“Crowded,” he commented.
Havilar watched him from the corner of her eye. Brin, for his part, looked past Havilar, scowling at Dahl’s back.
“I don’t want to be here,” Farideh murmured.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Havilar said to her. “Just stop being nervous. Have fun.”
Stop being a nuisance, Farideh thought, so she can make time with a boy more interested in sniping at a rival. “You cannot leave me alone.”
“No one’s going to leave you alone,” Havilar said. “Calm down. And stop doing that.” She dusted off Farideh’s sleeve, as if she could brush away the smoky blur of shadows that seeped from her skin and through the fabric. “Bad enough your dress doesn’t fit. You look like you’ve caught fire or something.”
Farideh blushed and swatted her sister away. People milling around the entrance were staring. “Stop it. You’re making it worse.”
The groom at the door, a tall, sinewy man with almond eyes, took her invitation, casting a jaundiced eye over their group. Farideh found herself staring at her boots. None of them looked fit to mingle with the glittering Waterdhavians beyond the door. Maybe he would shoo them off.
… The cambion pinned to the wall cannot answer-the hellwasps have smashed his teeth and torn out his tongue. He is screaming, wordless, and so is Farideh …
I do not want to be here, she thought. If I don’t do this, Lorcan is doomed.
She drew a deep breath and met the groom’s gaze. “Is there a problem?”
Recognition dawned on his face, and a little part of her cursed. Rhand had told him to keep an eye out for her. He hadn’t forgotten. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I suppose Master Rhand wasn’t expecting you to have guests.”
Brin gave a sharp laugh and when he spoke his fancy suit seemed a little less out of place. “Do you really suppose Master Rhand would invite the sort of young lady who has no one to accompany her out?” He took Havilar’s arm and led her in, adding as he passed, “Give your man a little more credit.” Havilar tossed a giddy look over her shoulder.
“He shouldn’t have come,” Dahl said.
Farideh said nothing, her eyes locked on the long hallway that led to the ballroom. I do not want to be here, she thought. If I don’t do this, Lorcan is doomed.
“What’s the matter with you?” Dahl said. “You aren’t going to be sick are you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. She looked up at him, wishing he were Lorcan. “Don’t leave me, all right?”
Dahl sighed and offered her an arm. “I’ll make sure you’re with your sister and Saer Crownsilver when I do. Just don’t faint or anything.”
“I don’t faint,” she snapped. She took his arm reluctantly, as if it were a shackle that would keep her from running. There’s nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. You can handle yourself. They made their way through a swirl of young men and women in jewel-colored velvets and silks, their stares open and their whispers mocking. Farideh felt the shadows surge a little.
“Is that …” Dahl was looking down at her arm, at the blur of magic coming off her. “It’s warlock magic,” he said softly.
“It doesn’t do anything to you, if that’s it.”
Dahl’s arm stiffened under hers. “Is it strictly necessary?”
“I can’t help it,” she said, as they came into the ballroom. “If it bothers you so much, you’ll have to see me out of here to make it stop.”
The ballroom stretched as long as two trade-ships, and teemed with people, all decked in finery and passing pleasantries over the wine and cordials that passed on circling trays. Their happiness at seeing one another was as aggressive as dagger stabs in a dark alley, and the undercurrent of competition was palpable.
Three stands had been set up-the unsettling statue waited on the left under a downpour of cold, silvery light; the painting, a portrait of a sad-eyed woman in a bloody gown, hung on the back wall; and the page and fragment had been arranged off to the right.
“Can you hear it?” Dahl asked.
The drone of the page was quieter here, dampened perhaps by the shimmer of magic that walled off the artifacts or perhaps by the much louder buzz of Waterdeep’s elite. But she could still make out the unfamiliar words in the pulse of the hum. Ashenath enjareen nether pendarthis. “It’s the same,” she said.
He cursed. “Then Master Zawad’s plans aren’t unfolding. Wait here,” he said depositing her beside Havilar and Brin. “I’ll be right back.” He vanished into the crowd before Farideh could stop him. She cursed under her breath, and turned back to Brin and Havilar.
“I’m going to go try and catch some wine,” Brin said after a moment. “I’ll bring you a glass.”
“That’s all right,” Farideh said.
“Bring her two,” Havilar said. He slipped past a pair of women in long gowns of something rich and soft, punctuated with lace-covered cut-outs that showed their skin beneath, one deep as wood char, one bright as gold. They both stared at the twins as if they’d never seen anything as peculiar.
Farideh looked away, out at the crowd again, searching for Dahl or Tam or Master Rhand. Here and there, the sea of aristocrats broke around a body who had been invited for something other than his or her status-adventurers in scarred armor looking bare and antsy without their weapons as they entertained the other guests. But none were the Harpers. Most of the guests were just rich, with manners of satin and expressions of thick velvet, that softened anything sharp and hid it away under surcoats and skirts and jewels. Black was a favorite shade that evening. It would make it hard to spot Master Rhand. “I don’t want to be here,” Farideh murmured again.
“Why?” Havilar asked, staring back at the women. “Gods, what do you think a dress like that costs?”
“Piles,” Farideh said, scanning the crowd. “And where would you wear it?”
“If I had a dress like that, I’d wear it everywhere.” She turned back to her sister. “You really don’t need me to mind you, do you?”
“It’s not minding. I just want someone by my side when Master Rhand turns up. Someone to get me away if need be.”
“I don’t even see him,” Havilar said. “What are you so worried about anyway? Even if this fellow’s creepy, so’s Lorcan. I thought you liked creepy.”
Farideh’s cheeks burned. “I can’t believe you’d say that,” she whispered. “They are not the same.”
Havilar snorted. “He’s practically Lorcan without the devil-magic and wings. Also, he’s not nearly as good-looking, but still. All teeth and hands and-”
“Thrik,” Farideh hissed. “Were you paying any attention before?” She’d shown Havilar the rituals and the notes before they left, reminded her of the interaction in the shop. “What happened to ‘shady codloose winkers’?”
“I’m just saying you don’t need me. You have plenty of experience with shady codloose winkers.”
“I have not, they are not the same, and anyway, I don’t … I’m not fond of Lorcan.” Havilar snorted again, and Farideh cut her off. “Oh, go bother Brin.”
“I don’t bother him,” Havilar retorted. “You’re just mad you’re wrong about-” She broke off as Brin came to stand beside her, a wineglass in each hand.
“Bad news,” he said, handing a glass to Havilar. “I can only carry two glasses.” He held the other out for Farideh, but she waved him off.
“I’m going to find Dahl,” she lied, and she turned back the way they’d come before Havilar could get another word out. Dahl was in, he had his half of the bargain, and she didn’t see any reason she couldn’t leave. After all, he’d abandoned her straightaway. Havilar had made it clear she wasn’t welcome by her side, so long as Brin was around. No one could say she hadn’t tried.