on Ren’s desk could contain anything from water to Wyth, more affectionately known as Dragonslayer. This time it was fehlta juice, only a mildly alcoholic drink, but she set it down on the end of his desk. She had the rueful feeling that it would be a long time before she would take anything that could cloud her thoughts. She sat back down on the bench and waited . . . and waited.
When Ren finally spoke he sounded almost nervous to her sensitive ears. “I trust that everything went smoothly as usual, hmm? Got in, got out, came here.”
“Yes. I—” He cut her off before she could speak.
“Did you talk to him about the assassination attempt?” Ren strolled around his desk and resumed his seat.
“No, the—”
“Good,” he said, breaking in once again before she could continue. “I would hate to have him upset with us, or think that we were spying on him—although I doubt that he would mind. I’m sure he would have understood that we gather information whenever we can. I trust that you were either able to put a halt to the assassins or discovered that the rumor I sent you to investigate was just a rumor.”
Aralorn tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair and contemplated Ren. His babbling didn’t bother her, he always talked like that. He once told her that it distracted people, and they said things that they wouldn’t normally have said—just to get him to shut up. She’d used the technique herself upon occasion and found it effective.
What did bother her was that he wasn’t listening. Usually, he listened carefully to everything she said, then quizzed her for hours about what she’d heard and seen. It just wasn’t like him to gloss over anything or stop anyone from speaking. He never, not ever, interrupted. The bright black, somewhat beady eyes shifted restlessly.
She had never seen him embarrassed before, so it took her a while to identify the emotion that brought a red tinge to his face. Ren was ashamed that he had sent her to spy on the ae’Magi—the same Ren who had once sent her to spy on his own brother.
None of her disquiet showed on her face. She didn’t want to heed the intuition that was hinting that something was awry. She wanted to give her report with no more than the usual lies: Not even Ren knew that she could alter her shape. Shapeshifters used wild magic—and this was a world that had learned to fear magic used without strict limits.
She wanted to ignore the insistent disquiet that the Mouse’s unusual reactions spawned, but she couldn’t. With visions of the docile people in the ae’Magi’s ballroom in her head, she bowed her head and waited.
She’d never heard anyone say anything against the ae’Magi—only Wolf. The people the ae’Magi had brought out to sacrifice to his magic had come willingly. Only Wolf knew what he was—and he hadn’t really told her until he was certain she knew what she’d gotten herself into.
While Ren talked, she carefully edited what she was going to tell him, waiting as he drifted from topic to topic until he got around to asking her about her mission.
Aralorn gave him a brief description of her method of entry, incorrect, of course. Someday Ren would find out just how poor she was at picking iron locks and would be deeply disappointed.
Ren needed to know about the ae’Magi, but somehow she found herself rattling on at length about the various heads of state at the dance the ae’Magi had held and obligingly going into as much detail as she could when Ren requested it. Evidently, he was only upset about her spying on the ae’Magi—otherwise, he wanted to know everything. He could pull surprising conclusions out of the smallest thing.
“Wearing a red cape?” he said, after she’d described what one of the Anthran demiprinces was wearing. “It was a gift from his sister’s husband—looks like peace talks between their territories might be on again. We’ll be able to pull those troops out and use them elsewhere.”
She
When Ren finally spoke he sounded almost nervous to her sensitive ears. “I trust that everything went smoothly as usual, hmm? Got in, got out, came here.”
“Yes. I—” He cut her off before she could speak.
“Did you talk to him about the assassination attempt?” Ren strolled around his desk and resumed his seat.
“No, the—”
“Good,” he said, breaking in once again before she could continue. “I would hate to have him upset with us, or think that we were spying on him—although I doubt that he would mind. I’m sure he would have understood that we gather information whenever we can. I trust that you were either able to put a halt to the assassins or discovered that the rumor I sent you to investigate was just a rumor.”
Aralorn tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair and contemplated Ren. His babbling didn’t bother her, he always talked like that. He once told her that it distracted people, and they said things that they wouldn’t normally have said—just to get him to shut up. She’d used the technique herself upon occasion and found it effective.
What did bother her was that he wasn’t listening. Usually, he listened carefully to everything she said, then quizzed her for hours about what she’d heard and seen. It just wasn’t like him to gloss over anything or stop anyone from speaking. He never, not ever, interrupted. The bright black, somewhat beady eyes shifted restlessly.
She had never seen him embarrassed before, so it took her a while to identify the emotion that brought a red tinge to his face. Ren was ashamed that he had sent her to spy on the ae’Magi—the same Ren who had once sent her to spy on his own brother.
None of her disquiet showed on her face. She didn’t want to heed the intuition that was hinting that something was awry. She wanted to give her report with no more than the usual lies: Not even Ren knew that she could alter her shape. Shapeshifters used wild magic—and this was a world that had learned to fear magic used without strict limits.
She wanted to ignore the insistent disquiet that the Mouse’s unusual reactions spawned, but she couldn’t. With visions of the docile people in the ae’Magi’s ballroom in her head, she bowed her head and waited.
She’d never heard anyone say anything against the ae’Magi—only Wolf. The people the ae’Magi had brought out to sacrifice to his magic had come willingly. Only Wolf knew what he was—and he hadn’t really told her until he was certain she knew what she’d gotten herself into.
While Ren talked, she carefully edited what she was going to tell him, waiting as he drifted from topic to topic until he got around to asking her about her mission.
Aralorn gave him a brief description of her method of entry, incorrect, of course. Someday Ren would find out just how poor she was at picking iron locks and would be deeply disappointed.
Ren needed to know about the ae’Magi, but somehow she found herself rattling on at length about the various heads of state at the dance the ae’Magi had held and obligingly going into as much detail as she could when Ren requested it. Evidently, he was only upset about her spying on the ae’Magi—otherwise, he wanted to know everything. He could pull surprising conclusions out of the smallest thing.
“Wearing a red cape?” he said, after she’d described what one of the Anthran demiprinces was wearing. “It was a gift from his sister’s husband—looks like peace talks between their territories might be on again. We’ll be able to pull those troops out and use them elsewhere.”
She
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