“Jarrett’s warriors,” Drenz whispers to me.
A woman stands between them, but she’s clearly far removed from any version of humanity I ever knew. Her face is pointed, symmetrical, and eerily beautiful. But her skin is a light blue, her pale white hair is cropped to the scalp, and her eyes are a deep black that covers the iris and sclera. Her three-fingered hands are gloved in pale blue. She wears a high-collared ecru jacket and a long ecru dress.
“Warlord Rythar. Elena.” She bows, then turns on her heel. “The High Lord awaits you in the main chamber.”
“Who is she?” I whisper.
“One of the High Lord’s courtwives,” whispers Drenz.
We follow her through a narrow corridor lit with faint white light. I count five different surveillance arrays before we even reach the first door.
The main chamber is sparse. There’s a single table in the center, black and smooth, with over twenty unmarked chairs around it. At the far end, three men—two advisors in full armor, standing at parade rest, and the High Lord seated in the middle.
He's not what I expected. I don’t remember him from the Claiming Ceremony. I saw his projection before, but the effect is stronger in the flesh. He’s almost beautiful. He’s tall, and slender for a Xythean male. Every feature is too precise to be natural. His hair is so pale that it's nearly white, and it’s brushed back from a face that gives nothing away. He wears black gloves. His eyes are a bright blue that seem to glow in the stark room. He rises when we enter, and the movement is inhumanly smooth.
“Welcome, ruler of the Green Reach,” he says. His voice is perfect, but the words carry no emotion. It’s as though we’re not moments from war.
We stop in front of him, and all I can see is Rythar’s back. I remain flanked.
“You may seat your mate,” the High Lord says.
Rythar doesn’t move. “State your purpose in summoning my mate.”
The High Lord continues as though this is a small matter. “Very well. The Council requests an account of the events of the last cycle, including all hostile action from the territory known as Reach’s End.”
He continues. “Please have your mate be precise. Remind her that any deviation from the truth will be detected.”
I stare at Rythar’s back, feeling the heat rise in my chest.
“The territory formerly known as Reach’s End,” Rythar says.
There’s a pause, very brief, before the High Lord responds. “Yes,” he says.
Rythar steps neatly to my side, and I meet the High Lord’s gaze. He glances at Rythar, then away, as though burned bywhatever’s going on between them. The High Lord does not look angry, but I can feel it. I flex my hands as the tingling increases.
Rythar touches my hand with his. His thumb strokes the back of my hand lightly, but his voice is gravel. “Tell him, Elena.”
I suspect the High Lord already knows, but I play the game. I give him everything from the Concord delegates at the fortress to waking up in Rythar's arms. The Council credentials, the access codes, the shield, the pacification weapon. I don't mention the projection that was supposed to be his recorded message.
He sits with one hand resting on the arm of his chair, fingers loose. The two advisors at his back remain still.
"Noted," the High Lord says. "And your mate's actions?"
My thumb curls into my palm, hiding the bride mark. "Rythar knew where to find me."
"As expected."
I stare at him. "Vorak also said it was expected. More than expected—it was the plan. He said Rythar would come for me, and he would kill Rythar. Is that what you expected?"
The High Lord’s eyes flick to Rythar. "You are asking whether I arranged your abduction." When Rythar doesn’t answer, the High Lord’s eyes flick back to me.
"No,” I say. “I'm asking whether you're disappointed it failed."
The High Lord's gaze meets mine. I expect anger, but all I see is interest. "You are very direct for someone with no power in this room."
He’s underestimating me, and I want to let him do it. "I would think someone whose Concord delegates just helped steal a woman from under the Stone would be more curious about how it happened. Where are the rest of your questions?"
"Such as?" The High Lord’s tone is calm, but the static in the room rises slightly.
