Havilar frowned. “Tell me what a nentyarch is.”
A ruler of frozen Narfell, the Book said. Demon-binders. Are you interested in demon-binding? Nar history?
“No.” She stayed silent for a long time, considering the Book in her hands, her tail slashing over the floor behind her.
“What does it mean,” Havilar finally asked, “when you’re fond of a boy and you think he’s fond of you-he acts fond of you, anyway-and then he doesn’t tell you that he’s secretly a prince and then he starts acting like he’s fond of you half the time and not so fond the rest?”
The quiet stretched taut, hanging after Havilar’s question like a rope with too much spring.
I beg your pardon? the Book said.
“What,” Havilar said a bit louder, “does it mean when you’re fond of a boy and he acts fond of you, but he doesn’t tell you he’s a secret prince of Cormyr, and when you find out, he starts acting confusing?”
You can ask me anything, the Book said, and that’s what you choose?
“Then do you know?”
Let us say it is not in my purview.
Havilar all but tossed the book back on the pedestal. “Rubbish,” she muttered and stalked away, into the shadows of the library’s shelves, leaving the Book to ponder what exactly had just happened.
The Book-and Pernika, who stood watching from the shadows with a sharp smile and a sharper knife.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MALBOLGE, THE HELLS
Lorcan sat cross-legged on the bone-tiled floor, watching his Phrenike heir attempt to summon a book imp and trying to quell the tic he’d developed under one eye. He twirled the leather scourge pendant between his fingers, back and forth, and tried once more to get that idiot tiefling’s attention. The Phrenike heir shook his head at the summons, as if trying to dislodge an unpleasant thought.
Bastard, Lorcan thought. Not for the first time, he wished he’d worked the same spells on all his warlocks that he had on Farideh. At least Farideh noticed when he called. He reached for the mirror. And stopped.
If you call her, he thought, Sairche wins and Glasya will have no problems with her killing you. Gods be damned, there had to be a way out of this.
He waved a hand over the mirror’s surface and called up another warlock’s image. The heir of Titus Graybeard was probably among the least valuable of his warlocks, not merely because of her ancestor’s potency, but also because she was not particularly adept at the pact. He called her as well, watched as she lifted her head and looked around, and watched as she retreated into ever more private environs, waiting for Lorcan to appear. He gritted his teeth. Stupid cow-clearly he needed help.
He was painfully aware that he had no plan but this. If he couldn’t get a warlock to call him back to Toril, he would have to face Sairche again. And likely soon. He’d started ranking the secrets he held, the only currency he had with which to stall his sister. She wanted Farideh, so what could he tell her that would make her think she could get the tiefling’s pact? What would keep her busy and keep Farideh safe, but more importantly, keep him safe?
Shit and ashes, he thought, I hate the whole Lords-blasted hierarchy.
Lorcan had turned the mirror’s focus to a third warlock when he heard the door open. His pulsed jumped-too soon.
“Have you come to gloat some more?” he asked without looking up. “Or are you finally going to kill me?”
“Oh gloat. For now,” Sairche said. He let the mirror go dark, so that it reflected his sister in her shining, false armor, standing in the doorway, flanked again by Bibracte and Noreia.
And holding a terrified-looking Farideh. She shoved the tiefling into the room, tumbling her to the ground.
He had not been locked away from the viciousness of the hierarchy so long that he couldn’t stop himself from reacting-the curse that he would have liked to shout bitten back, the urge to leap forward and catch her tossed aside. He checked himself and came to his feet with a cool expression-it did none of them any good to let Sairche think the warlock mattered too much. “I see you didn’t need the mirror.”
“Nor do I need you,” Sairche said, her chin high.
He smirked, even though his blood was suddenly full of rage worthy of his mother’s kind. Kill her, it said. Dash her head against the floor.
“Is that so? Nothing you’ve forgotten?” Farideh scrambled to her feet and came to stand near him, watching Sairche and the erinyes in horror.
Sairche chuckled. “Lords, you do act foolish when your options are spent,” she said. “Say your good-byes, Lorcan. Make them count-I don’t expect she’ll be seeing much of you at all.” She turned on her heel and let the door seal shut behind her.
“Shit and ashes!” he burst out, once the door was gone. He should have taken the chance and attacked Sairche. He should have at least tried. Now he was doomed.
And so was Farideh.
“How did she find you?” he demanded. He turned and startled to find her standing just behind him, all wide-eyed and fearful. He stepped around her.
“I don’t know,” Farideh said. “All of a sudden … there were just so many of them!” She covered her face with her hands.
“That is why you have a pact, you little fool,” he said. “Tell me I at least leave the world a sister shorter.”
“I did what I could.”
“And Mehen? Havilar? That snot-nosed Brin? Did they just stand there and watch?” Sairche must have frightened her badly, he thought, when she merely shrugged and hugged her arms to herself, looking cold and lonesome, instead of lashing out at him for blaming her family. “You do understand I’m going to die,” he tried again, “and you’re not coming out of this much better.”
“I’m sorry.” She moved nearer to him, watching him intently. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Tell me what to do.”
Lorcan stepped back from her reflexively, and caught himself. “Did Sairche do something to you?”
She bit her lip, as if she might break down, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Bruises,” she said. Those … devils with her were rough.” She swallowed. “What does she intend to do?”
“I don’t know,” Lorcan said. There was absolutely no reason to have dragged her to the Hells-a foolish move if he’d ever seen one. Sairche must be getting desperate to make such a wild gesture. “She’s likely going to shift your pact.”
“To another devil?” Farideh said. “Oh, gods, you can’t let her!”
“Well you were happy to do it yourself before,” he snapped.
“No,” she said, tearful. “I’m sorry. Please. You must have a way to send me back?”
“You know I don’t,” he said. “The portal is gone.”
“Please,” she said, coming nearer. “I’ll do anything.”
He took another step backward. Something was very wrong here. Farideh was still staring into his eyes, still leaning awfully close. Still acting, he realized, as if she weren’t in the Hells with her life in peril, but in some sort of ridiculous narrative …
Those … devils with her were rough, she’d said.
She knows, he remembered, what an erinyes is.
Oh, he thought as everything came together. To the pit of the Abyss with you, Sairche. She really did think he was an idiot.
Lorcan grabbed hold of Farideh’s shoulder and shoved her backward, rocking her off balance. He snatched her arm as she threw it out for balance and turned her so it was wrenched behind her. He grabbed the other too and held her tight-he had to keep her hands off him.
“What are you doing?” Farideh cried, struggling to break free. Hells, but this one was strong. “Let go!”