Elven Lies (Court of Rebellion #3)

7. Chapter 7

7

T he second Rebecca and Maxwell descended onto the fourth stone step together, the creaking squeal of poorly oiled hinges behind them preceded the echoing clan and metallic clunk of the heavily reinforced door banging shut behind them before its locking mechanism re-engaged.

What little light the dimly lit corridor above had previously afforded disappeared, plunging them into complete darkness.

Snarling, Maxwell spun around and leaped up the stairs again. The thump of his fist against the door echoed down the stairwell, followed by the sliding whisper of the shifter’s hands roaming across the reinforced steel in front of him.

Rebecca already knew what he would find.

“Great.” Another growl filled the stairwell.

Then Rebecca sensed his return to her side on that fourth step, as if the stairwell were already well lit again, but she couldn’t see a damn thing.

“Shut and locked,” Maxwell grumbled.

Despite his agitation, the proximity of his voice and the heat of his body beside her sent a warm, tingling ripple across her face and down the side of her neck. She hoped he didn’t notice.

Then again, she’d found herself stuck inside a dark, narrow stairwell with a shifter. As far as she knew, Maxwell could see in the dark just as well as he could in broad daylight.

“Any other good news?” she asked, gazing into the blackness ahead of them—as thick and unyielding down there as it was all around them here at the top.

“Locked from the outside,” he added. “There isn’t even a handle on our side.”

Of course there wasn’t.

“Well, we already knew we’ve come too far to turn back,” Rebecca replied with a shrug. “Now we can cross this door off the list of viable escape routes.”

She sounded surprisingly calm for how badly she did not want to descend these stairs.

“I would have considered that a benefit,” Maxwell said, his voice strained with the effort of containing his frustration. “Maybe. But I’d say our lack of an alternate exit point is the bigger problem.”

Rebecca turned to look at him and found only a pair of glowing silver eyes aimed back at her, floating inches above her in the darkness. “Guess we’ll just have to figure it out as we go.”

Nothing they could do about it now. Trying to fight the inevitable was a waste of both time and energy they couldn’t afford to spend before they found Nyx, assuming the katari was even in Harkennr’s compound. Moving forward was literally their only option.

The temperature dropped rapidly after the next few steps, which she’d fully expected. The old, stained, dust-layered light bulbs flickering on along the walls after the next four or five steps, however, came as an unexpected surprise.

The light was thin and wan, the glass of the bulbs yellowed with age. The smudges and smears of unknown substances accumulated on the glass over time cast misshapen shadows across the stairwells’ concrete walls.

Still, it provided more than enough visibility as they descended, though at this point, visibility did little to lessen the tension and discomforted expectation without every step forward and endlessly down.

Soon, the concrete walls and stairs gave way to old laid stone, equally stained with age, dampness, and dropping temperatures the farther they descended.

Then Rebecca thought she saw the bottom landing. By the time she confirmed it, the stone walls now boasted thick, sporadic patches of moss and streaking masses of black mold stretching toward the ceiling.

With only three more steps to go, a soft but much stronger, brighter light spilled around the corner of the enclosed stairwell’s bottom landing, hinting at vastly improved visibility and even warmth.

Once they reached the bottom, Rebecca shared another hesitantly knowing glance with Maxwell before the sole of her boot moved across a slimy, slippery layer of something she didn’t care to investigate.

Then they rounded the corner together and froze.

The stairwell’s foreboding, dark, cloying dankness opened before them to reveal a vastly spacious room stretching across half the length of the prison compound, if not more. Plenty of light illuminated the space, most of it cast by a crystal chandelier overhead, as well as a cheerily roaring fireplace built into the stone of the right-hand wall halfway across the room.

The rest of that wall and all the others had been transformed into as close to a receiving room as one could ever hope to get in a prison basement. Huge, thickly woven tapestries in blood- reds, deep golds, and varying gray tones hung along every bit of wall space. A curtain of the same material hung at the far end, swept apart on either side and tied back like real curtains with gold ropes, their enormous tassels winking in the light.

But instead of a window, those drawn curtains revealed two wide stone steps leading to a raised section of stone floor and the corner of a large, lavish bed piled high with pillows. Like a private bedroom.

Rebecca took it all in at first glance but not much more, because the startling contrast between what she heard and felt at the base of the stairs and the sight of this sprawling room made her stomach clench in renewed apprehension that demanded her full focus.

It was almost freezing where she and Maxwell stood, the air still dank and filmy amidst the heavy silence.

So what were they looking at now? A mirage? Some kind of illusion meant to lure them into complacency before it gave way to the horrors of reality they couldn’t yet detect?

Maxwell looked just as visibly confused by the juxtaposition, his silver eyes narrowing as he scanned the unlikely setting in front of them.

“No going back now,” she reminded him, though the second time provided no more reassurance than the first.

He snorted. “Unfortunately.”

Whatever this new deceit, they still had to face it to rescue Nyx. They had nowhere else to go.

They had to keep moving.

Setting her jaw, Rebecca ignored the warning signals blazing through her awareness—everything that helped her prioritize self-preservation when a discovery seemed far too good to be true and far too welcoming—and stepped forward onto the cleaner, brighter stone floor at the edge of warm light spilling toward the stairwell.

As she pushed herself forward, she met an unexpected physical resistance in the air. It didn’t push her back toward the stairs but made it more difficult than it should have been to enter the basement.

Almost as if she were stepping through a firm but not impenetrable film between spaces.

A ripple of pressure and enclosing tightness surged through her body in the fleeting second of her next step, then she was through.

The odd sensation disappeared, and Rebecca stopped again to consider one more surprise in the aftermath.

As soon as she’d passed through that invisible film of resistance, the temperature spiked, surrounding her with a balmy warmth. With that warmth came a flare of renewed sounds to replace the consuming silence.

First, the tinny tones of classical music played through a gramophone, the intricate chords of instrumental melody and harmony interspersed with the occasional crackle from the machine. Beneath the music, the natural crackle and pop of burning logs filled the silent spaces. Somewhere else in the room, the steady, heavy thunk of a clock’s ticking mechanism marked the time.

Now, the sounds and physical sensations of this opulently outfitted receiving room matched what Rebecca and Maxwell had seen at the bottom of the stairs.

So not a mirage, then. Right?

She would have loved to believe that was the end of the surprises, but with Harkennr, there was always more.

Beside her, Maxwell snorted and shook his head. “Some trick.”

She would have laughed if this whole thing hadn’t felt so wrong. “Most likely not the only one. Just stay sharp.”

Her unsolicited advice felt unnecessary, but she couldn’t think of anything better to say.

The luxurious receiving room showcased a grotesque contrast to the horrors and torture taking place throughout the prison above. Everything down here screamed opulence, wealth, and comfort.

The antique furnishings. The delicate embellishments on every mounted sconce providing added light. The sideboard filled with priceless dinnerware and cutlery. The overly stuffed armchairs in front of the roaring hearth. The twelve-foot grandfather clock along the right-hand wall, now confirmed as the source of the deep, hollow ticking beneath the classical music.

They’d entered the epitome of refinery and elegance. If this were 1920.

Apparently, Harkennr felt that was the height of taste and luxury in this world.

Most off-putting of all, however, was the sight of the long dining table stretching across the center of the room, its wooden surface polished to a fine sheen and glistening around the intricately embroidered golden table runner down the center.

On that runner, a mouth-watering display of dishes took up all available space. Platters of grilled fish, baked chicken steaming in fragrant herbal sauces, steamed vegetables, half a roasted pig, wheels of decadent cheese, jams and fruit spreads, fresh berries and exotic produce Rebecca still hadn’t yet seen on Earth.

Here was a feast that could have satisfied a dozen guests. Sure enough, a dozen places had been dutifully set around the table, as if their host also expected and had prepared for a dinner party.

The closer Rebecca and Maxwell approached, the more tantalizing the odor of every sweet and savory dish on display. When her mouth watered involuntarily, a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She was more likely to be sick, even on an empty stomach, than to take part in this feast.

Maxwell’s deepening scowl and flaring nostrils hinted at a similar response.

All around them were signs of habitation, proving this basement occupied and in current use. But so far, Rebecca and Maxwell seemed to be alone—no sign of staff or even Harkennr himself.

Even worse, there was no sign of Nyx.

Which made this setup that much more suspicious.

Before they’d crossed halfway to the dining table, with all its set places and matching chairs intricately carved and equally polished, a soft rumble rose from the other end of the room. Like stone churning against stone and something heavy and cumbersome rotating within the depths of the prison.

At first, Rebecca suspected it came from behind those drawn curtains into the private bedroom, but there was no sign of movement there, either.

“Ah, you’ve made it.”

The low, silky-smooth voice piercing the otherwise calming ambiance made Rebecca’s blood run cold.

“And right on time, too.”

She spun around to face the voice, and there he was, in the flesh. Kordus Harkennr, smiling amicably at his guests as he pointed toward the enormous grandfather clock beside him and lifted a manicured eyebrow.

A deep, reverberating gong emanated from the antique timepiece to fill the entire room. Though the bells sounded ten times in casual succession, it felt more like time stood still until the very last finally tolled.

Neither Rebecca nor Maxwell moved after turning to face their host, eyeing Harkennr while simultaneously preparing for any other surprises yet to emerge at any moment.

As the tenth and final chime echoed through the room and finally faded, Harkennr closed his eyes, as if the sound had transported him to another time and place. Likely one he’d attempted to recreate down here.

A delicate hum of approval escaped him before he opened his eyes again and clasped his hands together. He no longer grinned, but even a closed-lipped smile that would have looked friendly and hospitable on anyone else made Rebecca’s caution flare, her senses vibrating on high alert.

Everything about this seemed too calm, too civil, too easy . Especially when she’d planned to never even hear the name Harkennr again after she’d taken her leave of him so many decades ago. Then he’d popped right back up in front of her with that damn welcome package sent to Shade’s new Roth-Da’al.

Harkennr’s bright green eyes flashed with their own brighter light when he centered them on his guests again, amusement rippling across his features. “I do so adore that sound. An entirely different song all its own. Thank you for humoring me. And here we are.”

He spread his arms wide as if to welcome them again, looking no less dangerous in his tailored dinner jacket and tails of the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries’ outrageously formal style. The single out-of-place detail was the pair of pristine white hand gloves he plucked from each finger, one at a time, as he studied his new arrivals. “I must say, this is exactly what I’d hoped for. An informal meeting with Shade’s new Roth-Da’al. Please. Join me, and we’ll get started.”

Harkennr gestured toward the dining table with one hand while tucking his gloves away in the pocket of his dinner jacket with the other. He wasted no time in waiting for his guests but instead headed straight for the chair at the head of the table, smiling calmly and watchful the whole way.

Rebecca felt Maxwell’s intention to open his mouth and did not want him saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Even if he’d been to a 1920s-era themed dinner party, for whatever oddly coincidental reason, he’d never spoken with Kordus Harkennr. Not like this.

So she stepped forward before Maxwell said a word and took the lead herself. “Thank you. Before we get started, though, we need to see the katari.”

Harkennr didn’t stop walking, but he did look up at her again as he approached his chair with a nod. “Of course. I can assure you she is quite safe and entirely unharmed.”

His chair whispered heavily across the ornate rug beneath the table as he pulled it out for himself.

“You can understand our difficulty in taking you at your word on that,” Maxwell added as he stepped up beside Rebecca. His words were calm and confident, carrying their usual formality that didn’t seem nearly as out of place here as it did at Shade headquarters. Even when a barely audible growl punctuated the end of his statement.

Harkennr’s brilliant green eyes widened with another pulse of their own light as he regarded the shifter. Then he nodded again and settled daintily into his chair. “I understand your suspicions, shifter. And I do intend to put them to rest before we’ve finished here.”

His gaze then swung cheerily toward Rebecca’s face again, as if gauging her reaction and level of approval.

But he didn’t say anything about her suspicions, and she believed that was the silent message in his gaze.

Harkennr didn’t need to express his understanding to her . They’d already covered that ground together, a long time ago.

“Still,” Rebecca continued, treading carefully while still compelled to assert her position as obviously and simply as possible before they did anything else. “We also came for her. And the katari’s well-being is just as much of a priority.”

She felt Maxwell searching the side of her face again, this time in confusion. His frown had its own specific feel brushing it across her skin—like a rough patch of sandpaper on her cheek.

Of course he didn’t understand why Rebecca would put on airs here with Nyx’s life on the line, but she couldn’t look at him, and she didn’t have time to explain.

What mattered was that she understood Harkennr’s priorities as well as her own, and he was a stickler for decorum and etiquette.

Two things particularly difficult to come by when someone else’s safety was at stake. That was all part of the fun for this sadistic warlock sitting before them at the head of his own table.

Harkennr delicately scooted himself forward under the table. “I’m happy to provide that information, including proof of life, though I must first inquire as to what you’re willing to give for it in return.”

He’d taken his eyes off her already to focus on the feast covering the table, deliberately downplaying the importance of her request.

Downplaying Nyx’s importance, just like Rebecca knew he would.

Maxwell growled beside her, all but seething at their host as before he took a lunging step toward the table—as if he thought he could intimidate someone like Harkennr the same way he successfully intimidated almost everyone else.

The rage pulsing off him in hot, agitating waves almost overwhelmed Rebecca and her common sense necessary to bring them through this meeting unscathed. The shifter’s roiling emotions were nearly contagious, but before he could act on them, she recovered her presence of mind and automatically reached out to grab his forearm.

Her grip was much gentler than it had been in the corridor up above, but it had the same effect.

Maxwell froze, breathing heavily through his nose and fighting back a snarl.

With her other hand, Rebecca reached into her jacket pocket. Her fingers closed around the second stone figurine, its cool weight steadying her before she withdrew the white, vaguely humanoid carving. Then she extended it toward Harkennr. “I have this, and I’m willing to give it in return.”

His bright, cruelly intelligent green eyes regarded her from across the length of the table, but Harkennr barely glanced at the figurine. Just one more piece on the game board—Rebecca’s single-use ticket to get from him what she wanted today. It also served as her willing acknowledgement that, at least for now, Harkennr had the upper hand, and Rebecca now agreed to play by his rules.

Rules he’d brought with him from Xahar’áhsh.

She really wished old-worlders would stop doing that.

After a long, tense moment of Harkennr scrutinizing Rebecca’s authenticity and Maxwell’s baffled stare nearly burning a hole through the side of her face, Harkennr nodded before returning his attention to the mouth-watering dishes laid out across the table. “That will suffice. Now come. Join me.”

The instant change in Maxwell’s emotions, from anger and distrust to confusion and indignation, radiated off him in response. Rebecca felt it all with equal intensity before she shot him another fleeting glance and hoping he caught its silent message: “Just roll with it.”

Then she nodded toward the table and headed that way.

He didn’t try to stop her within his stoic silence, but she did feel the pull of his physical presence following after her across the room before his slow, calculated footsteps echoed behind her. At least he’d chosen to let her take the lead.

Harkennr was already operating at an astronomical advantage, and Rebecca didn’t want to hand over any more of it on a silver platter by arguing with Maxwell over best next steps.

But without knowing what their host had in store for them now, there were also no guarantees that Maxwell’s cooperation would last long enough for them to survive this encounter. Or Rebecca’s.