No place in the world for spies who’ve slipped.
“They say it speaks, the page,” he said. “That it has secrets for mages to hear.”
“And?”
“If it’s not a dragon’s, whose is it?” She didn’t answer. “And where’d the stone come from? Your patron never said what it is we’re dealing with.”
“Because it doesn’t matter to you,” she said simply. “Dragon’s hoard, elven ruin, lordling’s country mansion’s facade-”
“Something … darker?” The Fisher studied her expression, but wherever her earlier fury had come from, it released nothing else for the intimation.
“Whatever it is,” she said, “you’re paid the same.”
“Still,” the Fisher said, “a man can’t help but be curious-what’s worth so much?”
She eyed him again, for long moments that seemed to press the very edges of decency.
“A man can help but be curious,” she said, “if he wants to live very long in the Harpers’ good graces.”
For days and days, there had only been the hollow in the tip of a fingerbone tower, still weeping marrow from the walls. The little room and chains and erinyes after erinyes, a new one each time Lorcan woke, and Sairche beside them, now and again. Chains and erinyes and new sorts of pain. He lost track of the time.
“… you’ll kill him if you aren’t careful,” a voice said as he stirred to consciousness.
“I didn’t do this.” Lorcan tried to open his eyes, but a layer of dried blood lacquered them shut. “Bloody Megara let them go completely feral.”
“Is he dead?”
Every muscle urged Lorcan to stay down. If they thought he was dead they’d stop.
If they think you’re dead, they’ll throw you to the layer, idiot, he thought. And you don’t have the strength to run from that either. Even being beaten by erinyes was better than being slowly devoured by Malbolge’s hungry ground. Someone grabbed him by the chin and tilted his head-a shock of pain went through him and his eyes wrenched open.
His vision swam-three erinyes. One of the pradixikai by the door. One of the red-haired ones in the middle distance. A blond missing one eye staring into his face. Sulci. Shit and ashes. He recoiled despite himself.
“Oh good,” Sulci said with a horrific smile. “You’re up.”
Not for long, he thought. After so many hours, his arms were bloodless and numb, his mind was hardly holding on to two thoughts at a time. His resolve was shaken-give him to Glasya, he didn’t care anymore-
I may have need of you and her in the future.
He shuddered at the memory of that horrible voice crooning in his ear. Of seeing Glasya’s punishments meted out to other devils. No-not Glasya. Anything but Glasya.
“There’s another,” he tried to say. And all he could imagine was Farideh’s terrified face-he’d promised her, he’d sworn no one would find out about Havi. And if they took Havilar, Farideh would do something drastic to try and stop it, he was sure. She would leave. She would throw herself to Sairche, or worse.
If they don’t take Havilar, he thought, you are not going to be fine, and it won’t matter what she does.
“Another heir,” he tried again, the words slurring from his broken teeth.
“Aw,” Sulci said. “How dear.” She uncoiled her whip. “We’re all well aware you think you’re smarter than us, Little Brother. But don’t think we’re so stupid as to fall for that. You can’t get another heir. Not from here.”
“Less talking,” the pradixikai-shaped blur by the door bellowed.
Sulci looked back over her shoulder. “Lords, Zela, what does it matter? It’s not like the worm’s rallying where he hangs.”
“You have to give him a little credit,” the middle one said. “He hasn’t broken. He ought to have broken.”
“Did you expect some fragile sinner?” Zela said. “Half-mortal or not, he’s still Exalted Invadiah’s son. So quit waiting for him to break on his own and make it happen.”
Sulci didn’t move, her eyes still on the larger erinyes. “You mean Fallen Invadiah.”
Lorcan didn’t need eyes to feel the tension in the room. Having spent all his life attuned to the rage of his fifty-eight half sisters, he could likely be a corpse and still know when one of the pradixikai was nearby and about to strike.
“And who are you to tell me what I mean?” Zela said, coming closer. Shit and ashes-don’t attack her here. One misplaced sword-strike and it wouldn’t matter what Sairche, Farideh, or Glasya wanted. “You answer to me, Sulci, don’t forget it.”
“And we both answer to Baby Sister,” Sulci said, not giving an inch. Both devils loomed over Lorcan, giving him as much notice as an imp underfoot. “Since Mother is no more.”
Zela’s hand shot out and seized Sulci by the throat, but the smaller erinyes was ready and, even choking, pulled an ugly, curved knife and stabbed it into the bare spot between the linked plates of Zela’s dress. Zela roared, and twisted Sulci toward Lorcan-
“Zela!” a voice barked. Sairche barked. Lorcan tried to focus and saw only the shape of her, her wings filling the lacuna of the door. “Drop her.”
Sulci hit the floor with a spongy thud. Zela turned on her unwanted commander, and the air still bristled with the threat of her rage.
Sairche strode into the room, followed by the shapes of more than one erinyes. Lorcan shut his eyes and didn’t bother trying to count the doubling images. More than one. Too many.
“What’s the punishment, Sulci,” Sairche said, “for disobedience to your fury leader?”
He could hear Sulci panting. “She questioned your authority. I was-”
“What,” Sairche said, a little louder, “is the punishment for disobedience?”
Silence. “Eighty lashes.”
“Then I think we all know what comes next. Be thorough, Zela.”
“Why are you here?” Zela demanded.
Sairche was silent for so long that Lorcan made himself open his eyes again and lift his head. She was glowering at him.
“Unchain him,” she spat.
He heard, not felt, the shackles come from his wrists, and without the chains’ support he crumpled to the floor. The blood rushed back into his arms and he fainted.
He woke seconds later, his pulse in his ears. Sairche stood over him, looking disgusted. She withdrew a small vial from under her cloak and dropped it beside his head, before turning and walking away, trailed by too many erinyes, into the fuzz of Lorcan’s failing vision.
CHAPTER FOUR
WATERDEEP
1 FLAMERULE, THE YEAR OF THE DARK CIRCLE (1478 DR)
"Tannannath and Frynch,” Brin murmured to himself. “The Broken Marble safehold.” He took one last look at himself in the streaky glass beside the door. He’d freshened up his clothes as best he could, combed his ever-lightening hair and washed his face. He still looked like someone’s runaway apprentice.
He’d ignored the accounts Constancia had mentioned for days now, and he’d have liked to keep on ignoring them, but he was running short of his own coin. Tam’s acquaintance got him a bedroll on the floor of the rooms the priest kept, but Brin wasn’t about to ask Tam for board as well. All he had left to sell was his sword, his holy symbol of Torm, and his father’s flute.
“Tannannath and Frynch,” Brin murmured again, as he left the room. “The Broken Marble safehold.” He pulled the door shut behind him and glanced across the hallway. To the room the twins shared.
Coward, he thought.
It might easily be a curse or a blessing that he’d ended up in exactly the same place as the twins. He’d spotted Havilar the day before, arguing with the innkeeper about the futility of peace-binding her glaive, Devilslayer. He’d frozen, like a deer hearing a rustle in the underbrush, and been unable to do so much as say “well met,” as she turned and saw him. Her mouth had gone small, her back straight as the polearm, and she’d faltered against the innkeeper, agreeing that perhaps she should retire herself and her weapon to the room upstairs.