The Stolen Throne

Provided, of course, that she could supply an explanation for her absence.

It took several minutes for him to reach his quarters, even moving at a steady pace. He considered briefly calling the guards, but decided that would be unwise. It was unlikely the guards would dare to question him, but rumors spread far too easily. Who knows what Meghren might happen to overhear?

Instead he paused at his door and cast an enchantment of protection over himself. As unlikely as it was, if she intended him harm, it was good to be prepared. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and entered.

Katriel was as he remembered, golden curls down her back and majestic green eyes sizing him up. She wore dusty leathers and smelled faintly of sweat and horses. She had traveled here quickly, then, and had not stopped even to wash herself up? A good sign, then. His room was shadowed except for the flickering light of a lantern on his desk, and Katriel thumbed idly through one of his journals.

“I trust you have a good reason for your disappearance,” he said evenly. “And why you haven’t contacted me prior to your appearance here?” Severan didn’t like to show off his magic, but he held out a palm and allowed a lick of magical flame to spin itself into existence. He imagined it drove home the point sufficiently.

“I do,” she responded. The elf seemed far more solemn than he recalled. She closed his journal quietly and stared at Severan without challenge. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Good,” he said. The ball of fire hovering over his palm winked out, and he stepped farther into the room. He kept a wary eye on her even so. “Are you still situated in the rebel camp with Prince Maric? Or did they lose you at West Hill, as well?”

“I am still with the Prince, or at least I was until their victory at Gwaren. Then I came directly here, though it was not easy to escape detection.”

Severan waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. He frowned, nettled. “Victory? Then their counterattack was successful? They are back in control of Gwaren?”

She nodded. “Yes. Though not before your men slaughtered half of the town. That will cause quite a stir when news of it gets out.”

He waved away the matter, frowning. “That isn’t important now. With your help, we can strike at the rebel force and finish it once and for all. I assume the prince in Gwaren is actually him? Not some pretender?”

“It is,” she replied.

“Pity. Well, he will have to die. Thankfully you can make certain it is done properly this time.” Severan paused as he felt a buzzing sensation in the back of his head. Uncertain what it was, he increased the magical aura of protection around him and watched Katriel more carefully. What was she up to?

The elf seemed oblivious of his discomfort, merely shaking her head as she glided toward him around his desk. “No,” she murmured. “I’m not going to do that.”

“I see,” he said stiffly, ignoring the buzzing. “And what about our contract? I was led to believe you bards held your honor above all else.”

Katriel paused at his desk. “Let us assume for the moment that our contract was not canceled the moment you changed the plan at West Hill.” She folded her arms, frowning. “I would need to remind you that my contract was to deliver Prince Maric to you, alive. Nothing more, nothing less.” Her green eyes glinted dangerously at him.

Severan paused. The buzzing in his head got worse, and numbness crawled up his skull. He ignored it. “Would you bring me the Prince now, as we agreed, if I asked you to do it?”

She shook her head. “No. I would not.”

“I see.” He raised his palm again, and the ball of fire reformed. It was brighter now, flickering blue at the edges. His eyes bored into hers, daring her to try to strike him with the daggers she surely had on her person. “Then we are going to have an issue, yes?”

Katriel didn’t move. She merely stared at Severan expectantly, her arms still folded. He concentrated, but the buzzing only got worse. The ball of flame sputtered and then disappeared. He would have gasped in shock, but the numbness had spread to his face. He could only open his mouth and then click it shut again.

The room began to spin, and he reached out to grab on to a wooden bedpost to steady himself. He felt the strength in his legs draining out from underneath him.

Katriel gestured toward the door. “A contact poison, coated on the doorknob.” As she slowly walked toward Severan, his hands slid down the post and he collapsed to the floor. Any attempt of his to cry out elicited only a painful wheeze as his throat constricted up tight, making it difficult to breathe.

The elf stood over him, looking down with sadness in her green eyes. She did not seem to be enjoying what she was doing, though that hardly brought him any satisfaction. His heart leaped madly about in his chest, just as his mind screamed at him to move, to find some way out of this trap of paralysis.