The Betrayal by Pati Nagle Page A

enwrapped him with her own khi, cutting him off from the others.
    His eyes went wide with dismay as she began to drink of his khi, drawing it through her palm. She took her time, slowly savoring his strength, aware that the others were watching intently.
    When the Greenglen's legs would no longer support him, she released him. He dropped to his knees, gasping.
    Much refreshed, Shalár stepped toward the next captive, who cringed away from her. She merely smiled at him and walked on.
    She would try the males, each in turn, and if they were all unsuccessful, she would give them over to the females in her guard and thereafter make them available to any female citizen of Nightsand desiring tobreed out to an ælven. Perhaps she would even offer an incentive for conception, as she had just done with that poor starving farmer.
    The female she would breed more selectively, sending Dareth to her before any others. Perhaps Irith would be next.
    If these six all bred successfully—highly unlikely but possible—six more children would be born in the next year. Not enough to reverse Darkshore's decline, but a beginning. It would be more important as a means of inspiring hope, a herald of greater changes to come. If even one child were conceived—
    “Bright Lady?”
    She glanced up at the ælven who had dared to speak to her. It was the Steppegard. He tossed his head in an effort to get his wildly curling hair out of his eyes.
    Shalár came toward him and reached up to push the curls behind his ears. He did not draw back. Impressive after the demonstration she had just made with his comrade, who was still on his knees. The Steppegard's skin felt warm and smooth, his curling golden-brown hair silky, his khi sharp with the tang of danger, but with only a hint of fear's bitterness. He actually leaned toward her to whisper.
    “I have no allegiance with these others, nor any importance in my homeland. I can be no use to you. Let me go free.”
    Shalár was amused at his daring. “Why were you traveling with Southfæld Guards?”
    “We fell in together by chance on the trade road.”
    “You were going to Fireshore?”
    “Bringing horses down to winter pasture.”
    “Ah.”
    His golden eyes pleaded along with his words. “I am useless to you, but if you free me, I will act in your ser -vice.”
    Shalár gave a soft laugh. “Be of use to me, and perchance I
will
set you free.”
    A spark of hope lit his eyes, and he took a half step toward her. “How?”
    “Get a child on a female of my people. I will even offer you several to choose from.”
    His face fell into a frown. “That is a jest in poor taste.”
    “It is no jest.”
    This new group of ælven, though small, represented the best new hope for children that her people had known in centuries. Perhaps she would try this one first, with his wild hair and desperation to be free.
    She would not free him, of course, even if he did conceive. Especially if he conceived, for if he was fruitful, he would be all the more valuable to her.
    A small movement at the side of the chamber drew her attention. Dareth had returned. She glanced over at him, saw the look of resignation on his face.
    No doubt he guessed her intentions. He disliked her frequent attempts to conceive with anyone who might prove potent, but as he himself had failed her in that effort, he had no grounds for complaint. Silent and patient but jealous, her Dareth. She wondered how long he had been standing there.
    She looked back at the captive before her. “Why should I trust you, Steppegard?”
    “I have a name.”
    “You do not need it here.”
    He might never need it again. She had not bothered to learn the names of her other captives. Laughing softly at his annoyance, she turned away.
    “Take them to the pens.”
    Shalár returned to her chair, lounging back in it as she watched the captives being taken away. The Steppegard would not move at first and continued to stare ather as the hunters pushed him ungently