Spark of Chaos (Spark of Chaos #1)

Prologue (Part 4)

Oenghus had always found his masculine beauty disconcerting. But then, that was an immortal elf for you.

The Archlord stirred from his contemplation. "Isek," he said without turning. "Leave us."

"Right, then," Isek muttered. "We'll have a drink later, Oen, and catch up on the past ten years, aye?"

"If you're buying."

"I'll have to if I want to find out what's so important." Isek bounced his gaze from the Archlord to Oenghus before leaving.

When the echoes of Isek's footsteps had faded, the Archlord turned to regard his visitor.

"Marsais."

"Oenghus." The corners of his long lips twitched in greeting.

"Are we good, then?" Oenghus asked.

His grey eyes glittered. "Were we ever not?"

Oenghus grunted. Marsais had probably forgotten their disagreement. Either way, Oenghus wasn't going to dredge up old arguments. "I take it you know why I'm here?"

"Hmm, I knew you were coming, but not why," Marsais mused, stroking his braided goatee. Brushing confusion aside, Marsais stepped forward with a sweep of his robes, stopping directly in front of his massive visitor. "It's good to see you, old friend."

"I might have missed you a bit too, ye ol' bastard." Oenghus tugged on his beard, and then threw awkwardness to the winds, pulling Marsais into a hug that threatened to break the man. "You haven't changed a bit."

"I wish I could say the same of you." Marsais stepped back to study his face. "Is that a bit of grey in your—" he cut off abruptly, glancing over Oenghus' shoulder. "Ah, that answers the why. I assume you know you have a stowaway peeking out of your rucksack?"

There was no hiding the nymphling now. Resigned, Oenghus unslung his pack and set it carefully down.

Isiilde untangled herself from the container and stood, gaping up at Marsais with wide, curious eyes. The timing could not have been worse, but books always made her sneeze, and the nymphling did just that, every sneeze accented with a burst of flame that puffed from her pointed ears.

Marsais blinked in surprise and batted at his robes where they had caught fire. Smoke trailed from the fabric.

As Marsais stooped to study the redhead, a knot settled between Oenghus' shoulders. He cleared his throat. "Sprite, this is the Archlord of the Isle."

"Oenghus," Marsais said slowly, transferring his gaze from faerie to man. "This isn't a sprite; she's a nymphling."

The knot between his shoulders tightened.

"Could I talk to you in private?"

"Hmm." Marsais gestured towards the far wall of the chamber. Oenghus picked up Isiilde and set her on a gleaming white rug in the center of the study.

"Stay here and don't move," he ordered. "And no singing." Oenghus turned to leave, but stopped short. "And don't touch anything either."

Isiilde tilted her head up at him. But instead of voicing her confusion, she obediently thrust her hands into her pockets.

Oenghus stepped off to the side, and Marsais wove an Orb of Silence to give them privacy from curious ears.

"Look, before you say anything, I brought her here because I didn't know what else to do with her."

"That certainly clears up everything."

"It's reason enough, you sarcastic bastard."

"I see your diplomacy hasn't improved."