by Erin Evans
Alyona wrapped her arms around herself and looked away. She wasn’t herself. Not entirely.
How much of herself was she? Havilar demanded.
Look, Alyona said. I wouldn’t try to tell you that Bisera’s … that Bryseis is perfect. But … she knows that. She accepted her transgressions and wanted to atone. To make things right.
You can’t un-kill people.
Alyona fixed her with a silvery glare. Are you going to tell me you have never taken a life? That you’ve never killed someone and damn the consequences?
I didn’t ever do it in the name of Asmodeus.
But what about your sister?
She doesn’t kill anyone in the name of Asmodeus either! Havilar cried. And frankly, she’s a terrible shot.
She uses his powers, Alyona said. The strength of his domain. Where do you think that magic comes from?
Havilar frowned. Fire and … planar magic … stuff?
Alyona’s eyes were hard. The Nine Hells feeds itself on the energy of souls. The damned are sacrificed to keep the plane intact. Her powers come directly from that plane, so her powers are fed by the suffering of mortal souls. Powers she has been specifically granted in the hopes she will feed more souls to the Nine Hells.
Havilar folded her arms over her chest. It wasn’t the same, she felt sure about that. But all the same … so often rules were stupid and badly thought out. Nobody planned for every circumstance, and no one would have planned for a warlock like Farideh, she felt certain. She wondered if Farideh would end up damned when she died. She wondered if she would be too … but that thought was a step too far down a path too thorny and she pulled her thoughts away from it.
You wouldn’t be able to save her from that, Havilar thought, even as she skirted the possibility.
But she doesn’t, Havilar said. She doesn’t damn people. She doesn’t sacrifice them. I mean … she cares about people who, really, no one would fault her for walking away from. That war wizard—did you see the war wizard? Would your sister have saved Ilstan or gutted him on an altar?
Alyona fell silent. I suppose it would depend. But—truly—she understood what she’d done. She wanted to make amends and I believe she’s doing that now. She gestured at the space around them. Or this? If she were a monster, why bother altering the soul sapphire so that I could leave? It would be easier to just leave it shut and never see or hear … Never dream … At the beginning I was so angry. I can’t imagine the dreams were good, for her, for Caisys, for … At any rate, if she were irredeemable, the Moonmaiden wouldn’t have aided us.
Another retort was on her lips … but the indignation in Alyona’s voice was all too familiar. It was one thing to know your sister was imperfect or maddening or wrong. It was another to sit and listen to someone else demonize her. For all of Bryseis Kakistos’s numerous faults, Alyona obviously loved her. She obviously wanted everything to come out all right, and while Havilar had her doubts, it wouldn’t be a pleasant sentence in the soul sapphire if she kept arguing the point. Better kindness, she thought, than rightness.
How many people’s dreams have you been in? she asked instead.
Alyona shut her eyes as if remembering. Bisera’s mostly. I helped her find the heirs that way as well … I didn’t … It wasn’t that many. And then Caisys. I visited Caisys.
Havilar rolled her eyes. Back to Caisys the Perfect Murder-Warlock. Alyona opened her eyes and caught Havilar making a face. She scowled. You don’t know him.
You’re right, Havilar said. But I’m willing to bet he’s not all that perfect.
I didn’t say perfect. He had his flaws … his … tendencies. But in the end, he was the only one of them Bisera could trust—even if she didn’t like him, she knew she could trust him. She adjusted her skirts in a prim sort of way. He watched over you. You owe him a little respect for that.
Havilar frowned. Me?
You and your sister, Alyona said.
That was the first Havilar had heard of any such thing. When?
Before … When you were small … after the ritual … It wasn’t supposed to go that way. I don’t know. Maybe Bisera … Maybe Bryseis was trying to make it do too much … So that we’d both be reborn, instead of only her. Maybe it was fate. Maybe bad luck … We’ve had such a lot of bad luck …
Havilar bit back another frustrated screech. When did Caisys watch over us?
Alyona blinked and said nothing for such a long time. No, he can’t see us here. You misunderstand. She turned away, staring off into the mists in a way that Havilar knew meant she was through talking for a time.
At least this time she’d left Havilar with another detail, another piece of the puzzle: Caisys had been watching them in Arush Vayem. She found the fold in the mists, the exit of the soul sapphire’s prison, the passage to that dream world. She had to tell Farideh.
But had Farideh listened to a damned thing she’d said? Havilar’s tail slashed across the mists, the faint memory of a solid floor beneath her traced in its arc. Dreams were a stupid way to tell someone something so important. Especially when that someone was all wound up and stubborn as an aithyas stain.
She blinked—the door had shifted. How long had she stood there, glowering at it? She found the fold again, but the path that led to Farideh had grown hazy and indistinct. She’d woken up. Havilar cursed to herself. If she’d just gone instead of getting annoyed …
In the mists, other paths, other dreams shimmered. She studied them, found one in particular that felt secure and familiar, even as it flickered into awakeness. It doesn’t have to be Farideh, she thought, even though it felt like a betrayal..
• • •
FARIDEH DRUMMED HER fingers against the side of the couch, eyes on the wide bowl of water before her, the cluster of components she’d borrowed from Ilstan. A protective circle nearly as wide as the room shimmered along the edges of her sight.
“I can scry,” Adastreia said from the far side of the circle where she sat. “Not that you asked.”
“I can wait for Lorcan.” Except she couldn’t. She couldn’t wait for any of this. It felt as if it took half her thoughts just to keep from losing her mind over how slowly everyone else seemed to be moving when there was so much on the line. Surely Lorcan could have taught her this sooner—some sort of far-seeing warlock spell, perhaps? But even as she thought it, she remembered how many conditions he’d had when he’d scried Dahl for her. Lorcan wouldn’t give her the means to see Dahl, even if that meant making her helpless and—
Lachs, Threnody, Nasmos, Chiridion, Livulia, Naria, she said to herself, over and over. Which of them were still alive? Which of them would Lorcan be able to find? Lachs, Threnody, Nasmos, Chiridion, Livulia, Naria.
Caisys.
“What exactly is between you and he?” Adastreia asked. “Are you sleeping with your pactmaster?”
“No,” Farideh said. Even though it stirred up memories of just that. Even though she kept letting herself get too close, too near to giving in.
I love you. I just don’t love you the way you want, because I am who I am, but I’m not myself now, am I? So what do you do with that? A lump built in her throat. Even if he loves you, she thought, he’s still too dangerous. He still poisoned you. He still won’t tell you what happened with Dahl.
That sent a new burst of panic through her. Dahl had sent the halfling Zhentarim to Djerad Thymar, to find her and have her warn the Vayemniri. Dahl was within a day or two of the city, captive of an army led by a madman that dealt with demons—an army that a second army of giants was already marching on and the dragonborn clans all dickered and positioned and argued about—
Farideh blew out a breath, concentrated on the still pool of water.
Lachs, Threnody, Nasmos, Chiridion, Livulia, Naria she thought. Lachs, Threnody, Nasmos, Chiridion, Livulia, Naria
Caisys.
“All right,” she said to Adastreia. “If you want to help.”
The tiefling warlock sauntered over, seating herself opposite
her daughter. For a long moment, she said nothing, not until Farideh looked up. “Who do you want to start with?”
Lachs, Threnody, Nasmos, Chiridion, Livulia, Naria. “Caisys,” she said.
Adastreia snorted. “You’re not going to track down Caisys. He’s almost certainly dead by now.”
Farideh said nothing—Adastreia could be useful or she could complain and disagree and it wouldn’t matter. Lorcan would return eventually.
“I assumed,” Adastreia went on, “you’d want to find Chiridion first. Since you’re so curious about the old days. Is it for the dragonborn’s sake he’s not your first pick?”
Farideh’s temper flared, pulling on the pact, reaching for the absent blessings of Asmodeus. “The only thing I’m curious about,” she said, trying to keep her voice level, “is how you could do such a thing?”
Adastreia leaned back, stretching out against the couch’s low back. “As I said, I was young and idealistic.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I don’t know you,” she said coldly, “so I can’t mock you. Everyone could ‘do such a thing’ given the right reasons, and Bryseis Kakistos had the right reasons. The Raging Fiend’s blood taints us all, and she thought she might be able to undo that.”
“You can’t undo that,” Farideh said dismissively.
Adastreia pushed her silvering hair back, revealing a thick scar along her temple beneath her horn. “See that? I was nobody but a scullery and some wine-swamped, sharpjaw half-elf got it into his head that I was spying on his business. Broke a wine bottle on my head, nearly killed me. You think he would have done that to a human? An elf? Another half-elf? I was picking up dishes and I didn’t understand the first stlarning thing about his hushword-coin schemes.
“I’ll bet you have a scar like that,” Adastreia said, smoothing her hair down. “I’ll bet most of us do. So don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done ‘such a thing’ in the hopes it all could change.”
Farideh looked away. In this, she was lucky and she knew it. She’d had moments of danger, certainly—most recently, the urchins in front of the Suzailan tallhouse throwing rocks, the taproom at the Brigand’s Bottle when she’d suddenly lost her disguise spell—but the most perilous points of her life had arisen out of her own decisions or simply being in the way of someone or something worse. She didn’t have the scars of a brutal beating on her. She hadn’t clubbed her tail or polled her horns like the village midwife in Arush Vayem had, trying to unmake what Bryseis Kakistos’s deal had wrought. She’d been safe and sheltered in Arush Vayem, protected by Mehen and isolation.
You wore a full cloak even in the midst of summer, she thought. Maybe not scars like Adastreia’s, but not easy either.
“You handed us over to Caisys,” Farideh said. “You never even wondered.”
“He said you had the blessings of a proper goddess on you,” Adastreia said. “I assumed you were fine.”
“Before you said you assumed I was dead, so …” Farideh frowned. “What goddess?”
“How should I know?” Adastreia said. “I didn’t get involved with that part.” She sighed, sounding annoyed. “Do you or don’t you want me to scry someone for you?”
Just behind Adastreia, Mehen came into the room. Farideh leaped to her feet at the sight of him, moving away from the other woman and toward her father. “Watch the circle!” she warned. “Any word?”
“No,” Mehen said. “Havi?”
“Nothing yet,” Farideh said. “I think … I’m waiting for Lorcan, but—”
“Karshoj, can we just find a way to work around him?” Mehen demanded. “It’s been five karshoji days and we’re no closer—”
“Mehen, I can’t do the spell we need,” Farideh said. “There’s no getting around that.”
“I did offer to help,” Adastreia called back, “but you’ve raised a terribly stubborn child.”
Lightning crackled in Mehen’s teeth. “At least I raised her, tiamash!”
Farideh stepped between them. “Mehen, come on. We’ll talk outside.” She led the way back out into the wide corridor, not waiting for Mehen to follow her, pleased when he did. “Don’t let her get to you,” she said. “She’s … I think she’s—”
“A monster?” Mehen suggested.
“No, just … I don’t know if she has it in her to care about someone else.” Farideh sighed. “I just keep reminding myself that if she had cared then, well, we wouldn’t have you.”
Mehen’s fury softened at that. “That may be so, but I don’t have to like her for abandoning you.” He folded his arms. “You’re not stubborn. You’re … persistent.”
“I’m stubborn,” Farideh said. “You’ve said that plenty of times.”
“Well, it’s different when you’re doing something with it, isn’t it?” Mehen said. “And we’re both fairly karshoji stubborn. Persistent. What are you waiting for Lorcan to do?”
“Scry the last heir,” she said. “I have six names, but only one of them is alive, and I don’t know which and I don’t know where they all are. If it’s very far, I need Lorcan anyway, since I can’t make a portal.” She wet her lips. “Have they … Do you have a Vanquisher yet? A plan for the giants and the King of Dust?”
Mehen blew out a breath, his nostrils flaring. “It’s all talk and posturing. Every time a few more voices get anxious enough to want to move, but still, there’s too much old pride in that room. Anala pushed for them to vote for an interim Vanquisher—she put forth Kallan.”
For a moment, Farideh was sure she’d heard wrong. “Kallan? Why?”
“He could be Vanquisher,” Mehen said, a little defensive.
“He wouldn’t want to be. And it seems odd for Anala to choose someone who’s not Verthisathurgiesh.”
“It is,” Mehen said. “She’s playing a risky game. Especially since Uadjit won’t stand while Dumuzi’s business is in the way and Fenkenkabradon heard about Anala’s fool plan ahead of time and pulled the same stunt themselves, pushing Arjhani up since Dokaan won’t win while he’s recovering, but Arjhani will listen to Dokaan. Or so they think. And whatever Kallan thinks about perching on a throne and telling people what to do, I don’t think he’d leave Djerad Thymar to that fate.”
“Could be worse,” Farideh said. “Anala didn’t put you forth.”
“At this point, I would take the piercings if only for the chance to knock all their heads together and tell them what pothatchis they’re being. Wouldn’t say no to an army to go fetch your sister either.” A terrible, terrible, dangerous idea, Farideh thought. Even if she understood what drove it. An army attacking Bryseis Kakistos would be attacking Havilar too.
“Speaking of pothatchis, would you talk to Dumuzi?” Mehen said suddenly. “That boy is looking for advice from every karshoji quarter and not a one of them is the right place.”
“I’m not the right place,” Farideh said.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Mehen said. “You’ve stood a lot closer to where he is than the rest of us.” He scratched at the jade plugs studding his jaw and sighed again. “While you’re at it, you could track down Kallan for me and talk to him.”
“You know you have to do that yourself,” Farideh said. “It’s a pity you can’t just leave the city for a bit. Take a bounty or something.”
“There are entirely too many things happening here for me to go out gallivanting.”
“Still, it would give you space to talk to Kallan without spooking him, and give you something to do while we’re just waiting for everyone else to … Oh!” Farideh pressed her hands to her mouth. “What about those giants? The ones that they spotted on the plains?”
Mehen raised a scaly brow ridge. “I’m not hunting monsters while your sister’s missing. Anyway, you need a solid hunting party to take down one giant.”
“Who says you need to take them down?” Farideh said. “They were marching toward the King of Dust’s army, weren’t they? Maybe they’re reinforcements and maybe they’re attacking him. Maybe
they’re the ally we need.”
“Fari, I don’t know where you got your ideas about giants,” Mehen said. “But you don’t just stroll up and ask them where their loyalties lie.”
She laughed, feeling a little wild. “If anyone could, I’ll bet it’s Kallan. Look, someone needs to find this out, and if they can help, someone needs to get to them. Plus, if you think Kallan needs to be Vanquisher, wouldn’t it look well for him to have made an alliance like that?”
“You sound like Anala,” Mehen said darkly.
“That’s not always a bad thing.” It wasn’t rescuing Havilar, she thought. It wasn’t untangling herself from the Nine Hells. It wasn’t solving the problem of gods.
“It’s something,” Mehen said. “Better than avoiding your unfortunate family reunion. Come with us. I’d feel better if I could keep an eye on you.”
Farideh shook her head. “I have to find that last heir. And—oh! I found something else out. Adastreia says that someone called Caisys the Vicelord is the one who brought us to Arush Vayem. I don’t suppose … it doesn’t sound familiar does it? Maybe he was someone who visited?”
Mehen made a face. “People didn’t visit the village.”
“So why would he go there?” she asked. “How did you know about it?”
He shrugged. “Rumors mostly. I knew enough people who had been exiled, enough others that I had heard of a village in the mountains. A bat rider off course seeing smoke where there should be none. So I found it. He could have.” He didn’t sound convinced. “What’s he got to do with Havi?”
You have to remember that you need to find Caisys the Vicelord. Understand?
Farideh blinked. “I think … I think he’s important. I have a gut feeling he’s a part of this.” She hesitated. “Have you had any dreams of Havilar?”
“I’ve not been sleeping much,” Mehen said. “You hear from Brin again?”
Farideh shook her head. “You think of anything in the village that might have been the staff of Azuth?”