of Earth, the dwarves, approved. The older couples. They did not tell the Cloudsylphs or Emberdrakes.
Great, now she knew more about the Eight’s internal politics than she’d ever wanted, and was tangled in them like in seaweed.
“I will accept an apology for that,” the king said, each word a bullet of ice.
Jenni risked a fleeting glance in his eyes. They remained light, and she thought she’d seen a flash of pain. “Then what I said was not the truth. I apologize.”
“Questioning the actions of the Eight is not wise,” Cloudsylph said with absolutely no emotion in his voice.
Jenni felt all too human, all too vulnerable. A lifting of his finger could remove all the air from the room and she would die…except that Aric’s warm hand was wrapped around hers and he could live without air for a time, and could keep her alive.
She looked out the window at the city, gray-block buildings diminishing in size to the brown-yellow plains. “Yet you seem to think that the Eight need me.”
He tapped his fingertips together. Once. Jenni thought it was a mortal gesture he was trying to mimic. “As you need us to save your brother.”
Again her chest constricted, this time from emotion. She dragged in a breath, wet her lips. “Do I?”
The elf’s brows lifted in the faintest arch. “You may be able to find your brother, but will you be in time to save him? Your father told me once that staying in the interdimension decays the life force. Can you travel through the interdimension to him?”
Jenni figured the king knew the answer was no. Her lips were now cold and she didn’t want to use energy to raise her body temperature.
After a minute-long silence, the king continued. “I didn’t think so. And you can’t tell where he is, geographically?”
“I can’t pinpoint his location.” All she knew was that Rothly was to the northwest.
“We know he is in your ‘gray mist,’ but not where in the real world he stepped into it—geographically. It is my understanding that the closer you are to where he might be in this world, the easier it will be for you to bring him from the interdimension into reality. We sense he is not alone in the interdimension, but shadleeches feast on him, draining his magic.” The king’s fingers curled in a tiny flex. “Can you separate him from his pursuers and pull him out without bringing them, too?”
A shivery breath sifted through her. The elf’s phrasing sounded as if it had come directly from one of the Mistweaver family journals, one she’d thought had been personal. How many journals did they have transcriptions of? How many of the Mistweaver secrets did the Eight know? And how many of the Eight had read them?
“Your father was my friend,” Cloudsylph said.
Jenni didn’t remember that. Didn’t recall Cloudsylph being in their lives. He was of a royal line and the Mistweavers were “mongrels.”
“I can send warriors to protect you and him,” the king said.
“A little late for that.”
For the first time he showed anger. “I was not responsible for the deaths of your family. I fought and suffered. We all suffered.”
“But you survived, became a new royal and part of the Eight. All of the Eight survived and four of the old Eight got to transfer to another, richer dimension. My family paid for your survival and that portal with their lives. You did not save them.”
“You do not know all that occurred. You were not with your family when the Darkfolk attacked. Nor did you save them.”
Jenni went up in flames. Literally.
She let the heat of her fury burn her clothes away, flash her being into fire, then smoke. She shot through the air vent, melting the grate, hurtled out of the building. There was a snow-fat dark cloud in the sky and she grabbed energy from it, drew electricity around her and became a lightning bolt. She concentrated and snapped onto the ground—
—into an icy stairwell. A rectangular concrete hole in the alley six blocks from her
Great, now she knew more about the Eight’s internal politics than she’d ever wanted, and was tangled in them like in seaweed.
“I will accept an apology for that,” the king said, each word a bullet of ice.
Jenni risked a fleeting glance in his eyes. They remained light, and she thought she’d seen a flash of pain. “Then what I said was not the truth. I apologize.”
“Questioning the actions of the Eight is not wise,” Cloudsylph said with absolutely no emotion in his voice.
Jenni felt all too human, all too vulnerable. A lifting of his finger could remove all the air from the room and she would die…except that Aric’s warm hand was wrapped around hers and he could live without air for a time, and could keep her alive.
She looked out the window at the city, gray-block buildings diminishing in size to the brown-yellow plains. “Yet you seem to think that the Eight need me.”
He tapped his fingertips together. Once. Jenni thought it was a mortal gesture he was trying to mimic. “As you need us to save your brother.”
Again her chest constricted, this time from emotion. She dragged in a breath, wet her lips. “Do I?”
The elf’s brows lifted in the faintest arch. “You may be able to find your brother, but will you be in time to save him? Your father told me once that staying in the interdimension decays the life force. Can you travel through the interdimension to him?”
Jenni figured the king knew the answer was no. Her lips were now cold and she didn’t want to use energy to raise her body temperature.
After a minute-long silence, the king continued. “I didn’t think so. And you can’t tell where he is, geographically?”
“I can’t pinpoint his location.” All she knew was that Rothly was to the northwest.
“We know he is in your ‘gray mist,’ but not where in the real world he stepped into it—geographically. It is my understanding that the closer you are to where he might be in this world, the easier it will be for you to bring him from the interdimension into reality. We sense he is not alone in the interdimension, but shadleeches feast on him, draining his magic.” The king’s fingers curled in a tiny flex. “Can you separate him from his pursuers and pull him out without bringing them, too?”
A shivery breath sifted through her. The elf’s phrasing sounded as if it had come directly from one of the Mistweaver family journals, one she’d thought had been personal. How many journals did they have transcriptions of? How many of the Mistweaver secrets did the Eight know? And how many of the Eight had read them?
“Your father was my friend,” Cloudsylph said.
Jenni didn’t remember that. Didn’t recall Cloudsylph being in their lives. He was of a royal line and the Mistweavers were “mongrels.”
“I can send warriors to protect you and him,” the king said.
“A little late for that.”
For the first time he showed anger. “I was not responsible for the deaths of your family. I fought and suffered. We all suffered.”
“But you survived, became a new royal and part of the Eight. All of the Eight survived and four of the old Eight got to transfer to another, richer dimension. My family paid for your survival and that portal with their lives. You did not save them.”
“You do not know all that occurred. You were not with your family when the Darkfolk attacked. Nor did you save them.”
Jenni went up in flames. Literally.
She let the heat of her fury burn her clothes away, flash her being into fire, then smoke. She shot through the air vent, melting the grate, hurtled out of the building. There was a snow-fat dark cloud in the sky and she grabbed energy from it, drew electricity around her and became a lightning bolt. She concentrated and snapped onto the ground—
—into an icy stairwell. A rectangular concrete hole in the alley six blocks from her
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