“If she gets her hands on me and forces us to return to one being . . . Oblivion walks the earth once more.”
By the look on Eslar’s face, Jo knew he understood; knowledge of the Age of Magic, of the old gods and their demigod counterparts, had been scattered throughout his stories. Now it was come to life. She was one half of the monster from his people’s fairytales.
“Then you are—”
“Destruction. Yes,” Jo said, biting back a cringe. “And Pan is Chaos.”
“And how much of this is actually about Snow?” Eslar’s expression had resumed its look of careful stoicism, but Jo could see the judgment behind it regardless. So she swallowed back her defensive response and instead bared her soul.
“I won’t deny that . . . that part of me wants to see him safe. Just as much as you no doubt want to see this world and your people’s place in it safe. Snow is my counterpart in every sense. I was—” Jo felt the words lodge in her throat. The thought of Snow, still trapped, still so far out of reach, made her heart clench. “He was literally made to be with me. And being apart, not knowing if he’s safe under Pan’s constant presence—hurts. It’s terrifying and painful and I’ve never wanted anything more than to know he is safe.
“But I need to know that all of you will be safe too. That this world will be safe. And none of you—none of us—will be, so long as Pan lives.”
Once the words were out, Jo felt oddly exhausted, her chest aching and her throat sore. She could feel that tell-tale sting at the back of her eyes, the corners blurring with unshed tears, and she forced herself to look away. It was Wayne’s attention that fell into her line of sight then, and she hoped the plea in her eyes was enough for him to pick up where she had left off.
Wayne nodded once, focusing on Eslar; the ache in Jo’s chest eased.
“We have a weapon we think will work against her,” he said. “An arrow Samson’s been carrying through the ages. We have reason to believe it’s the arrow that once belonged to the Goddess of the Hunt.”
Recognition flickered across Eslar’s face.
“All we need is a bow,” Takako chimed in.
Eslar eyed Wayne and Takako each in turn, still somehow managing to look unconvinced. “And you expect to find such a bow here in High Luana?”
Though it sounded like it physically pained him to do so, Samson was the one who answered Eslar this time. “I can c-craft one, I think, that will be strong enough. I may need help. I don’t know yet. But I do know that I will need a special material that can only . . . that can only be found here.”
Instead of looking at anyone in particular, Samson’s head was down, eyes locked on his shoes. He wasn’t fidgeting with anything, but his hands shook at his sides, as if the simple act of talking was dragging him closer and closer to the edge of panic. Jo was overwhelmed with the desire to reach forward and hold one of those trembling hands, but to her surprise, Wayne beat her to it. He stepped easily into Samson’s space until their shoulders were pressed together, just enough physical contact to know Wayne was there but not enough to crowd. It seemed to calm Samson down some, though his voice still shook as he went on.
“I know th-that it is unfair of us to ask this of you, Eslar. It is unfair ofmeto askanythingof you, and for that, I am sorry. I am so, s-so sorry.” Here, despite the way his eyes filled with tears, despite the trembling plea in his voice, Samson looked up, capturing Eslar’s gaze with a determination Jo could never remember seeing on the man’s face. “But we can’t do this without you, Eslar. Please. We need your help to get them to say yes and help us.”
Jo looked from Samson to Eslar just in time to watch the look of surprise fade from Eslar’s eyes. There was something beneath his expression that Jo couldn’t quite identify, a loose thread he was unable to tuck away, and though part of her knew she could use her magic to pick at that thread until the elf unraveled before her, she held back. This was between them.
For a long and agonizing moment, Eslar simply continued to hold Samson’s gaze, a silent battle warring between them much like it had when they’d first arrived. But unlike then, it didn’t take the crude clearing of Wayne’s throat for Eslar to break their connection. As if finally seeing something on Samson’s face, Eslar blinked, back straightening in what Jo would almost define as disappointment.
“I will need . . . time,” he said, already heading towards the door. “Someone will be along shortly with dinner.” He didn’t bother turning to face anyone as he said it, his voice as expressionless as Jo had ever heard it. The look on Samson’s face was utterly heartbreaking. Despite the urge crawling like fire-ants beneath Jo’s skin, she didn’t follow Eslar out.
No one did.
Chapter 14
Broken Table Leg
“Time?” Wayne balked. “Time? He’s had a whole—”
Jo caught Wayne’s wrist before he could bolt out of the room. Wayne spun, his momentum redirected. But Jo didn’t let go.
“Leave him be,” she cautioned. “At least for now.”
“We came all this way and you just want to let him act like this?”
“I think we have to.” Jo’s attention shifted to the door. Two soldiers had positioned themselves on either sides of the double doors leading to their chambers, pulling them closed. There was the sound of a heavy lock clanking, engaged from the outside.
“The hell is this?” Wayne reeled back to the door. “Now we’re locked in like prisoners? So much for being honored guests.” He wrenched his hand from Jo’s grip.
“Calm down. It’s not like we can blame them for being skeptical of us and, beyond that, I don’t think we can be locked anywhere.” Jo started for the bookshelves. “Given that we have a man who can make any bet happen with the guards, a woman who could shoot for the vulnerable part of the locks and never miss, a crafter whom I’m sure could make a key or some other mechanism to open the door . . .” She paused, just for emphasis. “Oh, and the demigod of Destruction.”
“Takako doesn’t have a gun right now to shoot with,” Wayne muttered, but it was obvious in his posture that he was just clinging to his tantrum.
