Aryal pursed her lips. “Since Beluviel was Calondir’s consort, why didn’t she become the High Lady, or whatever she would have been called?”
He shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not on the inside of that family circle, but from what I’ve heard, Beluviel didn’t want to become Lady of the Lirithriel Elves.”
“Pity,” she said. “I don’t have anything against Ferion, but I’ve always liked Beluviel.” She glanced at him. “So what did he say when you talked to him?”
“Dragos was right, Ferion’s overextended. He has thought of Numenlaur but has not had a chance to do anything more than send a small party of Elves to guard the passageway. He also sent some trackers over Lirithriel’s Other land to trace the path of the Numenlaurian army back to its source.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to make sure that Gaeleval hadn’t abandoned any enthralled Elves who might have been too sick or injured to keep up with the rest of the army.”
Aryal winced. “Do you know if they found anybody?”
“Nobody alive,” he said grimly.
She swore quietly.
Quentin took a deep breath. “Anyway, Numenlaur isn’t the only crossover passageway in the Bohemian Forest. There’s one that leads to the Lirithriel Other land too.”
Aryal frowned. “I guess I’m not surprised. There may be even more than those two passageways. The Bohemian Forest is a very old and witchy place. Not sentient like Lirithriel Wood was before it burned, just witchy.”
Quentin understood what she meant. The Bohemian Forest, called Šumava by the Czechs, was actually a low mountain range that extended from the Czech Republic to Austria and Germany, and the area held one of the oldest forests in the world.
Quentin had spent some time hiking there when he was younger. At first he had gone to look where the fabled Numenlaurian passageway was rumored to have stood, but the magic used in barring the passageway hid it from outside eyes and he was never certain he had found where it was supposed to have been located.
He told her, “Well, Gaeleval took advantage of the proximity of the two passageways. He marched his army out of Numenlaur, through the forest, and then into the Lirithriel Other land through the second passageway. Nobody here on Earth knew a thing.”
“If Ferion’s got Elven guards on the Numenlaurian passageway, then our assignment is little more than in name only,” Aryal said. She blew out a sigh. “Well, the main part the assignment isn’t. More than half the reason Dragos sent us here was to get rid of us.”
Quentin angled out his jaw. He couldn’t deny it. He looked sideways at the same moment Aryal did. He was immensely surprised when they both burst out laughing at the same time.
It felt strange, almost good, like they shared a moment of camaraderie. His laughter faded and he scowled at the thought. “We may not be doing any of this for Ferion, but he’s glad we’re going to check on the passageway. He asked me to give him an update when we get back. There’s no cell phone reception in the forest, and he hasn’t heard anything from the guards since they went in.”
Her eyebrows rose. “How long ago was that?”
“He didn’t say exactly, but from the gist of the conversation, I think it had to have been at least three weeks ago.” Quentin tried to straighten his legs as much as he could. His muscles were protesting sitting for so long in such confined spaces.
“And he hasn’t heard from them since?” She shook her head. “Sloppy. They should have sent someone out with an update by now.”
He sighed. “Yes, an update would have been good, but you don’t know that it was sloppy. They might have found some need to cross over to Numenlaur. If that happened, then you’ve got to factor in time slippage from the Other land. Ferion didn’t sound too worried. He’ll just be glad to hear how things are going.”
After that they fell silent again, as if talking with some kind of civility had been enough of a strain that they couldn’t sustain it any longer. Just over an hour into the journey, a bit south of Plze
, they switched highways to continue in a more southern direction that would take them to the northern edge of the Forest. After passing through another urban cluster, they passed quickly into countryside again.
The Forest was growing in popularity as a vacation destination, and it had several camping grounds along with ski resorts. They would be able to drive in a fair distance before they would have to park and hike.
Still, Aryal had to slow the Peugeot as the roads grew narrow and winding. The amount of traffic dropped to almost nonexistent. Even though the low surrounding mountains were streaked with patches of white, probably both ski resorts and campgrounds were all but deserted. The weather was too warm for satisfactory snow cover for skiing, but too cold and damp for all but the hardiest of campers.
Aryal spoke, disrupting the long silence. “If I was on my own, I would have taken to the air by now, and I would scout for the passageways by feeling for land magic.”
Quentin rubbed his face. “It might still be useful if you did that when we got closer.” He looked at her over his hand. “I just realized you’re old enough to remember the time before Numenlaur closed itself off from the world.”
It was sometimes easy to forget how much older the other sentinels were than Quentin, including Alex, who had made passing references before to ancient Grecian wars as if he had lived through them—and no doubt he had. Wyr tended to live very much in the present, more so than almost all the other Elder Races. Quentin had thought before that it must have something to do with their animal natures.
“Sure, I’m old enough,” she said. “But the world is a very big place, and I had no interest in what Elves were up to. I’ve never been near the passageways here.”
He almost asked her what she had been interested in, all that long ago, before he remembered he could hardly stand to hear the sound of her voice and caught himself.
Instead, he said, “Ferion confirmed that the Numenlaur passageway is very near where the stories say it is. That means I’ve been through that area before. We’ll have to park at one of the camping sites and hike in.”
“All right.” She paused. “I suppose we’ve passed the point where we might be able to stop at a farmhouse and rent rooms.”
Quentin rubbed his face. “Yes. We’ve got two options for tonight. There’s a turnoff soon for a ski resort. It might be open, if you want to try there. Or we can rough it.”
Amusement flashed over her face, keen and bright like a blade. “I like roughing it.”
Pow, the banked sexuality that smoldered between them came roaring back to the surface. It filled the interior of the car. He listened to the tiny sound of her breathing, the subtle friction of air as she shifted in her seat.
She was squirming.
He knew exactly what he would have done if they hadn’t been in a moving vehicle. He would have advanced on her, pushed her back against some kind of surface. He would have taken her chin, tilted her head back and bitten her throat.
He just didn’t know whether he would have done it before or after he kissed her.
“Hate sex,” he hissed.
Her eyes flashed to him. She looked furious, or agonized.
He ran his hands through his short hair and stretched, deliberately arching his back. Her hands clenched on the steering wheel so that the knuckles showed white.
He laughed, low and soft. She started it. By damn, it was good to know he got under the harpy’s skin just as much as she got under his.
She was good at shock value, he would give her that. The things that fell out of her mouth were sometimes as raw as the punch she had thrown at him earlier.
Maybe the idea was growing in its appeal now that it had been with him for a few hours. If he wouldn’t let himself kill her, he could at least screw her until they were both senseless.