from a knight to a pawn, nothing more than a reservoir of Power to be tapped . . . just as Perenor had meant her to be.
Or maybe into something more?
“Hello, Ria,” Eric said, his voice slightly cool.
In her own way she had cared for him, Eric knew. Fought for him, tried to protect him, turned on her father in the end. For him? Or for her own freedom?
“ ‘Hello, Ria,’ ” she echoed, her voice languidly mocking. “After all this time, that’s all you have to say? I admit, I’d expected more.”
“I saw you at the concert last night,” Eric said flatly, still too rattled to dissemble. He’d managed to pick up a number of the courtly arts with which the Elvenborn wiled away their time Underhill, but the whole business of saying one thing while meaning another—all in the most elliptical fashion—had eluded him completely, to Kory and even Beth’s amusement.
“You were very good,” Ria said. “That solo piece at the end—your own work?—was most impressive. And all done without magic. That somehow makes it even more exceptional.”
“You didn’t call me up just to congratulate me,” Eric said, sinking down into the chair in front of the stereo with the phone cradled on his lap.
“No. Not really. I called to see if you’d be my guest for dinner this evening.”
There was a long silence. When Ria spoke again, her voice in his ear was just a shade less confident.
“Eric?”
“I’m still here.” He was thinking fast, trying to figure out what she meant, not just what she was telling him. In all of his experience with Ria, she’d never been absolutely J