Mercedes Lackey - Elvenblood

They each managed to bring down some sort of plains deer, showing off, he lifted his into the air to set it down next to hers so that they could feast together.

Once the edge was off his hunger, he kept giving her sidelong glances as he ate. More than once he caught her doing the same. Every time he looked at her, he got a strange, fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach; like hitting a pocket of air turbulence, but more pleasurable. Every time she looked at him, he felt as if he'd called lightning to chase him.

She had eaten last night; she was quickly sated, and nudged the remains of her deer over to him when she was through. He accepted the gift with gratitude; he was starving, and no "fluttery feelings" were going to interfere with his hunger.

"So what exactly happened?" she asked, preening the blood from her claws delicately. "You said that last night Diric suddenly came over to your side."

Between bites he explained it all to her, right up until the moment that he'd left Diric with the maps. She listened carefully, nodding from time to time, and occasionally asking a question. Those questions showed that she knew more about these people than even Kalamadea, and that she'd personally observed quite a bit more about the important individuals among them in the time she'd been spying on them.

"Jamal is dangerous," she said flatly when he was done. "The problem is, he is also clever, intelligent, and very charismatic. If he is clever and charismatic enough, he could very well convince his people to attack these elves of yours. If he is even more clever, he will find someone or something to attack that will allow, him a victory and some impressive booty, then before anyone can react properly, he'll turn the Clan around and take them back down to the Homelands."

"Then what?" Keman asked, a little bewildered. "What would that gain him except for a few trinkets? Even if he looted all of Lord Tylar's estate, the gain would be next to nothing divided up among all these people."

"But if he didn't divide it?" she countered. "If he kept it all in one big pile? It would look very impressive. It would awaken hunger for more in not only this Clan, but every other Clan he showed it to."

"O-o-oh," Keman said then, seeing exactly what she was getting at. "Then, once everyone wants some of the loot, he makes himself the leader of all the Clans, and comes right back up here."

She nodded. "I don't know if these elves of yours could beat him; if they are clever, they probably could. But I do know that with that many people coming up here looking for loot, the Clans are going to run into your friends unless they can pull themselves into that mountain of theirs and shut all entrances for a year."

He considered that. "They might be able to. The rest of my Lair could certainly make it very unpleasant for Iron People trespassing near the mountain."

"But here is the other thing," she continued. "Even if Jamal suffers enough defeats that he decides to put the Clans in retreat, he'll still be their leader. Once he reaches the Homelands again, he'll start looking for something else to conquer—and sooner or later, he'll find my Folk."

Keman shivered. He remembered Kalamadea telling Shana, quite calmly, that the iron weapons the warriors carried could and would kill both dragons before they could shift. And magic or no magic, dragons in the sky were still vulnerable to powerful bows. "We have to stop him."

"You have to escape first," she pointed out, and paused for a moment. "I'll help you," she finished, as if with the words she had finally made up her mind.

"You will?" His head reeled with delight. "You'll come with me?"

"Don't tell anyone about me yet!" she amended hastily. "Please! I have to think about all this first—I have to decide how to tell my Folk that there are others—I—"

"I promise," he pledged, before she could go on. "You can stay secret as long as you like. As long—as long as I can see you every night," he added shyly.

"You would? You want to?" she stammered. "Of course! But—"

There was no more talk of plans or escaping for the rest of the night.

Lorryn was not entirely sure how Shana was going to react to his sister. For that matter, he was not certain how the young halfblood that was with her was going to react. There was certainly nothing in Rena's true appearance to make anyone think of her as a threat, but still—

Well, there was no hope for it. The sooner they got the confrontation over with, the better.

This section of the huge tent that Kala shared with her husband that had been assigned to him and his sister was a far cry from the little tent they'd been given on their arrival. He'd always been under the impression that a tent was a tent—that there wasn't a great deal you could do to make one luxurious, or even all that comfortable.

He knew now that he was wrong. If he hadn't known they were in a tent and not, say, a pleasure-pavilion, he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. Rugs softened the wooden floor of the wagon, lying six or seven deep; around the curve of the tent wall a finely woven mesh was fastened to ornamental wickerwork that came up to about his knee.

This was so that when the walls of the tent were raised to let in fresh air around the base of the tent, insects were kept out.

The walls themselves were hung with tapestries that extended down to the top of the wickerwork, hiding the rough felt of the tent walls and providing extra insulation against heat or cold. Beautifully made lanterns hung from the ceiling, burning what Kala said was scented butter; whatever it was, it gave a clear light and the scent in it perfumed the air with a faint but pleasant musk. The ubiquitous cushions were piled everywhere; their bed-pads were soft and stuffed with dried grasses and herbs, covered with finely woven blankets and furs he could not identify. The tent itself was divided by felt partitions, also covered with tapestries; the walls moved slowly in the breeze blowing through the mesh on the exterior wall.

Kala had provided Rena with garments she said had belonged to one of her daughters—a daughter who'd had a distressing tendency to outgrow clothing before it could be finished. Rena had changed into it gratefully; the clothing she'd brought with her was hardly suited to the summer heat of the plains. Lorryn thought she looked charming in it—and as unlike a typical elven maiden as possible. It only remained to see if the other two thought the same.

Kala ushered the two halfbloods in, leaving with a nod. Lorryn waved at the cushions and took one himself.

"Lorryn, this is Mero, Valyn's half cousin," Shana said by way of introduction. "I expect you know about him."

"Some." Lorryn tilted his head to the side, and studied the thin, dark young man with the startlingly bright emerald eyes, even as the young man studied him. "They're saying now in the Councils that Valyn himself was a halfblood; that he wouldn't have revolted against his own kind if he'd been truly of elven blood."

Mero snorted. "Oh, as if having Dyran for a father wasn't enough to make anyone with half a conscience and any amount of compassion revolt!"

"Both of those qualities are in short supply on the Council," Lorryn reminded him. "Well—I told Shana very little about the two of us, so now that I have both of you here, I should give you the tale in greater detail."

He did so, omitting nothing about their escape except the fact that Rena was not a halfblood. It was a deliberate omission; he wanted all this fresh in their minds when he did bring Rena in. Logically, since Mero was cousin to a fullblooded elven er-Lord who had risked and lost all to save him, they shouldn't be prejudiced against her.

On the other hand, logic had very little to do with prejudice.

When he finished, Shana let out the breath she'd been holding. "It sounds like quite an escape," she told him. "A lot more exciting than my personal escape after the auction, if it conies to that."