The Drow There and Nothing More (Goth Drow Book 3)

thing has a latch or anything.”
L’zar cleared his throat. “Palimé.”
“What, now?” The halfling raised her eyebrows.
“That’s how it opens, Cheyenne. That word from your lips.” L’zar’s eyebrows jerked up and back down again as he dipped his head. “Do it.”
The halfling scanned the five magicals watching her like a pack of starving wolves before returning her focus to the drow legacy box. Here goes nothing.
“Palimé.”
The Cuil Aní warmed quickly in her hand, though it didn’t get too hot for her to hold this time. The glowing runes emitted a brilliant flash of gold light, then the whirring mechanisms inside clicked and whined, moving faster and faster.
Seriously, if this is a bomb, I’m throwing it at L’zar.
The sliding layers forming the top of the box pulled away from each other to jut over the outside, and after they’d separated, Cheyenne blinked at the thing inside.
“What is it?” Lumil whispered.
The halfling glanced at the goblin woman, then reached into the legacy box and picked up the large gold coin lying on the bottom. She lifted it and cocked her head as she lowered the puzzle box to her side. “A coin?”
L’zar’s wild, predatory grin returned. “Yes.”
She waved it in a small circle. “This is ridiculously anticlimactic.”
“Only until you know what that coin is for.”
The warehouse fell silent. Cheyenne dropped the coin back into the box and set it down on the table beside her backpack. “So, what does this drow coin buy me?”
L’zar chuckled and exchanged glances with Corian. “It’s not just a coin, Cheyenne. That is the next step in claiming your legacy.”
“I thought the thing inside the box was my legacy.”
“Part of it, sure.” The escaped drow convict drew his fingers through his bone-white hair and inhaled deeply through his nose. “The Cuil Aní is just a guide through your trials. That coin, your marandúr, is the token of your legacy. Normally this would be done in Ambar’ogúl, where you’d present it to the Crown and assume your station as a fully dedicated drow.”
“Ha.” Cheyenne glanced at the coin. “Looks like we’re out of luck with that one. No way is that gonna happen.”
L’zar’s golden eyes blazed. “Oh, but it is.”

Chapter Five
“What?” Cheyenne glanced at the other magicals gathered around her and pointed at her drow father. “Someone needs to tell this guy he’s lost his mind.”
Corian dipped his head. “Just listen.”
“In order for you to claim your true power and what’s rightfully yours by birth, Cheyenne, that marandúr must be placed in the Rahalma altar in the courtyard of the Crown’s fortress.” L’zar steepled his fingers and pointed them at her. “And you’re the only person in either world who can do that.”
“No. Sorry.”
Lumil grimaced. Persh’al rubbed his bald, orange-speckled head beside the neon-orange mohawk sprouting out of it. Byrd turned toward his fist and forced out an uncomfortable cough.
“It isn’t something you can turn down.” L’zar’s smile faded, but the intensity of his gaze on the half-drow remained. “You don’t have a choice.”
“Right. Because the Crown wants me to claim this new legacy.”
“It’s the same legacy, Cheyenne.”
“Whatever. The drow in power over there has been sending magical nutjobs after me for weeks to stop me from completing the trials.” The halfling folded her arms and shook her head. “You’re right. I don’t have a choice, ‘cause no way in hell is she gonna let me just waltz into her fancy castle and stick a coin on some whatever-it’s-called.”
“The Rahalma. The drow altar.”
“Sure. You said she has every drow on that side come to her to pass their trials, right? I broke the rules by passing mine over here, and she knows who I am.”
“That won’t make a difference once you deliver that coin.”
Cheyenne glanced at the now-tense magicals surrounding her and blinked. “Did everybody forget about the new portals opening up and the shipments of O’gúl war-machine parts her people have been smuggling over here? Because that seems a hell of a lot more important than me dropping a coin on an altar.”
The corners of L’zar’s mouth twitched as he stared at her.
Oh, he’s pissed now, huh? Join the club.
“Cheyenne.” Corian’s low voice cut through the tension. “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive. We’ll deal with the portal issue as we can, and we’re working on the war-machine issue.” He glanced at the supply closet. “Needless to say, the road to claiming your legacy is gonna be a little bumpy.”
“No shit.”
“But you taking your marandúr into the Crown’s seat of power and returning it to where it belongs will do far more for this war than anything we can achieve from over here. If we time it right, it might even stop the devastation before it begins.”
“It’s already happening.” Cheyenne swallowed. “A portal opened in my mom’s backyard and brought those things right to her. You said the war’s already started.”
“That was nothing compared to what’s coming.”
She frowned at her nightstalker mentor, then glanced quickly at L’zar and had to look away. That stare is freaking me out. “I thought the marandúr was mine. What do you mean I have to put it back where it belongs?”
Byrd chuckled and spread his arms. “Because you’re—”
“Because you’re my daughter, Cheyenne,” L’zar finished for him. The goblin cocked his head and looked at the floor. “Because the Crown of Ambar’ogúl has dipped itself in pestilence, and I mean to root it out. As my daughter, it falls to you to do the same.”
“No.” The halfling slowly shook her head, her dark human eyes burning into his golden drow gaze. “I’ll help with this war if that’s what it comes to, and if taking some coin to an O’gúl altar is how I have to do that, fine. But I’ll do it because I choose to, not because I’m your daughter.”
L’zar’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped toward her on long, swift legs before setting a slender hand on her shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself, I guess it’s a