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“Not very productive, is it?” she asked, pouring a finger of whiskey into her glass.

“You are,” he said. “You’re determined to be difficult.”

She shrugged. “It’s me.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“Why?” Dragging her fingertip around the rim, she made her glass sing.

A soft sound. An enchanting melody. Pretty in its simplicity. Soothing in its softness. The music made him relax against his will.

She nodded her approval. “Better. I’m not the only one who needs to chill.”

Charmed by her, not wanting to be, Westvane glared at her. She was making it exceeding difficult not to like her. Irritating to no end. “Fair point, princess.”

“Despite what you think,” she said, leaning in again. Her forearms landed on the tabletop. “I’m far from stupid, Westvane.”

He tipped his chin, conceding the point.

“I know how serious this is — believe me. In the span of a few hours, I’ve met a troll, been run over by a monster, now I’m sitting here with you. None of that says everything’s going to be okay. It shouldn’t even be possible…” She waved her hand. The flurry pushed stardust across the table at him. “Yet here you sit, in all your scary-killer glory. I’d have to be an idiot not to understand the strange turn my life has taken. Given the craziness, I don’t have time to be afraid of you. You’ll either kill me or you won’t. Nothing I can do about it, so I’m choosing to let that worry go… for now. I’ve got enough on my plate.”

“Very grown up of you.”

Picking at the label, she peeled the paper off the bottle. “I’m a big believer in controlling what I can, and leaving the rest to the universe. When I trust in that, things have a way of working out.”

Westvane opened his mouth to reply. He closed it again. Who was this woman? She kept surprising him. After readying himself for a brutal fight, he couldn’t believe she sat so peaceably with him.

He’d expected resistance.

He’d expected disdain.

He’d expected her to act like Lyonesse.

Truly refused to give him anything of the kind. She accepted his presence instead. Wasn’t making assumptions or painting him with a black brush. She wasn’t hampered by a closed mind, a hard heart, or entrenched ideology.

She might not trust him, but she was willing to try.

He could see it in her eyes. Felt it in the open way she regarded him. Read it in the way she spoke to him. No condescension. Zero ridicule. She didn’t believe he was less than. She welcomed him as an equal.

The realization floored him.

“You’ve grown quiet, Westvane.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Trying to decide how much to tell me?”

Definitely not stupid.

Her keen mind was going to be a problem. She continued to surprise him, picking his thoughts out of the air. Somehow, he needed to guard himself against her magic. It might be wrong, but she was right — he didn’t plan to tell her everything.

He must maintain the upper hand at all times. Otherwise, he’d lose his ability to maneuver and his plan wouldn’t succeed. No matter how cruel, he would do as promised. Catch the Wendigo. Hand the Door Master over to Lyonesse and the Azlandian court. It all came down to one thing —hisfreedom mattered more to him than hers.

“The queen has given me a task.”

“Capture the Wendigo.”

He nodded. “I must return it to its cage. It will wreak havoc here — start wars, kill Earthlings, manipulate the future, and change the past.”