Jackal Among Snakes

Elenore saw nothing at all, as she ever did.

Yet she could hear them. Multiple strangers, emerging from one of the secret passages she had installed to facilitate her agent’s activities. It felt like her sanctuary had been violated—not the greenhouse, but her existence as the Bat. Though she always felt disconcerted by Argrave’s unpredictable activities, she was confident it would be a long, long time before she ever spoke to him face-to-face, if at all.

Elenore did not know why he had come here. Perhaps Induen had told him something. All of her servants would be away for a long while. She might call for help, yet none would hear her most likely—even if they did, it would only seal her fate. But then… if Argrave intended to kill her, that would already be done.

Still, she knew she could not wait passively.

“My servants will be by soon,” she lied at once. “If you wish to speak, you might take me to a more private location.”

“That seems—” Argrave began, and Elenore thought he was agreeing. She heard something—a scrape of leather, what she presumed to be a boot tapped against a boot, and Argrave grew quiet. “No, let’s stay here. I’ll take my chances,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

Someone here knows I lie, and they told him. A traitor? Elenore thought of all near her, listening to the way they breathed, walked, for any hint it might be someone close to her. If it is a traitor, it is no wonder this is so well-timed.

Someone moved a little closer, and Elenore resisted the urge to tense. Argrave continued, “Well, I think introductions are in order. I’m here with Galamon. He’s a snow elf. There’s Durran—he’s a tribal from the south, the Burnt Desert. And then there’s Anneliese, my fiancée. Maybe you knew all this, but…”

What he said matched with what Elenore knew, but she couldn’t place why he was saying this. Maybe he was lying to disguise who was truly here… but his tone didn’t betray dishonesty. But then, all her reports placed him as someone who was skilled at manipulation. She couldn’t say for sure.

All of the people that Argrave introduced greeted her—a deep, guttural voice from a man, a calm and smooth woman’s voice, and a somewhat deep voice from another man. She didn’t recognize any of them.

“May I sit?” Argrave asked.

Elenore stayed silent for a few moments, then decided to probe his temperament with a minutely combative statement. “Would it matter if I said no?”

“Well, I would have to stay standing. My legs might get tired,” Argrave returned. “I suppose that isn’t the end of the world.”

His levity frustrated Elenore. She couldn’t glean any of his intentions. But… given all of his actions, she could assume that he wasn’t here for a wholly negative purpose, such as vengeance for spurring conflict between him and Induen.

“You may sit,” Elenore agreed, seeing no merit to refusing.

the metal chair against the stone, and then the brief movement of the wind as Argrave moved to sit. “Thank you,” he

to know—she wished to learn of how he’d found

said, “I brought a gift for you. Galamon, could you please…?” She heard something heavy collapse to the ground—by the jingling, a bag or box full of loose metal pieces. “Careful with that…”

metal jingling, Elenore’s discomfort rose.

heard the light

it some foul implement? He had called it ‘ungainly.’ Or was

hold it,” she requested after an uncertain moment. She held

movement. “Sure,” he said, and then something dropped into her

cover the whole finger, with a point at the end. From the feel and hardness of it, she judged it to be bronze as he said. It had some carvings on the side. She

to muster herself, she slid the

Pale beige. Her hand.

holding the hand with the ring out. Her breathing quickened involuntarily. For some strange reason, she had a sense of the space around her far enhanced beyond what it usually was. She lowered her hand ever so slowly. Her finger

painted bright

sensation. It was not as though she could see once again. And yet… she knew what was there. She understood the table, could grasp it completely. She could perceive the pink like she truly saw it. It was like some sixth sense that was, in a way, far more accurate than she ever recalled her sight being. She could barely distinguish the ground beneath the table, or Argrave’s elbow resting atop

“Maybe

only now reflected back on herself. She was breathing quickly and sweating. Yet even still, this sensation pulled at

On the table, over there. My maid was reading

move. Now, she was more aware of him—she had an image of someone leaning forth, stretching their arm out.

book, opening it to a random page. Slowly, tentatively, like everything would blow away if she moved too fast, she pressed her ringed finger

abusing the power vested in them by the lord to extort

no longer one consisting of trusting another. She felt

overcome, not ever. She could not let anyone see her emote. Being overcome was the reason she had become as she was. It was the reason this

breathing and ensuring her voice would come out clearly. She acted as though she was reading along with

to me?”

hand closer, and the perception became clearer. He scratched his chin. “That’s only one piece of a set. The rest of it

man quickly

she whispered, then scolded herself. She was rattled. She hated

work. Strange

polite, Durran,”