She took a moment to recall what the captain of her warship had reported on arriving back from Drey Wood. They had engaged the Elven ship in combat after tracking it, losing it and finding it again, and then they had brought it down. Stoon and the mutants had left the ship to track down the survivors, but none of them had returned. Finally, not wanting to go himself—Edinja’s interpretation of things from the way the captain squirmed while telling this part of his story—he had dispatched two members of his crew. When they returned, they told him that Stoon and all three mutants were dead, and their uneasy looks and whispers made it clear that they were done with this business.
But then, just as they were preparing to lift off, a husband and wife had appeared with a wounded Elven girl lying in the bed of a cart. The couple, clearly farmers or foragers, had asked if the captain knew the girl or could take her to people who did. The man, in particular, seemed anxious to have her out of the way. The captain, not entirely a fool, realized what he had—one of the two Elessedil sisters whom they had been hunting. He might have gone back to look for the other or their protector, but he would have had to go himself at this point because his crew had already made it plain that they were having none of it.
Deciding, therefore, that a bird in the hand was worth more than the two still in the bush, he had carried the girl aboard and headed for home.
But Edinja had warned the captain personally before he had set out that she wanted both women alive and under her control. He had been charged with making certain this happened, even if Stoon did not. So his assumption that she would settle for half a loaf was a big mistake.
Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. While she had expected to have both sisters brought to her—she didn’t care one way or the other about their protector—she would have to settle for the one. Because of her age, she knew the one she had must be the younger, the one that was a Chosen in service to the Ellcrys.
Arlingfant.
That meant she wasn’t the one carrying the Elfstones. The older one—Aphenglow, the Druid—would be doing that. So why was this one so concerned about her clothes and her pack? The clothing had been searched and discarded. But the pack was missing, lost or left behind. Had there been something of value in it?
She would have to wait to find out. For now, the girl would sleep, and the drug Edinja had added to her water would do its work.
She thought momentarily about Stoon. She would miss him in some ways, but none that truly mattered. He had his uses and his strengths, but didn’t they all? She would have had to rid herself of him sooner or later, and she always felt bad about having to do it herself. This time it had been someone else’s doing, and even though she had always known it would end like this, she could take some comfort in the fact that she hadn’t been the one to wield the weapon.
What she wondered now was whether or not the older sister and her protector were dead, too. That would prove more troublesome because it meant the Elfstones were likely lost, as well. And she would have to send someone back into Drey Wood to the wreckage of the Elven vessel to search for the bodies of the Druid and the Elven Hunter and the talismans, as well. She was already thinking of whom she might choose to do this.
Once, the choice would have been easy. It would have been Stoon.
“Poor Stoon,” she murmured.
She went off to prepare for the girl’s awakening—if she had calculated her dosages right, it would be about an hour from now—knowing that her approach must change. But first she would feed Cinla her favorite treats.
Arlingfant didn’t know how long she slept after the nameless woman who was caring for her had left, but when she woke again the woman was sitting on the bed beside her. “There you are,” she said. She smiled, but there was no warmth in the expression. “Tell me your name.”
“Arlingfant Elessedil,” Arling replied at once, even though she hadn’t intended to.
“And your sister’s name?”
“Aphenglow Elessedil.”
“And your protector’s name? The Elven Hunter who accompanied you on your journey?”
“Cymrian.”
She couldn’t seem to help herself. Whatever the woman wanted to know she was willing to tell her. No, it was more than that. She needed to tell her. She was compelled to answer, and answer truthfully. She was horrified. Why was she doing this?
“It’s the drink I gave you,” the woman said, noticing her change of expression. “It puts you to sleep, and when you wake you find yourself unable to do anything but speak the truth. It’s a combination of drugs and magic I concocted some time ago. Rather useful.”
She leaned forward, the smile gone. “So we can dispense with games and get on with being truthful with each other. You know who I am, don’t you? You must have suspected, and now there can be no doubt. Say my name.”
“Edinja Orle.”
“There, that wasn’t so hard. Now all the introductions and identities are out in the open. Are you thirsty?”
“Yes,” Arling replied, cringing. She said it because it was the truth, but she didn’t want any more of what Edinja had already given her.
The sorceress rose, walked back to the table, and poured a fresh cup of water. She glanced over her shoulder at Arling. “This isn’t what you drank earlier. This is pure. Untreated. You’ve had enough of the other to serve my purposes. Do you still want it?”