Vaskel grunted. “They might if they knew everything, and I wouldn’t blame them.”
Lira looked like she was going to argue more, but she pulled his sleeve down with deliberate care, then gave a curt nod that was pure determination. "Okay then. How do we break this bind?” Her tone shifted, and he remembered that this was the voice of the fearless rogue who'd once picked the lock on a lich's tombwhile the undead sorcerer slept ten feet away. "Or break the hellkin who put it on you."
Blood and ashes, he loved her fierce loyalty and the way she immediately shifted into protective mode. But Marina wasn't some lock to be picked or corrupt guard they could outsmart.
"Marina isn't easy to defeat.” He shook his head. “She's had centuries to hone her skills, and she has a crew of young hellkins eager to prove themselves."
Lira bristled, and suddenly she looked less like a kindhearted tavernkeep who baked delicious scones and more like the dangerous rogue who’d fought by his side. "We still have most of our crew, plus Iris and?—"
"No." He held up a hand, cutting her off. "I won't put the people I care about at risk. Not for my past mistakes."
“Vask.” Her husky voice snapped him back to the present moment, and he saw that her hand was resting on his arm. “We’re in this together. Just like always.”
Like most hellkins, he kept his emotions under tight control, but he couldn’t stop his throat from thickening as he smiled at her, nodding when he couldn’t manage words.
“Even after what you know about my past?” He finally rasped. “Even after knowing I wasn’t always so honorable?”
She squeezed his arm. “The mark of a great adventurer isn’t a flawless quest. It’s owning the wrong turns and still finding your way to the treasure.”
He laughed at this. “Is that dwarf wisdom, by chance?”
Lira shook her head. “It sounds like it, doesn’t it?” She took his sleeve and tugged. “Now come on, Vask.”
“Where are we going?”
“We both know that Erindil has more power than anyone in Wayside and has been around longer than any of us. If anyone knows about soul binds, it will be him. Besides, if my uncle expects to have his ostrich in my wedding, he owes me.” She took a steadying breath and met Vaskel’s widening eyes. “Yes, I know about Glen and his outfit, and no, I’m not thrilled about it.”
Vaskel walked briskly alongside her as Lira muttered about elves, deciding not to argue with his friend.
Twenty-Two
Vaskel heardthe elf encampment before the colorful tents behind the tavern came into view. Lute music mixed with the warble of an ostrich and the gentle bubbling of voices overpowering the gurgle of the icy stream. The sun dipped below the trees, casting a pink glow over the snow-encrusted branches and dappling light onto the peaked tents arranged around a central fire.
Glen’s head swung toward them as they trudged closer, his warble edging toward a screech. A tent flap adorned with gold tassels and elaborate embroidery fluttered open, and Erindil emerged in robes of thick white fur that made his silver blonde hair look even more ethereal.
“My dear niece! And the charming Vaskel!" His sharp features softened at the sight of them. "What a delightful surprise!"
He gestured grandly toward his tent. "You must join me inside. We can't have a proper conversation standing about in the cold."
Even though the camp wasn’t as cold as the rest of the village thanks to an elvish enchantment, Vaskel followed the regal elfand Lira into the tent. The space was larger than it should have been, no doubt due to more elvish enchantment, and its opulence put any home in Wayside to shame. Lush carpets in deep jewel tones overlapped on the floor, with gilded furniture perched on top. Peacock feathers burst from vases like blooms, and Vaskel wouldn’t have been surprised to see attendants fanning them.
Erindil settled into a high-backed chair, its gold leaf catching the light from the crystal chandelier suspended from the center of the tent. He gestured to a velvet tufted settee across from him, and Vaskel and Lira both sank into the cushioning, their knees almost bumping their ears.
Vaskel tried to adjust himself so he didn’t tip over onto the carpets, but ended up settling on bracing himself with one arm with his tail curled around the furniture leg to catch him.
A few moments of silence passed before Erindil fastened his gaze on Vaskel and cleared his throat. "Dark magic again, is it?"
Vaskel shouldn’t have been startled. After all, elves were known for their highly attuned intuition. He also suspected that after observing people for thousands of years, you’d become an expert at reading them. Still, it was unsettling to think that the elf sensed a darkness on him.
"No," Lira answered for him. "It's a soul bind."
"Ah." Erindil nodded deliberately, the twitching of his fingers the only sign of piqued interest. "May I see?"
There was no point in hesitating. Vaskel pushed up his sleeve, revealing the marks that wound up his arm like malevolent vines.
Erindil leaned forward, studying the marks and humming, occasionally tilting his head to view them from different angles. His fingers hovered above the marks but never quite touched, as if he didn’t want to touch the enchantment.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "The binding work is quite sophisticated. Infernal power at its most intricate." Then he sat back, his fingers steepled under his chin. "I've seen this before."
