Though the discussion was animated, Larajin was only half listening. Instead she pondered Somnilthra’s prophecy. Somnilthra had said that, together Leifander and Larajin could heal the rift between human and elf and end the war. She’d told them to make use of a heart and to use love rather than hate.
A heart in love …
Larajin realized the answer. Love, she reflected, could make people do things they would not ordinarily do-foolish things, things contrary to their nature. Larajin herself had played love’s fool less than a year before. Smitten with love for Diurgo-a noble who barely acknowledged her existence-she’d tried to follow him on his pilgrimage to Lake Sember. She hadn’t cared about the consequences. The furor caused by her leaving Stormweather Towers without telling anyone where she was going, the anxious moments she’d caused her family, the possible dangers she’d face. It hadn’t even mattered that Diurgo felt nothing for her. She’d ignored all of this and run after him, driven on by the beating of a love-smitten heart.
Her eyes fell on Doriantha. At first she saw only the tattoos, rough clothing, and feathered braid, then she looked deeper and saw a woman whose keen intelligence and fiery spirit would cause any man to fall in love with her, even a city-bred human.
Perhaps, if the goddesses were willing, even a human with a pathological hatred of elves. If Maalthiir were in love with an elf, Larajin realized, he might abandon his plans to backstab her people, but could it be done? Could the two goddesses work together through Larajin to fill his heart with a love that went beyond the foolish, into the realm of the foolhardy?
If they could-if Maalthiir’s love was strong and foolish enough-he might even be persuaded to work at brokering a peace between his elf allies and Sembia-or even to use his army against the drow…
Then Larajin realized the flaw in her plan. Thanks to Leifander spying on Maalthiir, the Red Plumes were as stirred up as a nest of hornets. There was no way she was going to get close enough to cast a spell on him, even in tressym form. Yet the attempt would have to be made that night-before Drakkar found her.
Larajin’s gaze fell on Leifander, and in that moment she remembered that the prophesy was not hers alone to fulfill. Her brother had a role in all of this, too. That was what the goddesses had been trying to tell them, all along. The twins must combine their magic. Together, they could do anything.
The thought filled Larajin with a sudden rush of hope, leaving her giddy. Breathless, she interrupted the discussion.
“I know how we can do stop this war,” she cried, “how we can mend the rift between human and elf. It was just as Somnilthra said, we have to use love to conquer war.”
She turned to Doriantha, and saw open skepticism in the elf’s eyes. The hardest part would be persuading Doriantha to play along with what would sound like a ridiculous plan, but if the spell Larajin cast on Maalthiir was strong enough, Doriantha could even slap him across the face without dampening his feelings for her. She needn’t even pretend to care for Maalthiir. She just might relish the thought of tricking him into using his Red Plumes to rid the forest of drow.
“Doriantha,” Larajin said, “I’m going to tell you something I know will sound crazy, but please hear me out. Leifander and I will need your help.”
Before Doriantha could reply, Larajin turned to the druid and said, “Rylith, we’ll need your help, too. Would you be able to use your amber to locate Maalthiir?”
Rylith nodded.
Larajin turned to her brother and asked, “Leifander, could you summon up a breeze and use it to carry a small, light object in a precise path over a distance of several hundred paces?”
He made a dismissive gesture. “Child’s play.”
“Could you do it if you could only see the object in Rylith’s amber?”
“I suppose,” he said, frowning, “but to what end? And what object?”
Larajin picked up a downy feather that Goldheart had preened from her wing, noting with satisfaction that it was predominantly red-Sune’s sacred color.
“This feather,” she said.
Leifander and Doriantha stared at her blankly, but on Rylith’s face Larajin saw the dawning of a smile. Quickly, Larajin began to speak.
Larajin completed her prayer and held up the tressym feather. Small and downy, it was perhaps the most unusual “weapon” of war ever wielded. Tiny though it might be, it vibrated with magical power. Its color had deepened to a vivid crimson that almost seemed to glow in the darkness, and the scent of Hanali’s Heart wafted from it as though it had been soaked in perfume.
“It’s ready,” she told Doriantha. “Now it’s time for you to kiss it.”
Doriantha hesitated, her lip curling, then leaned forward. She gave the feather the briefest of kisses, and stared skeptically at it.
“Are you sure this will work? Isn’t the enchantment on it too obvious?”
“Only up close,” Larajin said. “It’ll be Leifander’s job to blow the feather up against Maalthiir in such a way that he doesn’t see it coming until it’s too late.”
Overhead, a thickly leafed duskwood tree swayed in the wind, throwing a patter of shadows across the moonlit forest floor. The breeze-cool and refreshing, and carrying rich woodland scents-had been summoned by Leifander. He sat cross-legged on a mossy boulder, eyes closed and arms extended. His hands drifted in lazy circles, fanning the breeze that fluttered the glossy black feathers in the end of his braid.
Rylith, standing next to him, peered intently into her amber. “I see him,” she said softly. “Maalthiir is at the center of a group of soldiers. He has just passed through the northern gate and is walking in the direction of the manor house.”
Larajin nodded. “We’d better hurry. Once he’s indoors, it will be more difficult.”
She strode to where Leifander sat and held the feather up in front of him. “Ready?” she asked.
He drew a deep breath, opened his eyes, then nodded. Larajin let go of the feather, which started to drift to the ground. Leifander exhaled. Caught by his breath, the feather at first tumbled through the air, then seemed to find its bearings. It floated away through the forest, weaving its way through the trees.
“Quickly,” Larajin told Rylith. “The amber.” Then, to Doriantha, “Go now. The feather will reach him before you do.”
As Doriantha slipped away into the night, the druid raised the fist-sized chunk of amber so Leifander could peer into it. The image inside, which a moment ago had shown a group of Red Plumes striding up Rauthauvyr’s Road, suddenly shifted. Something rushed into view from a distant point, deep within the amber’s yellow depths. It drew close enough for Larajin to recognize it as the tressym feather-and it was gone.
“What’s happened?” Larajin asked, alarmed.
“Watch,” Rylith said.
Larajin did, and saw that the image inside the amber had changed yet again. Instead of the view being fixed at a single point, like a watcher looking down from above, the objects inside the amber seemed to lunge wildly past while the viewpoint constantly changed. A tree appeared, loomed close for a moment, then was gone. A clump of ferns raced up from below-then tumbled away as the view soared up toward the sky like a bird. The angle shifted wildly to avoid a tree branch that suddenly came into view, then a level course once more.
Watching, Larajin realized that the amber was showing the world from the perspective of the feather. Blown by the breeze, tumbling this way and that, it floated out of the forest and into a clearing, then drifted above an expanse of trampled earth that Larajin recognized as Rauthauvyr’s Road. A palisaded wall loomed ahead-and a moving carriage, the passage of which sent the feather spiraling-and the open gates approached, and passed by.