5
Tolmond
“So,” I begin, doing my best to keep a rumble of pleasure out of my voice. “You’re the little human that’s caused all this fuss.”
She shrinks under my gaze, as if she could get any smaller.
Even as Eth’tak storms away, I can taste the heat of his pheromones all over her like a shroud. As if he meant toprotecther from something, and with the flecks of blood on the rags that serve as her clothes, I can only imagine how he procured her.
Yet she doesn’t look afraid, exactly.
Moredefiantas she straightens again, tensing her narrow shoulders. Her contemplative hazel eyes rove over me, and I have to wonder what she sees. “A fuss?” she asks, looking around the empty foyer of my tower. “I don’t see a fuss.”
Mouthy, too, I think, considering that she is a singular guest among our kind. Not like the pathetic human chattel that were abducted from Protheka’s surface, or even the stray dark elf slaves that have infiltrated the lower caste by way of misfortune. No. She is unique in her invitation to Ti’lith. “That is because you have yet to meet with the Hooded One.”
Her pupils narrow slightly, but she looks down before I can fully read her expression. Her mouth forms a little ‘oh,’ but she says nothing else.
It gives me a moment to drink her in.
The human’s fingers twine together with what I can only expect is apprehension. Eth’tak handled her well enough, not marring her translucent flesh with teeth or claws. I must give the trolvor credit where it’s due.
And she’s as gorgeous as I first expected, if not incredibly malnourished. There’s something alluring about the narrow shape of her, even in her wretched state. A bath and some oils will do wonders for her supple flesh, I have no doubt.
But I must put her at ease first.
“My name is Tolmond,” I say in a low, gentle tone which stirs her from her stupor. “And you are a welcome guest in my home. What might I call you?”
Her gaze finds me again, and I have to steady my breathing.
She doesn’t answer straight away, her knuckles going white as her fingers lace tighter together. “My name…” Even her hesitation is charming. I want to kneel in front of her, so that our faces are level. I want to push the tangled hair out of her eyes and tell her everything is going to be alright. That she’s safe with me.
But is she? When I intend to hand her over to the King?
“Have you forgotten it?” I ask with muted amusement, realizing how I loom over her diminutive form. No wonder she is nervous, but she seemed- comfortable in Eth’tak’s presence, and that rubs me the wrong way.
He is a lowly trolvor, and I am a soz’garoth.
“It’s Piper.”
“Piper,” I echo, rolling the name on my tongue. It’s simple and short, but it suits her in a way I didn’t expect it to. I hold out a hand to her, a gesture of benevolence. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Piper.”
Surprise finds her as she meets my eye again, a charming rouge taking over her soft features, even the tips of her rounded ears. I want to study her closer, but time does not permit it. She shifts on her feet, and I realize I’ve done little to put her at ease since she arrived.
“Let me show you around my tower.
“It’s not quite so grand as the castle, but it does have its own charming little secrets.” I don my kindliest smile, close lipped, lest she take it as a threat.
Her mouth opens as if she means to speak, then she closes it again and nods. And, in a shock to us both, it seems, she takes my hand. It’s small in mine, delicate and frail, but there’s a strength to the gesture I cannot deny.
She has been around demons for a handful of hours, and still, she trusts us. I’m burning to know what Eth’tak said to her that made her so compliant. “This way,” I say, leading her deeper into my tower, beyond the first level where my students take up residence during their studies. It is empty now, I made sure of it as soon as I knew that Piper was on her way.
Now, only a stray zonak, and a few dark elf slaves skitter by, avoiding our focus.
“This is the main level, where I instruct the young soz’garoth in the art of chaos magic when their powers manifest.” I try not to stare at her too long, but I catch when her eyes widen with curiosity. “Much of my work, however, is conducted upstairs.
“It is easier to focus, when I’m not surrounded by chatter.”
I almost scoff at the notion, when I realize it could have come across as too harsh, then soften my tone. “Of my students,” I correct. “Sometimes I think they may be deaf to my voice.”