Suzanne Johnson - Elysian Fields

Mace’s eyes narrowed. “I told Quince Randolph to stay away from you, but he is stubborn and ambitious.” His anger sent an uncomfortable electrical charge into the air. “I thought Vervain would talk him out of using you to drive a wedge into the Synod by involving the wizards in our affairs. Since she’s here with you, apparently you’ve corrupted her as well.”

He took a step toward me, a move echoed by both Jean and Jake. “Consider this a declaration of war between the wizards and elves.” His voice was low and menacing. “And you will not win.”

War? What was the Elf King smoking? “Look, Mace, I don’t know what you think has happened, but I haven’t done anything to interfere with the Synod. You kidnapped me, remember? All Rand did was get me out before you killed me.” He took another step toward me, causing both Jean and Jake to visibly tense, but I closed the rest of the distance between us myself. I had no tolerance for bullies, and that’s all Mace Banyan was—a bully who could make the air around him shimmer. Plus, I’d been drinking.

“No one is being held here against his will, you arrogant ass.” Unless Jean had other prisoners, but I didn’t want to go there. “Rand is here with me by choice, and after what you did to him, if anyone should be declaring war, it’s him.”

Mace sent an eyebrow northward. “Defending him, are you? Then where is he? Why are you dressed”—his eyes traveled to my chest and paused, his mouth quirking in a way that made me want to slap his lips off his face—“like a pirate trollop? And where is Vervain?”

My breath hitched, not at the pirate- trollop moniker, since that was regrettably accurate, but because he didn’t know about Vervain. How was that possible? I searched his face for some sign of duplicity, but saw only anger and that elven arrogance I’d come to detest. Normally, I’d have been absorbing emotions like crazy since I was in the Beyond and didn’t have the staff, but I couldn’t read elves.

Jean’s anger fed into mine, however, as he stood to my left, feet apart and arms folded across his broad chest as if he were commanding a ship. Jake leaned against the wall behind Mace, his posture casual but his eyes sharp.

Well, wasn’t this fun. “Jean, where is Rand? He needs to tell Mace what happened.”

With a curt nod and a wave of his hand, Jean dispatched soldier Jake to fetch my big, blond, elven albatross. I sure as hell hoped Rand knew how to defuse this situation. I was starting to think life on Grand Terre as Jean Lafitte’s pet wolf might have been preferable to this political circus, and that was without factoring in the Axeman.

We stood in a triangle of tense silence for a couple of minutes, until Rand finally stalked through the door ahead of Jake, his pretty face now only marred by a scowl. All that glowing and chanting must have helped him heal. He wore jeans and a shirt of soft golden-brown flannel I recognized as Jake’s.

Rand got in Mace’s face without a pause. “What the hell are you doing here, threatening war? Threatening my mate?”

God help me. To keep my mouth shut, I literally had to bite my lower lip so hard I tasted blood. If I had to play the mate role to back Mace away from warmongering, so be it. I forced myself forward to stand beside Rand and didn’t flinch when he took my hand. Mace had to be neutralized until I could talk to Elder Zrakovi and find out what the hell was going on. Assuming he knew.

Mace looked at our joined hands and laughed. “Nice try, but I will not formally recognize her as your mate until I’ve talked with Vervain.”

Rand looked at the floor and began chanting softly. When he looked back up at Mace, his skin had taken on a golden glow, and the hand I held grew uncomfortably hot. I was beginning to suspect the fire elves did more than rub two sticks together to kindle a flame.

Mace took a step backward, his eyes widening as the meaning of Rand’s display hit him. “Vervain is dead.” He didn’t ask it, simply said it in wonder. “As her eldest, you are Synod.” He bowed slightly, as if it pained him. “So be it.”

That was it? It was that simple? And did “eldest” mean Rand had siblings? Did I have elven in-laws?

“You must accompany me to Elf heim. The Synod must meet and hold the ceremony.” Mace turned mocking eyes to me. “Along with your mate, of course.”

“As leader of the Synod, you’ll recognize our union now, in front of these witnesses. We don’t need your recognition for it to be valid, but I won’t have you going back to Elf heim and pretending you know nothing of it.” Rand had stopped glowing but his voice, which with me was either flirtatious or petulant, deepened with a weight of power. Who was this guy?

The two men silently engaged in some kind of long, mental pissing match.

Mace blinked first. “If you insist.” He pulled a small folding knife from his pocket and flicked it open. In my peripheral vision, I saw Jean straighten.

Mace drew the blade across his left palm and dragged his right index finger through the blood that welled along the cut. That finger was not going anywhere near my mouth. As if sensing my thoughts, Rand clasped my hand more tightly.

Chanting the same language Rand had used earlier, Mace reached toward Rand, who lowered his head. Mace traced a figure in blood on Rand’s forehead. It looked like a cross between a peace symbol and a stick figure. Continuing to chant softly, Mace swept his finger through the blood again and turned to me. His voice was calm and even, his finger unhesitant as he traced something on my forehead I could only assume was the same figure as Rand’s. But when they met mine, his dark eyes held pure hatred.

He might have agreed to this, but he didn’t like it, and his expression told me he’d never accept it.

Damn it, I felt like a clueless pawn in the middle of some elven power war whose outcome would be monumental. And I didn’t even understand the rules.

“Wait for me outside and let me say good-bye to Dru,” Rand told Mace. “I’ll go back to Elf heim with you to meet with the Synod. She has business to attend to in New Orleans.”

“You can say your good-byes in front of me. Surely your mate isn’t shy.”

I recognized a dare when I heard one, and so did Rand. He turned his back to Mace and pulled me in front of him, out of Mace’s view. Fiddling with the button of his shirt, he reached inside and carefully slipped out the staff. Still cracked, unfortunately.

Pressing it into my hands between us, he pulled me to him and kissed me. I kissed him back through gritted teeth—not easy, but possible. Finally, he pulled his mouth up to my ear. “The wood is cracked, but the core is repaired. Stay out of Elfheim, no matter what.”

I hid the staff in the folds of my billowy skirt as he turned and stalked out the door, leaving Mace to direct his parting shot at Jean. “This is twice you have opposed us, Mr. Lafitte, first in Antoine’s last month, and now again. We will not forget.”

After Mace Banyan’s performance, convincing Jean to return to New Orleans had proven surprisingly easy. All it took was sharing Rand’s theory that the elves—maybe even Mace himself—were behind the necromancer who was controlling the Axeman. Mace had made it onto the pirate’s most- hated list, and Jean had both a long memory and unlimited time in which to wreak havoc.

Neither would fight fair, but I’d put my money on the pirate, if for no other reason than Mace could be killed and Jean couldn’t. Plus, once Jean’s true enemy in his mortal life, always his enemy. I can’t imagine his immortal self had changed that much. Jean could wait, plan, and get revenge at his leisure. While Jean tended to some mysterious, pressing business—I always thought the fewer details I knew about his dealings, the better—Jake walked me back to the transport. I had Jean’s keycard to the Eudora Welty Suite at the Hotel Monteleone in my pocket since I didn’t know what kind of shape my house was in.