“Will they let me stay? Let us stay?” she amended.
Brin nodded. “I’ll convince them and you convince Mehen. Then in the spring we can go to Tymanther and you can show me your mountains.” He hesitated. “I mean, you and me. I know Farideh can’t.”
“No,” Havilar said with a sigh. “I wouldn’t be welcome either. I’m the one who called Lorcan after all.”
“Summoned,” Brin corrected, but he was still playing with her hair, so Havilar didn’t pinch him for that. “Do they even know that, though? And anyway, you led him away. Surely they’ll forgive you.”
“That’s not how Arush Vayem is. The rules we broke, they’re the kind of rules too big to forget. We can’t go back home.”
He stopped. “That’s so sad.”
It was—the kind of sad Havilar spent a lot of effort not thinking about. She’d always thought of the future as a vast, uncertain mess, so why worry about it too hard? But Brin made her think ahead, think about the paths that were open to her and those she could never go back to again. It was strange to think of how much she’d planned without planning—she wouldn’t grow old in the little stone house; wouldn’t return from some adventure through the big, spiked gates; wouldn’t see if any of the handful of boys near to her age turned out to be interesting.
Havilar sighed, as if she could exhale all those feelings right out in a vapor. “Yes,” she agreed. “But maybe someday that will change. Or maybe our mountains aren’t that different.”
“And if you’d stayed,” he said, “we wouldn’t have met. So there’s that?”
She grinned at that, but a second thought made the smile soften. “I always would have left,” she told him. “I’ll always choose Farideh.”
“Don’t worry. I know.” And if there were anything she loved best about Brin it was probably that: he knew what she meant, even when she wasn’t saying it right. She smiled at him, pleased at the realization. “I love you.”
Brin went still as a rabbit, as if he were thinking she wouldn’t see him if he didn’t move. Even though Havilar couldn’t remember imagining this moment, she was sure this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
“This is a court thing,” Havilar said. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” he insisted, and Havilar knew he was lying, even if he didn’t. “It’s just . . . it’s kind of sudden is all.”
“When was I supposed to say it?” He didn’t answer, so she added, trying for impudence, “Do you have a writ for this too in Cormyr?”
Brin didn’t laugh. “No, I don’t mean you weren’t supposed to.”
Havilar sat up. She hated this. She hated when he got snarled in old rules and expectations, and there was nothing for her to do but wait until he picked his way out. It happened now and again, and much as she didn’t understand it, she was prepared. Still, she thought, pulling the covers up and trying to decide where she ought to look, she wished in this case she might win out over all the odd rules of Cormyr’s court and Torm’s citadel tumbling around in Brin’s head.
He sat up too and reached for her arm. “Wait. This . . . It’s not what I meant. Please come back.”
“It’s fine,” she said, because she wanted it to be. “I just thought it, so I said it. You don’t have to think any way about it.”
He gave her a look, as if he knew exactly how much of that was a lie. “Havi, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to ruin things. Really, you just surprised—”
Farideh and Lorcan’s muffled voices filtered through the wall, sharp and angry, and Havilar shushed Brin. “Do you think they heard us?”
“Heard us what?” he whispered. “Talking? They haven’t been back that long.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. The door shut earlier when we were lying about.”
“Are you sure?” Havilar asked. “She doesn’t want to know details. I promised.”
“I’m sure,” Brin said. He took her hand. “Look, can we just start over—”
Farideh’s cry sliced through the wall as if it were tissue, followed by a strange pulse, as if a spell had been cast. Havilar leaped off the bed and yanked on her leathers. “Something’s wrong.”
“Havi, they’re just arguing.”
“Then I won’t be long,” she said, pulling on her blouse.
“No.” Brin threw back the covers and groped at the floor for his own clothes. “If you’re going, I’m going. And we’re talking about this.”
A crash. Another shout. Another voice, that wasn’t Farideh, wasn’t Lorcan. Havilar snatched her glaive from where she’d set it against the wall, blood thrumming. Here was something she could solve, she thought.
“Gods damn it,” Brin cursed. “Where are my breeches?”
Farideh turned at the door to her room and held up a hand to stop Lorcan from following her. “Go down to the taproom,” she said, wishing she didn’t have to, wishing he’d known well enough that she couldn’t be around him right now. “Just come up when your spell’s running out. We can trade.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lorcan said, brushing past her and into the room. “Surely you can control yourself for a few hours.”
Farideh stood, hand on the doorknob, remembering Temerity’s hand in Lorcan’s, him leaning close enough to kiss her. We can get to that later of course, darling. Her stomach was in knots. “Go down to the taproom. Please.”
He looked at her as if she were making a terrible joke, and if possible, it made everything worse. “So I cool my heels and wait to see if Temerity’s new friends come calling? I suppose the protection spell will let you know if I’ve been torn back to the Hells? Think it through, darling.”
“Don’t call me that,” Farideh snapped. Of course, darling. She shut her eyes, embarrassed at how deeply that had wounded her. Lorcan was silent. She heard him cross the room, felt him reach past her to slip her hand off the knob, and for a moment was relieved.
“If you’re going to shout,” Lorcan said, “close the door.”
Farideh looked away. “Do you call all of us ‘darling’?”
For a moment, Farideh felt sure he was going to change the subject, twist their argument into something she’d done wrong. He stared at her for so long with those dark eyes that weren’t really his. “No,” he said finally. “It doesn’t suit all of you.”
“How many does it suit?”
“Four, now,” he said. “Two of my warlocks are dead, two have thrown me over. Four of the remaining have no interest in me calling them any sort of endearment, and one thinks of herself as old enough to be my grandmother, so I’m the one she calls pet names. You, Temerity, my actual Greybeard heir, and the heir of Zeal Harper seem to enjoy it just fine.” Stubbornly she held his gaze, and it was like pressing on a bruise.
It seemed to agitate Lorcan too, and he burst out, “And that is one of the many reasons I don’t care for my warlocks to introduce themselves to each other. You build up these little versions of the pact that don’t exist and get angry when you find that they’re not real. Did you think it would make you happy to know?”
“No,” she said quietly. “But I’d rather know the truth.”
You are a piece in a collection, she thought. A little idiot he amuses himself with by keeping dancing.
Farideh drew a long slow breath and bit down on her tongue to shock the thoughts from her head. Don’t wallow. Don’t be a fool. You knew this was how it was. You knew there were others and you were only one of a set. You knew he was a devil. You were doing so well . . .
“Please go,” she said, tears crowding her throat. She wasn’t about to cry in front of him, not now.
Lorcan stayed where he was. A surge of magic rolled over him from the center of his chest outward and the illusion dissolved, leaving behind his natural form. Horns curled back from his brow, his skin turned red as live coals, and batlike wings erupted from his back, spreading wide enough to block Farideh from the door before curling closer.
“No,” he said. “You don’t get to ch
ase me off because you refuse to have a little sense, darling.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“You need to decide,” he went on, “what you want from this pact. You push and you pull, you struggle like you’re fighting every step of it but then you refuse any chance to get free of it. You turn around and make rules and get angry I haven’t broken them for you. I’m not your lover. I’m not your champion. I’m the devil you made a deal with, and I’ve done more than enough for that. We don’t have any other sort of agreement.”
“I know that,” she said, but the words came out soft and damaged.
“You haven’t asked for any other sort of agreement,” he said coming closer. Close enough to touch. She didn’t want to be angry at him, didn’t want him to go—
And then he added, nastily, “It certainly didn’t occur to you before, when you were swanning around with that paladin.”
She blew out a breath. Why did she think she could master this? “First, if we don’t have an agreement, then you have no right to throw an acquaintance in my face. Dahl is not your business. And second”—she curled her nails into her palms—“No. I’m done. I’ll go and sit downstairs. Come find me when you can disguise yourself again.” She moved to slip around him, but he caught her by the arm.
“I meant what I said—Temerity learned about you from somewhere, and the gods only know who she contacted once we left her shop.” He leaned nearer. “If you leave me, then we’re both in danger.”
“If I stay . . .” She looked up at him, her anger tangled in embarrassment, her embarrassment in lust. “Lorcan, I am two breaths from breaking this pact,” she said, her throat a knot. She swallowed hard. “Let me go, or I—”
“Or what?” he said, holding all the tighter to her arm. “You’ll throw me to Sairché because of other warlocks that you have always known about?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Because that’s what happens if you break the protection spell,” he went on. “She finds me, and I’m done for.”
Her pulse sped—he was getting angry. “I don’t want that—”
“You clearly want to punish me for some indiscretion that wasn’t even—” Farideh felt her cheeks warm. “This isn’t about punishing you.”
“Really? So it’s about poor Temerity?”
“It’s about us!” Farideh shouted. “It’s about the fact that there is nothing under the sun that is ever going to make you stop being a devil. And I know that, and I’ve always known that, but this . . . This makes it abundantly clear how much I haven’t believed it. You’re right,” she said softer. “I’m no one special. You’re no one special. I don’t know what I want from this and I should. So give me some gods-be-damned space to figure it out, because if you make me choose right here, right now, I choose to be done.”
Lorcan was as quiet as a hunting cat watching her. “Because of Temerity?”
Farideh shook her head. “Because I know myself. And I know you a little better now.”
“Whatever you think you know,” Lorcan said, every word packed with rage, “whatever I call or do not call Temerity is a trifle only a stupid girl would fixate on when Sairché is extremely capable of tracking us right now.”
Farideh’s heart was still pounding, her head still light enough to float away. There was no changing Lorcan, and apparently, there was no changing herself. “Then break the pact,” she said. “Sairché doesn’t want you, she wants me.”
“And that’s better than accepting you don’t get to tell me what to do? Do you think my sister would have done half the things I’ve done for you?”
“I think your sister would know to give me a little space,” Farideh said, “instead of insulting me until I want to run from her.”
Lorcan started to retort when the door opened. He had no more than turned, reaching for the sword he wore on his belt but a burst of magic splashed over him, freezing him in place. Farideh leaped out of the way, back to the wall, and pulled her rod from its place in her sleeve.
Sairché stepped around her brother, a wand in her hand, and with a quick spell closed the door behind her.
“Well met,” she said. “I do hope I’m not—”
Farideh pointed the rod at the cambion. “Adaestuo!” Sairché threw herself behind Lorcan’s still form as a bolt of energy streaked past and obliterated a wooden chair pushed up against the wall, narrowly missing the curve of her batlike wing. Farideh ducked around Lorcan, another burst of Hellish magic ready, but Sairché had rolled to her feet, and as Farideh marked her position, the cambion took hold of a charm that made her shimmer and vanish.
Farideh kept the rod out, searching the empty room for some sign of where Lorcan’s treacherous sister stood. “What have you done to him?”
“Nothing permanent,” Sairché said from somewhere behind her. Farideh spun, but when Sairché spoke again, it was from off to the left. “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you, and let’s face it, Lorcan’s a terrible distraction.”
Farideh cast another bolt but it smashed against the wall. How long before someone came to see what all the noise was about? How long before someone caught her casting magic with a frozen devil in the middle of her room?
“Put away the rod,” Sairché’s voice said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“How did you find me?” Farideh asked, moving into the curve of Lorcan’s wing. If she was going to hit Sairché, she’d have to be careful. Keep her talking—that was the only way to find her.
“You mean the protection? I suppose Lorcan didn’t think about the fact that there are more mundane ways around such things. Temerity was most helpful. Put the rod away, and give me a chance.”
“What do you want?” Farideh asked, still holding tight to the implement.
“I’m here to offer you a deal,” Sairché said.
“I don’t want it. I told you that before.” In Neverwinter, Sairché had laid out her offer to take Farideh’s pact from Lorcan, telling Farideh she’d change her mind eventually. Or else.
Sairché clucked her tongue. “A lot of devils are looking for you, and make no mistake, they’ll find you soon enough. If I can do it, a dedicated collector can too. Lorcan ought to have told you that much.”
Farideh looked up at Lorcan’s frozen face. He would have said she didn’t need to know that. He would have said it was handled. But how could it be if Sairché was standing here, and he was trapped? She held the rod more tightly. “I’ll manage.”
The door swung open again, and Havilar, glaive leading, appeared. She looked from Lorcan to Farideh to Farideh’s rod . . . then froze stiff as the same magic stopped her in her tracks.
“No!” Farideh rushed to stand in front of her twin, to block Sairché’s reach.
“Ah, the infamous twin,” Sairché’s voice came. “She is a firecracker, isn’t she?”
Panic sank its cold claws into Farideh’s chest. “He said you didn’t know about her.”
Sairché stepped out of the air and gave Farideh a pitying look, as she sat down on the bed. “He says a lot of things, doesn’t he? Obviously he lied.”
Did he lie or did he underestimate Sairché? Did it matter? If Lorcan couldn’t protect them from the Hells, she had to do something.
If Sairché cast another spell, Farideh thought, she might be able to keep her from harming Havilar. Or Lorcan. Not both. And still whatever spell held them in place might last for moments or might last for eons.
“This is my offer,” Sairché said. “Nothing nefarious—those collectors will come calling, make no mistake. I’ll give you protection from such harm—I have resources now my brother could only dream of. You give me your sister, a Kakistos heir of my own.”
“I’ll fight them off myself before I give you Havilar.” Farideh pointed the rod at Sairché’s chest. “Adae—”
“Now wait!” Sairché interrupted. “Lords, did Lorcan never let you negotiate? Never mind. Of course he didn’t. My second offer: my protection— Hells, let’s ex
tend it to your sister as well—for twenty years. A decent chance at life, wouldn’t you say?”
“And what do you want?”
Sairché’s smile grew sharper. “Just Lorcan. Reject your pact, break the protection, and I’ll do the rest.”
Farideh thought of Temerity, of the way Lorcan had smiled at the other warlock. I’m not your lover. I’m not your champion. She thought of all the times he’d lashed out at her or prodded her off-balance. All the times he’d hurt her.
But then there were all the times he’d saved her, all the times he’d been the only ally at her side. The times he’d been kind. It did matter, a little, that he’d chosen her. And she wasn’t going to let him die because she couldn’t sort him out.
“No,” she said.
Sairché narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think you understand what it is you’re up against. My brother is soft-hearted and lazy and entirely selfabsorbed. His schemes do not tend to reach beyond the tips of his fingers. Even for a collector, he is peculiar. The others will not be so careful with you. Or with your sister. Refuse me,” Sairché added, “and I will not be so careful with you.”
Farideh kept the rod pointed at Sairché, but found the trigger word wouldn’t speak itself. The thought of armies of devils, pouring through a portal from the Hells, eager to make Havilar their tool, eager to kill Lorcan and tangle Farideh in some worse agreement—she couldn’t let that happen either. She needed time to think. She needed Sairché to back off.
She wet her mouth. “What would it take to protect us for only a little while?”
Sairché paused and considered her brother’s frozen form. Farideh wondered if he could hear what was happening, see what she was up against. She wondered if he was struggling to curse at her. She reached back with her free hand and squeezed Havilar’s wrist. It was warm but still.
“A favor,” Sairché said finally. “And I’ll protect you and your sister from death and from devils, until you turn twenty-seven.” She smiled at Farideh. “A pretty number, don’t you think? And a very good deal.”
The Adversary Page 4