hand on it. “How long will it take you to make the bow?”
Samson hummed and grabbed for something off a nearby table. It wasn’t sufficient, because he promptly reached for something else. In the span of about thirty seconds, he was in full-blown reorganization mode.
“You can’t, can you?” Jo whispered as the fact dawned on her.
“I can!” Samson turned quickly as though she’d greatly offended him. “I can make it. I just need a special material to do it with.”
“I can get you whatever you need. Money is no consequence.” Wayne never passed up an opportunity to flaunt his wealth and the influence it gave him. “What do you need?”
Samson shook his head, deflating further into himself. “Youcan’t get this material.”
“Oh? Try me,” Wayne challenged. Jo wondered if he was oblivious to the fact that Samson was on edge (and had been since they started on their way to Myrth), or didn’t care. She didn’t know which was worse.
“No. No, no, we . . . I—weneedEslar for this,” Samson argued through a frown, not quite looking at anyone. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, trembling just enough to be noticeable. His magic spiked and tensed, though Jo was certain she was the only one who felt it. It wasn’t the reaction any of them had expected, the following breath of silence proof that they’d all been a tad caught off-guard by it. And that silence was enough for Samson to deflate a bit, looking up at Wayne with a tired but determined glint in his eye. “An arrow is worthless without a proper bow and the only design I can assume will be strong enough, and magically powerful enough to balance this arrow, will be made of a branch from the Life Tree on High Luana.”
“High Luana? You never said anything about getting there.” Wayne moved to storm over to Samson but Jo stopped him, and whatever he thought he was about to do, with a straight arm.
“Okay, I read about High Luana—down south, where the elf royalty lives.” A nod from Samson prompted Jo to continue. “Why are we freaking out about it now?”
“Getting to Myrth is one thing, doll. Getting to High Luana as non-High Elves is downright impossible. It’s where the most ancient elves live—the originals, as they claim. Even elves have a hard time getting there.”
“This is why weneedEslar,” Samson insisted once more.
“Let me guess . . . He’s on High Luana?” A nod from Samson. “Of course.”
“He would be,” Wayne muttered.
Eslar’s absence was beginning to make a lot more sense. “So if we can’t get into High Luana, we get him to bring us what we need?”
“Great, everything hinges on a stubborn, stuck-up elf.” Wayne threw his hands up and they promptly fell onto his hips. He turned away with a heavy sigh, as if unable to look at them any longer.
“Leave that to me. I’m sure I can get through to him,” Samson pleaded.
“We trust you, Sam,” Jo reassured. “Do what you need. But as quickly as possible, please.” She didn’t think she really needed the last bit, but was compelled to add it all the same.
