11: Are You Willing?
The boardroom was silent except for the whisper of turning pages. Ria watched as her executives leafed through the copies of the proposal before them, her face a carefully controlled mask.
This one should be a shock for them: Linette typed it up off my notes only ten minutes before we started this meeting. Right after my little lunch with William Corwin.
They don't realize it yet, but if we can muster the cash to take advantage of it., this'll be the greatest coup I've accomplished yet.
The dark-haired man seated next to her was the first to speak. "This—this is a surprise, Ria. Are you sure we want to go through with this?"
She nodded. "Believe me, Jonathan, this one is worth it."
Jonathan Sterling, Ria's V.P. for Acquisitions, gazed down at the proposal in his hands, a feint frown-line between his eyebrows. "It's just—well, Ria, if we pursue this, we'll be overcommitting on capital. Negative cash flow for at least a month, and some serious interest charges from our creditors. If this doesn't pay off, and pay off big, we'll lose a lot. I just think it's too risky."
Oh, Jonathan, you're the only one who's willing to be honest with me. The rest of them are too scared. But you're not telling me anything I don't know already. Ria Llewellyn shifted in her chair and tapped the papers stacked before her with a lacquered nail. "True. It's risky. I know that. What I need you to tell me is—can we commit the cash right now? Because if we're going to do it, it's absolutely critical that we purchase the Corwin stock before the end of the week."
Jonathan gave her a curious look. "You know something we don't," he said, a flat statement.
From the far end of the table, she heard a low mutter, sotto voce. "Oh great, here we go again, another week of working till midnight."
Ria spoke quietly. "Yes, I do know something you don't. And, you're right, Harkness, it probably is going to mean another week of working late." She raised her voice slightly. "I especially appreciate all of you staying late last night to finish that purchase proposal. Believe me, there'll be a solid bonus for that. And another, when—not 'if,' gentlemen, when—we pull this one off."
Ria continued, very aware that every eye in the room was upon her. "The reason we need to invest in Corwin Systems right now is because they're about to be purchased by National Technology, as part of National's bid to take over the West Coast market share. When that happens, Corwin's stock will double, possibly triple. We, and our represented clients, stand to make a very, very healthy profit. That is, of course, highly confidential information, gentlemen." She leaned back in her chair, waiting for their reactions.
Her executives—
My little worker bees—
—just stared at her, blinking.
Jonathan was the first to recover. "Ria, how do you know that?"
She smiled. "The usual sources, Jonathan."
"That's amazing," Harkness, Director of Accounting, said in a barely audible voice, "if it's true."
"Of course it's true," she said coolly. "My sources are impeccable, and they're never wrong. As you should know by now. And we stand to make a killing on it. Harkness, do you have some good, trustworthy people who can handle the accounting end of this? I'll also need several analysts to run projections for the next couple days. Mitchell, if you don't mind, I'm pulling you and Susan off the stock futures project and onto this. Jonathan, I want you to find them some good assistants from your office."
Ten minutes later, Ria called the meeting to an end. The executives, already talking eagerly among themselves, began to trickle out of the boardroom.
They took it in stride. Good people, my execs. I think they're starting to expect the impossible from me. Which is fine . . .
She began gathering up her paperwork from the table. This should generate more than enough profit to cover that Faire land purchase. It looks like we will have to take a loss on that. The price was just too high—I still can't believe it, over ten million for seven acres that weren't even good commercial property. But Father insisted that we purchase it; just so we can bulldoze it, 400-year-old oak grove and all.
Father will be pleased—they should begin construction on the site in another few weeks. She straightened, as a thought occurred to her. If we use that purchase as a tax loss, I won't even have to take it out of his investment accounts. He'd fight me over that, just to have a fight going, and I don't have the time to waste.
She slipped her neat stack of notes on the meeting into her leather portfolio. He should be quite happy, in any case. Everything is going so well. Especially with the company. I wonder if he envisioned this, all those years back, when he suggested that I consider business school?
She glanced around the silent boardroom—her boardroom—and smiled cynically. He probably knew exactly what would happen, that sneaky old bastard. I imagine he just wanted someone to manage his investments for him, so he wouldn't have to bother. I knew he was well off, but that was something of a surprise. Quite a considerable fortune—
And every penny of it gained by business practices even I would consider questionable. I wonder if that sticks in his craw, knowing I've made more money than he ever did, and I never even had to kill anyone to do it? Just by using my wits, and a little sorcery here and there to . . . what were the lyrics to that song last night? "Throw the odds in my favor . . ."
She could see the face of the young Bard without even closing her eyes, clear and precise as a photograph. Lips pursed over the mouthpiece of his flute, soft, dreaming eyes half-closed in concentration, stage lights sharply defining the delicate arch of his cheekbones—
Throwing the odds in my favor. Oh, if I had that Bard beside me, I'd do more than just that. I don't know why, just can't stop thinking about him.
She recalled the touch of his hand on hers, the dark depths of his eyes, and shivered with self-indulgent pleasure.
Father can't go beyond seeing the Bard as a pawn, someone he could use and toss away—but there's so much more there, so much potential. And there's something about him that just—I don't know what it is, but it draws me to him. Power calling to Power, perhaps. Perhaps . . .
Her thoughts drifted off for a moment, and she called them to heel sharply.
Besides, if all the legends are true, and I could convince him to join me—with my magics as a half-Blood sorceress, and his Creation magics, working together in tandem, there's nothing we couldn't do. No one could stop us. Not even Father.
She analyzed her memories, paying close attention to the way he had looked at her in that shabby club, and the way he had responded to her this morning when she had tried to pinpoint his location. He had been so immediately . . . overwhelmed.
He finds me attractive. That's no great surprise. But does he feel the same way I do? Does he realize the potential, the power that every touch of our hands creates? Most of the men I've known are so . . . callow. Especially the humans. I have to agree with Father; I can't see them as anything more than tools. But the Bard—he has such latent power. Even just thinking about him—
She put her hand against her flushed cheek, trying to calm her thoughts.
I can't stop thinking about him. I have to find him somehow. He was thinking of me, earlier. I would have been able to go to him, but something interfered, I don't know what. But he'll think of me again, I know he will. And then—then I'll be able to find him—
Ria replaced the rest of her papers in her leather briefcase, then sensed a whisper against the sigh of the air-conditioning as the door of the boardroom opened, and the presence of someone standing behind her. Jonathan. I wonder what he wants?
She turned, giving her veep a warm smile. "Well, Jonathan. You look like you have a question for me."
He glanced around the boardroom, waiting until the last briefcase-toting exec had left. His voice was very quiet. "Ria, do you know what you're doing?"
She shrugged. "Of course."
Jonathan's voice was even lower when he spoke. "Ria, you know what I mean."
"No, I don't know what you mean," she said impatiently, closing and locking her briefcase.
He rested his hand on hers, not letting her walk away. "Insider trading, Ria. That's what I'm talking about. I know you had lunch with William Corwin this afternoon." She shook her head. "No, Jonathan. It's not what you're thinking. There were five other people at the table besides William and I. We never even talked about his company." But he thought about it, quite a bit. Poor William, that decision to sell was on his mind all the way through the lunch meeting. I couldn't help but overhear it, feel how it weighed on him so heavily, knowing that there'll be layoffs after the sale. Overhear it, hell—he was broadcasting so loud, it was almost deafening. I do feel for him, so concerned about his employees, so conscientious. An admirable businessman, William Corwin.
"Five witnesses?" Jonathan repeated carefully, amazed; then he flashed her a smile. "Well, Ria, if you're involved in something illegal, I have to say that you do this kind of thing very well. And I'm glad I'm working for you, no matter how you find your information."
She patted his hand. "You're the best person I have, Jonathan. But I can't reveal my secrets, not even to you."
"Oh, why not?" He grinned. "If I knew your tricks, then I could start up my own company from a ten-thousand-dollar investment, and have corporate assets of fifty-five mil in less than five years."
Ria was so startled, she only stared at him for a brief moment. Then she laughed. "Oh, Jonathan, how did you ever manage to find that out? There's no one still working here who was with me in the very beginning."
"I have my secrets, too," he said, smiling. "When I'm working for a sharp cookie like the lovely Ms. Ria Llewellyn, I have to keep on my toes. Or else you'll—"
His words were lost as Ria stiffened suddenly, overwhelmed by a roar of noiseless sound, a silent inner claxon as every magical warning went off simultaneously in her mind.
There's someone near me—someone with such raw power—not Father, it's a different signature—
Gods, he's in the building, moving towards me, closer every second!
"Excuse me, Jonathan," she said breathlessly, picking up her briefcase and hurrying towards the door. "I've got to get back upstairs right away."
Yes, get upstairs to my office. I've used it for sorcery before, the shielding should protect me from whoever this is—God, he's strong! Who in the hell can this be?
She moved past Jonathan, ignoring his startled stare, through the doorway and into the carpeted hallway, Ria stopped for a moment, scanning the building with her inner sight, trying to find the intruder.
He's very close—moving closer every moment—he's only a few feet away from me right now!
She turned, and saw him.
Eric ran blindly down the first corridor he saw.
I have to get out of here before he sees me. I can't let him do . . . that. . . to my mind again. I can't. And if he tried to kill me and Beth last night, God knows what he'll try if he sees me now—
There's a stairway sign at the end of this hallway. Maybe I can hide upstairs for a few minutes, wait until he leaves the lobby, then get out. Maybe—
The door at the end of the hallway opened, and a woman stepped out into the corridor, carrying a briefcase. A stunningly beautiful blonde, dressed impeccably in a black silk dress and heels. Eric thought he saw an expression of sudden fear twisting those features, but couldn't be certain.
Then he recognized her, and his breath caught. That's her. The woman from my dream—
She looked up and saw him, and her eyes widened with surprise. Eric stopped, right in the middle of the corridor, staring at the woman in disbelief.
:Eric? Is—is it really you?: The voice was gentle and low, barely a whisper in his thoughts.
Eric couldn't move; just looked at her, bewildered. How can this be? I—I only dreamed about her—how can she be real?
She smiled, and held out her hand to him. :Eric, you came here to find me, didn't you? You came here for me . . .:
Eric felt his heart skip a beat, seeing the transformation that smile created in what was already an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Without thinking about it, he moved closer toward her, toward that outstretched hand, the beckoning smile.
She touched his hand, and he felt something akin to an electric shock run through him. God—what's happening to me? I can't think straight—it's so hard to think at all—
:You frightened me, Eric. I thought I would have to defend myself from some unknown menace and it was only you.: The voice in his mind spoke lightly, teasingly. :Let's go upstairs, to my office.:
:Yes,: he answered silently, :that's . . . a good idea—:
He let her lead him back into the lobby, into the elevator. Upstairs, where their feet trod noiselessly on the thick velvety chocolate carpeting, she drew him towards a closed office door; past a male secretary working at his desk, past a young executive who was staring at both of them in astonishment, and into her office.
Inside, a single lit lamp cast shadows on the dark mahogany desk and bookshelves, the elegant leather-upholstered chair and couch. She held tightly on to his hand, not letting go for an instant, looking at him with such longing in her eyes. :I never dreamed—I never thought this would happen—oh, Eric—:
She moved closer—within inches of him—then kissed him. For a moment, Eric couldn't think, with the woman's silk-clad body molded against him as his arms closed around her in a tight embrace.
Then a coherent thought flickered briefly through his mind. No. That was only a dream. I don't know her, I've never seen her before, I don't know what I'm doing, here . . .
But something was speaking stronger than that last whisper of sanity. And then he couldn't think of anything at all except the woman who was in his arms, in his thoughts, everything fusing and fading into a silent song that only they could hear.
Music—two melodies, interweaving, very different but counterpoising perfectly, rising toward some unknown, impossible resolution—
She broke away from him suddenly. Eric reeled back several steps, thoroughly shaken by both the fierceness of the music and the passion of the kiss.
Wow. 220 volts, definitely. If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up, ever.
He blinked; tried to recapture his breath, his balance. Maybe—maybe that wasn't a dream. She recognizes me, knows me. What if that daydream was real—what if she really was searching for me—
The blonde sat down slowly on the leather couch. "The music," she whispered, then looked up at him, her eyes mirroring shock and some indefinable emotion. "What are you doing to me? I don't understand—why can't I let go, why can't I think of anything but you?" Her eyes darkened dangerously. "Is this a game to you? Playing with my mind? Is that why you came here today, to amuse yourself by turning my world upside down?"
He shook his head and spread his hands. "I came here because of the protest rally. For the Faire site. That's all, I—I'm one of the Faire buskers. I've never—I don't even know your name." His voice faded to an incredulous whisper. "I thought you were only a dream . . ."
She was silent for a long moment. "You didn't come here to find me," she said at last. "You're here because I'm the President of Llewellyn Corporation. Not because of . . . me." Her voice tightened, and her face became an expressionless mask. "You don't have any understanding of this at all, do you? Of the games within games, the chess pieces moving across the board." Now she looked at him sharply. "Or do you? Did you think you could use me?"
Eric blinked again, his mouth dry. What's she talking about? A chess game Who—or what—does she think I am?
Well, you're here, Eric, in her office. The office of the President of Llewellyn Investment Corporation. Here's your chance to make a stand, try to do something meaningful for a change, Fight for the Fairesite, and Kory . . .
He cleared his throat awkwardly. "No, I didn't think—I mean, I don't want to use you, I didn't know that . . . this . . .would happen." He felt his face warming. Oh, terrific, now I'm blushing, too. I really wish I could keep from doing that. He shoved his hands down into his pockets, feeling awkward and very much out of place. "I just wanted—"
Come on, Banyon—don't let her bullshit you into talking mundanities. Hit her with the real reason why the Site has to be saved.
"Look," he said, taking his hands out of his pockets. "I know why you bought the land. You're planning to destroy the magic nexus. And that'll kill the L.A. elves. You can't do it," He crossed his arms, gazing at her defiantly.
"So you came here to plead for your elves?" She laughed, her voice brittle. "How quaint."
Eric flushed. She's only laughing at me now. She thinks I'm a fool.
The blonde woman moved to her feet instantly. She reached out, taking his hand. He let her. "No, Eric, I don't think of you as a fool. Untrained, unknowing, ignorant of your potential, perhaps, but never a fool."
She drew him toward the couch, still holding his hand. "Sit down, Eric, and I'll tell you the truth about all of this."
Hesitantly, he sat down next to her. The truth? Her truth, or the real one? I don't know if I should trust her or not—
—but how can I not trust her, when she looks at me with those eyes—blue eyes, calling to me—
He brought himself back to reality with a jolt, realizing that he had been drifting away. I can't make any sense out of this—everything is so confusing right now—God, it's hard to think straight—
The blonde woman smiled across at him, her fingers lightly touching his. "I—I don't know where to begin. Who have you been talking to, Eric? Korendil?"
He nodded dumbly.
The woman sighed. "Poor Korendil. He means well, but he really doesn't understand what's going on. But you can, I think." She traced a pattern on the back of his hand with one fingertip. "Eric, I'll tell you my secret. You're the only on who knows this, other than those of the Old Blood. I'm half-elven. My father is of the High Court, a warrior-mage. My mother was a human with magic potential, like yourself. That's why, when I first saw you in the nightclub, I knew we had to be together. I'm sure you could feel it, too. Power calling to Power—"
The woman at the Dive—the one I couldn't remember—it's her . . .
He closed his eyes for a moment, and frowned, trying to bring the memory back. Standing on the stage, and—and then—
"Listen to me, Eric. The elves, they're not like us. You can grow into your power, your potential. You can redefine your focus. They can't change."
The woman, standing across the room, holding out her hand to me—
Her voice took on an insistence, a weight, that made her words sound like they had to be true. "Through the years, they've become more and more isolated, trapped within their groves. The humans have taken their territory, Eric, and molded it into a different world, one in which the elves cannot exist."
And everything—everything was so strange, so unreal—like I could reach out and touch reality, brush it aside like a curtain—
"And the nexus—well, because of the prevalence of Cold Iron in the humans' cities, and the way that the elves are only tapping into the nexus now through Dreaming, it's become—polluted. It is going to die, Eric; die—or go bad. If it dies, there'll be no magic left here at all, not for you to draw upon when you play your music, not for any of us, If it goes bad—" She shivered. "Nothing, only desolation and despair. So, my father and I devised a plan—to direct the magic through a new nexus."
"A new nexus?" he asked. If the magic dies, I'll never feel this way again, like I do now, or I did, that night in the grove—as if the world is wide open before me, all the chords and harmonies mine to change, to control—I'll never feel like that again—
But Kory said that his enemies were going to destroy the nexus. He never talked about anything like moving it.
"Korendil doesn't know anything," she said, as if hearing his thoughts. "He's been asleep for a long time, Eric. He doesn't know what's going on at all. We have to create a new nexus, or the magic will die or be lost to us forever. We have to, or watch everything worth having become corrupted."
"But if you do that—the elves will still die, won't they?" he protested, weakly.
Faint scorn colored her voice. "Think about them, Eric. You've seen them, last night, in that nightclub. They're already dead. Lost in Dreaming. Nothing can save them now. What you're seeing is only the last moment before they fade away completely. Even the High Court elves, the ones who do not need the nexus to live, they're all lost to Dreaming as well. The only reason Korendil isn't in Dreaming is because he's been spellbound for so long. They can't be saved, Eric; they're terminal patients in the last days of their illnesses. Korendil won't—can't—admit that. But I think it would be kinder to them to pull the plug, to let them go. Korendil is the only one worth saving, and Korendil is High Court. He doesn't need the nexus. When he sees it's hopeless, he can save himself."
Unbidden, the images of the green-eyed people—elves—in the club last night drifted into his mind. Lovely, yes, but . . . as mindless as any brain-dead stoners. Maybe she was right—
"This—" he said faintly, "This sounds like you're doing the right thing, but you also tried to kill Kory last night. What you're trying to do doesn't justify something like that—"
Her face hardened, her eyes turning to blue ice. "You're right, it doesn't. That was my father. He hates Korendil and Terenil, for reasons that I don't really understand. And I don't agree with him, or his methods." Her eyes softened again; the vivid blue of the sky at twilight, on a perfect spring night. "But—but if you would help me, Eric, we could accomplish this without my father's interference. No more harm to anyone, just what we have to do—change the nexus."
"Change the nexus—" he whispered, caught in her eyes.
"And if you help me now, there's so much more that I can do for you, Eric. You're a brilliant musician, you should be playing on better stages than some rundown dive in the Studio City. I have friends in many places—you could have the kind of music career most people only dream of, the recognition and money you deserve. It would be so easy—"
Her blue eyes, intense and alive, held his gaze.
:So easy, Eric—all you need do is reach out your hand and take what you want.:
He couldn't seem to look away from those eyes. I—I don't know what to think. She's . . . so beautiful—and those eyes, looking right into me . . . All I want to do is say yes, say I'll never leave her again—
But—Kory and Beth—I can't abandon them. I promised I would help them. I can't go back on that, either.
I don't know what to do—what to think—
She squeezed his hand gently. "Don't make a decision now. Just think about it, okay?" She stood up and moved to the large desk, quickly writing down an address on a notepad. "This is my home address." She handed it to him; for a moment, her expression was suddenly very vulnerable. "I'll—I'll be there; tonight, if you want to come over and talk."
Eric took the piece of paper, and slipped it into his jeans pocket. He smiled shyly. "You know, I—I don't even know your name," he said.
"Ria." She moved closer to him. "Ria Llewellyn."
"I'll, uh, I'll see you later, Ria," Eric said awkwardly, distinctly uncomfortable under the intense gaze of her eyes.
"I'm certain you will," she said, walking with him to the office door.
Ria shut the door, then leaned against the wood, closing her eyes and smiling. She had to exercise every bit of control to keep from laughing aloud. Oh, what incredible luck! I can't believe it, I thought I'd never see him again, and he walked right into my office! It's almost enough to make me believe in Fate—
Young, untrained, and very malleable. Not to mention a few other perks, like those wonderful dark, dark eyes. He's really quite handsome. And, ah, definitely interesting enough to hold my attention for a long time . . .
She tingled all over; with excitement, arousal—and Power. He'll come tonight, I know he will. And when he arrives at the door . . . let's see. I'll greet him myself, doubtlessly give him a warm little hello kiss, which he'll return with interest, and—and then—oh, what the hell, we probably won't even make it all the way to the bedroom. Probably shouldn't even try. I'll introduce him to the Jacuzzi and the waterbed afterwards . . .
Then a chill of doubt froze her. But—but what if he changes his mind? What if he never shows up?
She shook her head, stubbornly. No, that's impossible. He has to be there tonight. No man has ever walked away from me, ever. He'll show up tonight, I know it. He will.
She smiled to herself and stretched luxuriously. He is so very delicious. I've never felt such . . . anticipation . . . before. I just can't stop thinking of him—
A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. "Come in," she said brusquely, and walked back to her desk and took her place behind it.
The door opened. Ria frowned as her father prowled into the plush office. He crossed to the mahogany cabinet without even glancing at her.
"We need to talk, Ria," Perenor said, removing a bottle of Scotch and a glass from the cabinet.
He always thinks he can just stroll in here and take charge! My own dear, sweet Father— "I just had a very important meeting, Father, and I really don't think this is a good—"
"An important meeting? With the young Bard, perhaps?" Perenor smiled, and raised the glass of Scotch to her in a toast. "You're definitely my daughter, Ria. You never let an opportunity pass by, and you're quick to take . . . advantage of a situation. I'm impressed."
Despite herself, Ria flushed, "It's none of your concern, Father." None of your damn business, either. I know what you'd do with Eric if you got your hands on him—and that's why I'll never let you near him.
"Oh, but it is my concern." He took a slow draught from his glass. "When my own daughter consorts with the enemy . . . By the way, Ria," he said, giving her a cursory glance, one tinged with the faintest hint of contempt, "your clothes are in quite a state of disarray. Perhaps you ought to rebutton your blouse. You mustn't allow your employees to see you as anything less than immaculate, true?"
Ria met his gaze squarely, not even glancing down at her attire. I know what you're doing, you old snake. Trying to unnerve me, take control, as always—
"And you might want to consider, ah, shielding your activities from those of us who are sensitive to such things," Perenor continued. "It's quite distressing to be interrupted in a business conversation by the realization that my daughter is seducing a Bard several floors above me."
Damn him, he's doing this deliberately! Trying to fluster me, to get me off-balance—I won't let him! Two can play at this, Father. "It's no worse than some of your own . . . amusements," Ria said silkily, allowing no hint of emotion to leak into her words. "I've never complained about your choice of companions, even when some of them are distinctly . . . distasteful. Especially the ones who aren't even human or elven—"
Perenor's hand tightened visibly on the whiskey glass.
No—you don't like being reminded of your own perversions, do you? But I think I know where this little game of yours is leading—and no, I won't let you get control of Eric. No matter what you say or do.
"That is not the question here," the elf-lord said coldly. "The fact is that you are playing a very dangerous game, with a young man—a young human man—of unknown potential. You're playing with fire—"
Ria shook her head. "I know exactly what I'm doing, Father. Believe me, I do." She smiled, noting the way his eyes had narrowed thoughtfully. "Unlike you, I don't believe in destroying my opponents. Not when there're more . . . satisfying ways of winning."
Her father was silent for a long moment, swirling the Scotch in his glass. Then he spoke, very quietly, "He's dangerous, Ria. So is Korendil. After I find Korendil, I will deal with this Bard of yours, I assure you of that."
Her back stiffened; her head came up. Like hell you will, Father!
"Don't touch him," she said in a voice like ice. "If you do—"
Perenor smiled.
She tightened her jaw at the sight of that poisonous smile. As though he just scored a major victory, that old bastard—
"Of course, my dear," he said smoothly. "I didn't realize you were so . . . concerned about this Bard of yours. I never thought you would become so attached to him so quickly."
"Attached? Hardly. It's just—he'll be very useful to me," she said, carefully choosing her words. "That much potential is far too valuable to be wasted, Father. I didn't make this company what it is by squandering profitable property on mere amusements."
She hid a smile as her own dart scored, and Perenor's back stiffened. "And he'll be safely under my control, no danger to you or anyone. I'll make sure of that."
Yes, he'll be mine, mine to control, and to use, possibly even against you, Father dear—
"How do you intend to control him?" Perenor asked idly, sipping from his drink, "I would think that controlling a Bard, someone of such unfathomable power, might even be beyond your capabilities, my dear."
She shrugged. "I lied to him."
"What did you tell him?" Perenor glanced at her over the rim of his whiskey glass.
"That we're moving the nexus. That the magic is fading, and if we don't do something, it'll die. Technically, that is true—though it won't happen for at least another thousand years. And when that does happen, it's likely that the magic will simply find another weak point in the veil between the worlds through which it can flow easily. Creating a new nexus. Or so you instructed me, Father dear."
Perenor smiled. "Not bad. But what if he learns the truth?"
"After tonight, nothing will matter to him but me."
Her father laughed, honey with gall. "You have a lot of confidence in your abilities, daughter."
"I think both of us do. And with good reason." A thought suddenly occurred to her. "What did you mean, Father, after you find Korendil? Don't you know where he is?"
Perenor cleared his throat uneasily, not meeting her eyes. "Actually, I don't. For some reason, I can't seem to locate him. It's more than possible that he didn't survive the night, of course. Very likely, in fact. He would have bled to death from those wounds in a few hours."
Oh my. Father dearest, have you, of all people, actually fumbled something? Certainly, Korendil is dead—unless he's alive, and somehow hiding himself from you. Oh, this is amusing. I never thought I'd see the day that you'd admit you were incapable of anything.
"Not that it matters," her father added, a little too hastily. "There really isn't anything Korendil can do against us. My only concern was that young Bard, though if you feel you have that situation well in hand—"
Ria smiled. "Believe me, I do." In more ways than one, Father.
Perenor drained the last of his Scotch, setting the glass on the cabinet. "Well. That sounds quite definite." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I may visit you, Ria, after tonight, just to see what you do with this young prodigy."
I'll bet you will. And I bet you'd like to get your hooks into him as well. Believe me, I intend to leave him much more . . . intact than he would be after some time in your tender hands. I have more in mind for this Bard than simply to use him once and cast him aside. My plans are much more . . . permanent.
She realized her father was scrutinizing her with a very speculative gaze. "What if he doesn't show up?" Perenor asked bluntly.
She froze for a moment, Would he—
No. No man had ever walked away from me.
"He will. I know he will. He doesn't have any choice in this."
No choice at all, she thought, realizing at that moment that this young man was drawing her as much as she was drawing him. Which she hardly dared admit to herself, much less to her father.
No, he has no choice. Not any more than I do. There's something pulling our lives together, binding us—Power calling to Power—
Whatever happens, he's mine. And no one, not even my father, is going to stand between us.
He has to come to me tonight. I know he will. He has to—