Extraits

CHAPTER ONE

The early December wind caught the hood of her elven cape, whipping her hair loose. Kam captured her dark locks in one hand, tied them with a thin, black scarf, and pulled the woolen hood back into place. She glanced over her shoulder and wrapped the cloak more securely around her slender figure. The village streets stood deserted, as folks settled in their homes for supper and a snug evening out of Elvenrude’s chill night air. The scent of wood smoke drifted from chimneys. The yellow warmth of the alehouse’s lanterns was only a few feet away.

She took a deep breath, opened the heavy oak door of Keiley’s Pub, and stepped inside. The smell of ale and mead was strong, the lights dim. A few couples talked quietly. The merriment from other groups seemed measured by the number of empty ale mugs on the table.

Keeping her head down, Kam edged her way to a rear table. Her arms prickled with nervous energy, but her entry stirred little interest. The drab disguise made her inconspicuous, just another villager ending a long work day with a pint of brew—or in her case, hot berry wine.

Kam’s eyes itched, and she resisted the urge to rub them. She’d bought a pair of brown contacts in New Orleans two weeks ago—as soon as Captain Brunic proposed this assignment. Her dark hair might have passed casual scrutiny, but not the intense blue eyes. They were distinctive to her aristocratic Ryndel family and made blending into the pub’s clientele of commoners and crossbreeds problematic. She’d put the lenses in before coming through the magic portal this evening from her current home in New Orleans.

A barmaid took her order, returned with her drink, and Kam leaned back to watch and listen to the tavern gossip. Two tables were of particular interest. A group of three auburn-haired male elves near the front conversed in low tones. Their hair and dark eyes identified them as crossbreeds or duchaen as they were calling themselves now. The name derived from an ancient Elfish word meaning birthright, a reference to their struggle for equality.

Her attention was drawn by raised voices from the second table much closer to her. An interesting mixture of companions, and at least one of them had indulged in too much ale, his voice a little louder, less controlled. She leaned forward, took a sip of her drink, and strained to hear their conversation.

“No offense. But I’m not sure I want to get involved with the duchaen.” The speaker was a pale-haired man, a common laborer, with his back to her. “Things aren’t that bad for us. What are you planning?”

Her hand tightened on the mug, waiting for the answer. This might be a lead to the violent core within the rebellion.

“Keep your voice down.” The harsh whisper came from a crossbreed seated directly opposite. His dark eyes held disdain as he hunched over his drink, his brown hair falling forward to partially hide his features. “We can’t discuss it here. If you’re interested, I’ll let you know about the next meeting.” He brushed his hair back and raised his voice to order another pint of ale.

Kam peeked from under her hood at the rest of the room. Other patrons had quickly returned to their own conversations, losing interest in the interruption or possibly wanting to distance themselves from such controversial talk. She checked out the other two men at the table. Commoners. They normally would spurn the crossbreed’s company. The offspring of socially forbidden matings between the dark-haired Elite class and the blond common elves were shunned by both established classes in Elvenrude. Or had been until recently. Acceptance had grown over recent months, but not enough to make the group unremarkable. The fact other patrons weren’t staring proved she was in the right establishment, a regular haunt for members of the duchaen rebellion. And the recent rumors appeared to be correct—they were recruiting commoners to their cause.