8. Chapter 8
8
W hen Rebecca finally reached the far head of the table where Harkennr sat, her pulse pounding in her head as she struggled to breathe evenly and keep from wiping her hot, instantly clammy hands on the legs of her jeans, she couldn’t help wondering what new hellish trap she was about to willingly enter. Her only choice was to play along, wait, and see.
She chose the second seat to Harkennr’s right and pulled it out for herself to sit. The first chair would have positioned herself as a confirmed ally, swearing allegiance to the head of the table, and Rebecca certainly wasn’t that.
One seat down, however, left space between them while also inferring both her hesitation to sign up for whatever the guy was selling and her willingness to let him try to change her mind. It said she was open to this current conversation for the time being, that she accepted his hospitality and understood that once this gathering was over, they would be back to square one. Neither allies nor enemies.
After this meeting, anything could happen.
The simple reminder of all this etiquette and the vastness of what could be inferred with something as simple as picking the right seat at the table made her stomach churn all over again. A flood of memories rushed through her—everything she’d been trained and groomed and forced to do and to endure at court in Agn’a Tha’ros.
When it came to tradition and decorum, the Bloodshadow Court didn’t mess around. If she’d had her way, Rebecca would have never needed to implement this knowledge again in her life. But Kordus Harkennr expected it of everyone, including her and especially within the new domain he’d built himself right here in Chicago.
The antique chair creaked beneath her as she settled her weight into it before leaning slightly forward toward her host. The second figurine of pale stone in her hand hardly made a sound when she placed it delicately at the edge of Harkennr’s place setting.
He didn’t reach for the token himself, nor did he offer it a single glance. But he had accepted it.
This payment bought her and Maxwell another temporary truce with their host when it came to discussing the magical he’d abducted from Shade headquarters, just like the first carving had bought them entrance, risk free, and Harkennr’s open hospitality.
If everything went well after this meeting, it would also buy them a safe exit from the prison. Just as long as they didn’t screw it up before reaching the end.
The tension thickened in the room as Maxwell also made his way toward the head of the table. When Rebecca felt him stop in his usual bodyguard position, three feet behind her and to the left, she forced back a grimace.
The shifter couldn’t have known what was also expected of him here, now that he’d joined her on this delicate rescue mission. Rebecca should have thought of it herself before they’d arrived, but knowing the rules of old-world etiquette and decorum like the back of her own hand made preparing for what someone else didn’t know harder than she would have liked.
Hopefully, Harkennr would forgive that minor oversight. If he’d set up shop here on Earth, he had to know by now that not every Earthside magical had a Xaharí upbringing or even access to the ways of the old world.
But the longer she waited for someone to do something, the less likely Harkennr’s forgiveness seemed.
Finally, the warlock looked up at Maxwell and gestured toward the empty chair on Rebecca’s right. “Please. You accompanied your Roth-Da’al here. My invitation extends to you as well.”
Rebecca expected another growl from her Head of Security and was pleasantly surprised—and admittedly relieved—when he even held that in check.
“Thank you,” Maxwell said, his voice still calm and composed with nothing but forced politeness. But a mixture of anger, indignation, and an urgency to get Nyx back and get the hell out of here still trembled beneath the surface. “With all due respect, I prefer to stand.”
“Do you, now?” Harkennr’s gaze swung lazily toward Rebecca next, filled with a volatile mixture of amusement and warning that made her stomach clench all over again.
Of course he’d manufactured this meeting to give the impression of Rebecca and Maxwell having any choice in the matter whatsoever, but it was all for show.
Without knowing it, Maxwell had tread dangerously close to blowing it all wide open.
“Hannigan,” Rebecca said flatly, holding Harkennr’s gaze while slightly turning her head over her shoulder toward the shifter. “Our host has invited you to join us. It would be dangerously impolite to refuse such hospitality.”
Blue Hells, she couldn’t have made that hidden message any more obvious.
The next few seconds of permeating silence almost convinced her Maxwell’s hatred of everything Harkennr stood for in this prison had already overpowered his common sense. But then the air shifted, the legs of the chair on her right whispered across the priceless rug beneath the dining table, and the chair groaned in protest beneath the shifter’s weight.
Only once he’d situated himself beneath the table did she turn to look at him.
“Thank you for joining us,” she said and inclined her head in the smallest nod manageable.
Maxwell scowled at her, his stony mask dissolved beneath blatant distaste, then broke away from her gaze to survey the dishes on the table and pretend he cared about what was on them. Clearly, he still didn’t appreciate being told what to do against his better judgment, especially by someone he didn’t consider his direct superior.
Sitting down at a meal to engage in peaceful conversation and negotiation with someone who kidnapped injured operatives just to get a meeting—and who abducted and tortured civilians for his own sick experiments—would be difficult enough for anyone to swallow.
Just for a little longer, Maxie, she thought, willing him to pick on the intention and continue to trust her. We’ll get out of here and make this right. Then you’ll never have to do it again.
When she turned back toward a Harkennr, the warlock studied them intently, his green eyes flickering back and forth between Shade’s Roth-Da’al and the silent, disapproving shifter she’d brought with her.
A smirk flickered at the corner of his lips before he clapped his hands and rubbed them together, scanning the array of dishes. “Now that we’re all here, where should we begin?”
“I’d appreciate a little more information on the katari first,” Rebecca replied cautiously. “That’s the most time-sensitive topic for us.”
“Understandable.” Nodding, Harkennr pointed at a large porcelain serving dish filled with pork, the skin still sizzling. A deep red-gold light flared around his finger before the same magic engulfed the platter and sent it sliding down the table runner toward him. Silver serving spoons clinked gently against fine-china trays, platters, and bowls as other dishes slid neatly aside to make room.
“Once again,” he continued, “I assure you the katari is perfectly fine. As we speak, she retains the same level of health as when I found her. Alive and well. She’s resting currently, but once our conversation has come to its natural conclusion, I will be more than happy to return her to your care. She can wait.”
Another growl Rebecca had both expected and hoped not to hear rose from Maxwell, though he remained still in his chair, sitting rigidly upright and somehow managing to still look like he’d made himself comfortable. “You already told us that. The Roth-Da’al requested additional details.”
“Which I have given,” Harkennr replied absently as he dished himself up a healthy portion of pork with a glinting silver serving spoon. “And as I’ve said, you’ll have the rest, as well as the katari, once we’re finished.”
“Without any guarantee of fulfilling that promise?” Maxwell asked.
The threat in his voice had finally seeped through, though his words and their delivery remained acceptably diplomatic. Despite his lack of practice in or training for situations like this, Rebecca had to give the shifter credit for keeping it together and finding an acceptable middle ground. He’d held his position while also deferring to Harkennr’s at the same time.
Or, at least, he’d tried. But Maxwell’s last question captured Harkennr’s attention in a completely different way.
With his meal half-served, the warlock paused and fixed his bright green eyes on Maxwell. “No. Not without guarantee. You have my word. If the Roth-Da’al finds that insufficient, then unfortunately, I would be forced to rescind my invitation so as not to waste any more of her valuable time. Or mine.”
The air crackled with tension and challenge and the unspoken threat of more heinous violence than Rebecca wanted to consider while Maxwell and Harkennr stared each other down.
Blue Hells, if she let this go on much longer, they’d be kicked out on their asses before they heard anything more about Nyx. Or worse, Harkennr would change his mind entirely, and then the chances were vastly higher that she and Maxwell would never leave at all.
Rebecca cleared her throat and offered Harkennr as gracious of a nod as she could muster. “The Roth-Da’al finds it more than sufficient.”
And Maxwell had better drop it, or the Roth-Da’al might not be doing anything soon.
A heavy sigh burst through Maxwell’s nose, but then he averted his gaze and dipped his head with a murmured, “Of course.”
It must have been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, especially for a rogue shifter who didn’t stand down from anything or take shit from anyone. When this was over, Rebecca would have to commend him for it and find an appropriate way to express her gratitude without focusing on how close he’d brought them to the edge of failure.
The consequences of which she refused to dwell on at the moment.
Once he was apparently satisfied with the shifter’s deference—and that he still held total control in his own domain—Harkennr’s warning seriousness flipped like a switch. He shot his guests a warm, hospitably endearing smile and summoned another platter toward him across the table to keep serving himself.
“I must ask you to forgive the rather crude tactics,” he continued cheerily. “They were, of course, a last resort. You understand. When my initial invitation seemed to have failed in bringing you here, I turned to employing…additional methods. Merely for the rare opportunity of speaking with you face-to-face. I simply couldn’t pass it up.”
Rebecca felt the warlock’s intention to look at her before he ever lifted his gaze in her direction. Not in the same way she’d been feeling it from Maxwell lately but as a response to already having learned the cadence to Harkennr’s words, plus all the minor gestures and inferences that came with them.
She plastered a smile onto her face and bit back the smart-ass retort she would have given in reply— if she’d been sitting here with anyone else. “Well, it certainly grabbed my attention.”
Harkennr chuckled. “I thought it might.”
Then he dove back into serving himself more heaping piles of the wastefully overlarge feast. “I was quite interested to receive news of your organization having undergone a change of leadership. And I instantly saw an opportunity to form new alliances. The balance of power does shift so quickly in this world, of which I’m sure you’re already well aware. It amazes me anyone truly learns how to keep up.”
As he babbled away in amicable small talk, Harkennr focused only on the platters in front of him and summoning new ones to pile additional servings onto his plate—as if this were the kind of social gathering he frequently hosted and his guests expected the surface babble before they got to the meat and bones of the thing.
Though he didn’t look at her again, Rebecca still struggled to maintain, if not a pleasant expression, then at least a neutral one.
Everything about this was so outrageously formal and ridiculously out of place. It made the hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms prickle with wary uncertainty, which went hand in hand with the constant vigilance of reading between every line of conversation and sometimes even every word.
The dangers of missing an important connotation or inference were very real, especially when Harkennr and Rebecca had known each other once, way back when.
There was no familiarity between them on her end, though. Her decision to leave him in Xahar’áhsh’s city of Ryngivát when she’d discovered the full extent of his ludicrous goals was as much for her own sanity and self-preservation as her decision to leave Agn’a Tha’ros and the Bloodshadow Court.
Yet here she was, over two hundred years later, a guest at Harkennr’s table and forced to endure all the same despicable facets of his surface decorum. It barely hid the monster beneath once it had already been seen.
The difference this time, though, was that where Harkennr was concerned, Rebecca now held her own position of power as Shade’s commander. The dynamic between them had changed, but the souring distaste curdling in her gut and the urge to leap from her chair and put as much distance between her and the warlock as possible were the same.
“On the other hand,” Harkennr continued, “innovation and change run rampant in this world. I assume it’s to keep pace with how quickly empires rise and fall here.
“You may be interested to know that once I left Xahar’áhsh and finally settled in this city to put down roots for myself, the discoveries and advancements I’ve made since have more than exceeded my expectations. Where I was once so frustrated by the stagnation in the old world I just couldn’t seem to shed, everything Earth has had to offer me so far is a breath of fresh air.”
Rebecca clenched a fist in her lap beneath the table, forcing herself not to react in any other visible way.
This topic of Harkennr’s past in “work on Xahar’áhsh” was a dangerous starting point. It was work in which Rebecca had assisted him for a time before she eventually learned the truth and had to leave.
Now, he alluded to it in riddles and vague references impossible for anyone else to fully grasp. Did he want her to ask more about his work , even when they both knew she’d already been intimately familiar with it in the old world?
Or was this just another part of his game?
What was he building toward? And what more would he say to hint at their shared past without outright mentioning it?
Rebecca honestly couldn’t predict how much more of this Maxwell could sit and listen to before he started asking questions. And if he did that, she had no doubt Harkennr would defer to her to provide the answers.
As far as Maxwell knew, they were all answers his Roth-Da’al didn’t and couldn’t possibly have.
They were all already on thin ice, sitting together around this table. A single wrong move could crack their unsteady foundation before the whole thing gave way and they plunged into the abyss. With no one else around to pull them back out.
“This concept of magitek,” Harkennr continued as he delicately cut a piece of herb-flecked white fish, slid it onto his fork, and held it in front of his mouth as he spoke, “magic and technology combined to create something entirely new and different… It’s rather ingenious. Something I do believe only Earthside magicals could have dreamed up, let alone produce with any level of viable success.
“Don’t misunderstand me. I was more than skeptical at first. I thought it an abomination against the very origins of magic and its purpose. But when I saw what it could do…” He chuckled, popped the forkful into his mouth, and chewed, raising his eyebrows at Rebecca as if he expected her to finish the sentence for him.
She refused to involve herself in this one-sided conversation the way he wanted, so she kept the tight smile plastered on her lips and waited for him to keep talking.
He always did, eventually.
Harkennr sighed, summoned a decanter of deep-purple wine and a crystal drinking glass, and gave himself a healthy pour before moving the conversation right along as comfortably and pleasantly as if all three of them were already thoroughly engaged in it.
“I have come to believe the restrictive and astoundingly outdated taboos that still govern the decisions and overall outlook of those running the show on Xahar’áhsh are nothing more than another attempt to exact control and dominance over those who have never and will never be given a say in the matter. If leaders and societies are outraged enough over a certain concept to outlaw the very discovery of it, let alone exploration and curiosity, I say that is exactly where the minds brilliant enough to understand why ought to center the entirety of their focus.
So if a law forbade something unequivocally, those with enough intelligence to recognize it also had a duty to break those laws, huh?
Rebecca felt sick all over again.
This exact ideology had drawn her to Harkennr in the first place, back when she’d just recently left the Bloodshadow Court. Back when she’d still been so na?ve and hungry for all the knowledge and experience that would inevitably change that.
Even now, she didn’t completely disagree with him. The principle behind it was sound, especially when dissected by someone like her, who’d been bred and trained and molded for one purpose, forbidden to question any of it or to even consider seeking more.
She might have even said she agreed with some of his broader points, in theory, but not like this .
Never like this.
Abducting powerless innocents and forcing them to act as unwilling subjects of his experiments—to perfect the process of stealing their inherent magic so it could be used for any number of other horrendous things? No. That took it much too far.
The instant Rebecca had seen where Harkennr’s curiosity had become obsession and where it would inevitably lead him, she’d left him and all his crackpot theories in Ryngivát behind less than twelve hours later.
Now, he’d kidnapped one of her operatives just to bring Rebecca back so he could show her how much he’d succeeded in her absence.
How wrong she’d been to leave him.
He wanted her to see that he’d done it all without her anyway.
The warlock droned on and on about his various projects, but Rebecca couldn’t bring herself to listen or engage. Knowing how to look like she was listening would have to be enough.
It was the only thing keeping her from lunging across the table, grabbing Kordus Harkennr by the throat, and demanding he turn Nyx over to them now before she ordered all of Shade back here with her to bring the bastard’s empire crumbling down around him where it belonged.
The next time he paused, Rebecca felt again the minutest change in his energy before she caught him subtly watching her again, though he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to when his gaze flickered toward the still-empty plate in front of her before he went right back to eating his own meal.
Dammit. She’d forgotten that part too.
She absently reached for the closest platter, grabbed a small portion of cheese, and set it gently on her plate. Then she cut it with her fork until her first and only bite was hardly a morsel. She couldn’t stomach anything else.
That seemed to satisfy Harkennr, though, because he returned to tucking into his food now that he’d taken a break from talking. He paused now and then to dab at his mouth with one of the gold-embroidered cloth napkins set out for just that purpose.
“What are you doing ?” Maxwell whispered under his breath.
Pretending to focus on her plate, Rebecca grabbed the closest dish and slid it in front of him. “One bite.”
“Actually, I believe I left my appetite back at headquarters.”
“Just do it,” she said, surprising herself with a little growl in her own voice, but it was the next best thing to snapping at him. That would only ruin the ambiance. Then she took a steadying breath and tried again. “I need you to trust me. This is how we get Nyx back. I promise.”
When she finally met his gaze, the shifter looked more confused than ever.
Of course he didn’t understand how breaking bread at their host’s table, beneath their host’s roof, and in their host’s company would act as a second barrier against deceit and betrayal—most importantly against violence.
Harkennr wanted them to share this meal with him, because even the smallest bite ensured both parties would hold to their previous arrangement of a truce, however temporary.
A truce that would end the second Rebecca, Maxwell, and Nyx stepped beyond the walls of this prison. But while they were here, it was enough to keep them safe from Harkennr, and vice versa.
Despite all the airs he put on, the warlock obviously didn’t trust her. She would have worried a lot more if he’d acted like he did.
Rebecca didn’t need to know why the laws of the old world worked the way they did, or how they maintained their power here when they weren’t even on Xahar’áhsh, but there was no point in questioning them. The result was the same.
Harkennr wanted to see that both Rebecca and her plus-one adhered to those old laws.
Or the shit would really hit the fan.