Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

Trent flexed his arm as if it was in pain as he paused in his writing. “Besides, it wasn’t me who threw the curse at you. It was Ku’Sox.”
    I sniffed, pushing the edges of my torn shirt together. “Well, it was me who threw that curse at you. Do it again, and I’ll knock you flat on your ass so hard you won’t get up for a week—ring or no ring.”
    Trent jerked, his eyes meeting mine from under his bangs. “About that . . .”
    Oh God. Here it came. The excuse for me to keep it on, just for a little bit longer.
    There was a soft knock, and Quen sprang forward to take the cart of water bottles an aide came in with. “We should keep him with us,” Quen said as he took it and all but pushed the man back out. “Otherwise, Ku’Sox will keep using him against us.”
    I was suddenly a hundred times more thirsty. Keeping Trent with Bis and me would work as long as we stayed a step ahead of him, but why risk it? “I don’t remember including you on this private excursion, Quen,” I said as I strode to the cart and took a bottle. Damn elves thought they ruled the world. I trusted you, I thought, angry as I cracked the seal on one of the waters, downing half of it in one go. It was perfectly chilled, just enough to be cold but not enough to shock me, slipping down smooth as if it were from the fountain of life. Wiping my mouth, I looked at the label. KALAMACK SPRINGS. Figures.
    “I trusted you,” I accused, pointing with the half-empty bottle, and guilt poured off Quen, adding to my anger. “I trusted both of you!” I shouted, and Trent came out from behind his desk.
    “You will not be mad at Quen,” he said calmly, jerking to a halt when I pointed at him to keep his distance. “This isn’t his fault. I told him to remove the Riffletic rings so you would go for the slavers instead.”
    “Son of a bitch . . .” I whispered, feeling the ring heavy on my finger. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
    “It was the only way you’d reinvoke them!” he said loudly. “Rachel, it’s my only chance of getting out from under Ku’Sox’s boot.”
    “What, so you can kill him?” I yelled, and Bis dug his claws deeper into the back of the chair, clearly upset.
    “No.” His face scrunched up in embarrassment, and he glanced from Quen to me. “Rachel, the slavers work both ways.”
    Confused, I set the water bottle down. “Excuse me?”
    Quen cleared his throat, his voice cutting off as Trent raised his hand.
    “Shut up, Quen,” he muttered, shocking me. “I should have listened to my gut and included her in my decision from the first. We tried it your way, and it failed miserably. She isn’t a tool. If she was, it would have worked.”
    “W-what . . .” I stammered as he dug in his pocket, and my pulse hammered as he jiggled what had to be the master ring.
    “I’m sorry, Rachel,” he said as he took my wrist, lifting my hand to slide the master ring over the slaver. “I should have trusted you.”
    “Damn right you—” My voice cut off as the rings touched. A wash of heat flooded through me, and Bis opened his wings and made an odd burble of sound, clearly happy.
    Still holding my hand, Trent shifted his grip to become more gentle, less possessive. I looked at my hand, seeing two rings on my finger. I was hardly breathing when Trent easily slid both the rings off.
    “I’d rather be your slave than Ku’Sox’s,” Trent said, and I wavered where I stood as he put both rings in my hand and curled my fingers over them.
    Shocked, I looked up at him, seeing in his downcast expression his regret, his embarrassment, and his anger at himself. My distrust wavered, threatening to break apart like fog under the heat of truth. I needed to listen with my heart, not my hurt feelings.
    “Sa’han,” Quen pleaded, and Trent frowned as he turned away. Bis, though, beamed, the tip of his tail quivering.
    “I was wrong,” Trent said, and a flash of righteous hurt lit through me.
    “Damn right you were wrong!”
    “I should have told you.”
    The rings felt warm in my hand, and I clenched my fist tighter. “I know!”
    Trent looked up, leaning slightly to keep his weight off his one foot. He looked tired, fatigued, and the barest hint of relief colored his eyes. “If I had a plan that included slavers, I should have told you so you could have made a more informed decision as to which rings you were going to reinvoke.”
    There was a lump in my throat, and I swallowed hard. He was