“How do you think to gain entrance into the Druid order at this point?” Aphen asked. “You’ve ruined any chance of that by coming after us.”
“Have I?” Edinja shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. There was never any real chance. I know that now. You would never have had me. None of you would have agreed to it. Things change, in any case, and they have done so here. I no longer care about an alliance with the Druids. The Third Druid Order is at an end. The Druids have become irrelevant.”
Aphen realized with a start that she was right. All that remained of the order were Seersha and herself. The rest were either known dead or likely so—including Khyber Elessedil. The missing Elfstones, which might have made a difference, were lost. The Druids had failed in everything they had sought to accomplish.
“What is it you want, then?” she asked. “You’ve come after us for a purpose. What is it?”
“I want almost exactly what you want—to take Arling back to the Elves in Arborlon and let her do whatever she is meant to do with the Ellcrys seed.”
Aphen and Cymrian stared. “Then why are we standing about?” the Elven Hunter snapped. “Why aren’t we doing just that?”
Edinja cocked her head. “I said almost. We aren’t doing this. I am. Alone.”
It took Aphen only a moment to see what she meant. “Because you want to be the one who returns Arling and saves the Elves. You think that will elevate you to a position of power.”
“I know it will. It will make me the single most powerful person in the Four Lands. How can it not? I will have saved the Elven nation by bringing back the one person who can restore their precious Ellcrys. I will be in a position to form an alliance not between the Druids and the Federation, but between the Federation and the Elves. I will be forgiven everything. Even leaving Arishaig to its fate as I did will no longer matter. I will be appointed Prime Minister of the Federation for life after this.”
Aphen shook her head. “You won’t be able to do any of this. My grandfather will never allow it. He will see the truth of things!”
“Oh, Aphen, you are such a child! Your grandfather is no longer King. His brother assassinated him while he slept. Phaedon is now King of the Elves.”
Aphen stared, a cold dread flooding through her. “Ellich killed his brother? That would never happen! What have you done, Edinja?”
“What I needed to do. I’ve had a spy in your family circle for years. I have kept track of you—all of you—to learn what I could that might prove useful. My creature is clever and resourceful. Sometimes, it does favors for me. In this case, it eliminated someone who might stand in my way. Your grandfather was old. His life was almost over anyway. Now his son rules, and his worldview will be shaped by me because I will have access to him from the moment I return.”
“Your creature,” she repeated. “Who does it pretend to be? What disguise does it wear?”
Edinja laughed. “You don’t need to know that. If you knew, you might be tempted to tell someone. Better that I leave you guessing.”
“What does it matter?” Cymrian asked. “You intend to kill us and take Arling with you, don’t you?”
The sorceress shook her head. “You still don’t see. Yes, I intend to take Arling with me. I will return her to Arborlon and she will fulfill her destiny by doing what she has been given to do. But I don’t need to kill you for that to happen. I just need you to remain behind until she has had sufficient time to serve her purpose.” She shrugged. “Besides, if I kill you Arling will be much less likely to cooperate. And some cooperation will be necessary if she is to become the Ellcrys. Leaving you alive gives her hope for your future and hers.”
“We’ll follow you,” the Elven Hunter said. “We’ll expose you to everyone. We’ll tell them the truth.”
“And who will believe you? A disgraced member of the Home Guard? And an Elf girl who abandoned her people to become a member of the hated Druid order? What proof do you have to back up your claims? By the time you return, your uncle will be dead, too. There will be no one left to support your story about what you were doing here. Phaedon will never believe you. No one will.”
She yanked Arling to her feet by her hair. “You should be satisfied with knowing that what you intended to bring about will still happen. You might not be the one who conveys your sister to Arborlon, but that shouldn’t matter, should it? You’ve found the Bloodfire and allowed Arling to immerse the Ellcrys seed, to quicken it so that the Forbidding can be restored. That should be sufficient reward.”
Dragging Arling with her, she began backing her toward the passageway leading out. “You’ve had your explanation. Or as much of it as you’re entitled to. It’s time for me to go. Don’t try to follow. Delaying me might cost your people their chance at survival. And it might cause unintended harm to come to Arling. I know you, Aphen. You won’t let that happen. Nor will you do anything to prevent the Ellcrys from being renewed. The fact that I’m leaving you alive should be enough to satisfy you. The rest is unfortunate, but necessary.”
She was at the passageway entrance. “One last thing. You can’t follow me, even if you try. I’ve disabled your Sprint. It won’t fly. It will take you two days to walk out of here and reach even the smallest village.”
She paused, a satisfied look on her beautiful face. “Cinla will remain behind long enough to make certain you stay where you are until I am clear of the tunnels. She can find her way out much quicker and more efficiently than either of you, so you won’t be able to track her when she leaves. Don’t think to use magic against her, Aphen. She will sense what you are about and tear you to pieces before you can complete even the smallest conjuring.”
She gave the Elven girl a smile. “Have I forgotten anything?”
Arling’s eyes were fixed on Aphen, and the rage reflected there was unmistakable.
Then Edinja backed her all the way into the tunnel’s gloom, and they were gone.
In the silence that followed, Aphenglow and Cymrian stood frozen in place not six feet apart, staring into the luminous eyes of Cinla. The big moor cat had positioned herself directly between them and the passageway Edinja had disppeared down with Arling. There was no way forward.
“We can’t let her do this,” Aphen said to the Elven Hunter.
Cymrian did not respond. He was studying Cinla, his concentration so intense he didn’t seem to hear Aphen. He took two steps away from her, widening the distance between them. His hands dropped to his sides casually, hovering just above a pair of blades strapped to his thighs.
Then, abruptly, the moor cat disappeared.
They could do that, Aphen knew. Cinla could melt away like mist and be there all the same, yet not visible. Cinla was simply responding to the threat she sensed from Cymrian, choosing to remove herself as an obvious target. If he wished to come at her, he would have to do so blindly.
“I need you to do something,” he said to Aphen.
She shifted her gaze from the space the cat had occupied a moment earlier and back again to him. “What?”
“I need you to fake an attempt at escaping. A quick couple of steps should do it.”
“That’s a moor cat, Cymrian! And you can’t even see it!”
“If it comes for you in response, it will have to reveal itself. Moor cats can only vanish like that when they are still.”
She hissed at him, the sound born of rage and frustration. But he ignored her. “Can you do it?”
“It’s you who can’t do it!”
“Yes or no? We don’t have time to argue.”
She took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Summon your magic. Do what you can to help me.”
She gave in to the obvious necessity of embracing this madness. This would never work, but she understood they needed to do something. Every second lost was precious, and she had no better plan.