“Antiquities? You’re sending me out shopping?”
“The Harpers have a proud tradition of preserving lore,” the Fisher said. “Besides, it gave him something to do-find out if he has an eye for it or not. Make sure he’s not spending any coin on useless things.”
“All of it is useless,” Tam said. “What do you think to find in the Waterdhavian market? The Simbul’s spellbook? The last of the Nether Scrolls?”
“Then train him at spycraft,” the Fisher said. “I don’t care. History, skulking, thievery, the bloody lyre-I don’t care. Do what you can to make him a proper Harper.”
“I’m not a wizard.”
“You’re also not a proper Harper,” the Fisher said sharply. “So give him what you can and make me the sort of agent I can send to Neverwinter.” He smiled again, and again Tam wished he could knock the grin off his face. “After all, neither of us is going to live forever, Shepherd.”
Farideh had not been in many temples, but if the hall that housed the portal to Cormyr had not previously been one, the keepers were doing a fine job replicating the spirit of such a place. A long marble pathway guided travelers in between painted columns of warm wood, like supplicants toward an altar. The portal stood behind an ornately carved screen, and flashes of iridescent light threw stars through the cutouts. The high ceiling had been painted with frescos of bucolic countrysides, and throughout there was a cozy sense of peace that it was hard not to settle into, even for Farideh.
Despite the seething anger that all but poured off of Constancia. The knight of Torm had never been a cheerful bounty, but since they reached the portalkeeper-since Brin had left them, Farideh thought-Constancia had grown surlier by the moment. It made Farideh’s nerves itch, and the tip of her tail traced an arc over the marble.
Just past the chained woman, Havilar took no notice of Constancia’s state, looking past her sister, past the other travelers, at the door leading out to the street.
Farideh frowned, and-holding tightly to Constancia’s shackles-followed Havilar’s gaze over her shoulder and back to the door. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Havilar said, not breaking her vigil.
They might have been twins, but a lifetime of looking at her sister’s face only drew the differences into sharp focus for Farideh. Havilar might have the same cheekbones, the same swell over her brow where her horns budded and swept back in graceful curves. The same tawny skin and the same dark hair. She might have the same jawline and the same nose and the same mouth, but Havilar, with her easy grin and golden eyes, looked only like Havilar.
“Wrong blasted day to be traveling,” Mehen said as they edged closer to the portal. Its shimmering light bounced off the polished wood and stone as another traveler passed through.
“Could be worse,” Farideh said. “We could be trying to bring that horse through.” Constancia gave her an even darker look.
We’ll be in Cormyr soon, Farideh reminded herself. And she’ll be someone else’s problem. Still, she pulled her right hand into her sleeve to hold the etched rod that channeled her powers.
Mehen put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a half embrace, rubbing his jaw ridge over her head affectionately. She rested her head against her father’s chest a moment, uncomfortably aware of the knight’s disgusted expression.
“When we get the bounty settled,” Mehen said, releasing her and mussing her dark hair with one massive hand, “first thing, we get you a new cloak.”
That caught Havilar’s attention. “What? That’s not fair!” she said. “If I’d known setting my cloak on fire meant I could have a new one-”
“It’s still warm,” Farideh said. “I don’t need a cloak.” I don’t want a cloak, she thought. I don’t want to hide.
I don’t want to want to hide, she amended.
Mehen looked down his snout at her, puzzled. “You need a cloak,” he said a little sternly. He reached over and tugged on Havilar’s long braid. “And you need a haircut. Getting to be a damned axe man’s handle.”
Havilar swatted him away. “I’d rather have a new cloak. And Fari’s hair’s just as long.”
Mehen’s expression closed a little more. “Fari stays out of range of axes. At the moment.” He cleared his throat. “Here we are.”
The group of men ahead of them stepped behind the screen and into the portal, and Mehen stepped up to buy their passage. Havilar bit her lip, her eyes darting once more to the door.
“Truly,” Farideh said, “what are you watching for?”
“Nothing!” Havilar insisted.
“He’s not coming,” Constancia interjected. Her gray eyes flicked over Havilar and she sneered. “Not for me and not for you, you silly slut.”
Havilar could not have looked more surprised if Constancia had bashed her square in the chest with her shield-which was much how Farideh herself felt. The powers of the Hells shot through Farideh, twining around the knot of embarrassment her chest had contracted into. But seeing her twin’s blanched, shamed expression, that embarrassment lit into a white-hot fury.
In one quick motion, she pulled the heavy rod out of her sleeve and pressed the quartz tip of it to the soft underside of Constancia’s jaw. Hellish energy burned up through her veins, and they stood out black across the backs of her hands. The knight tensed.
“You hold your tongue,” she said, her voice shaking with nerves and anger.
“Fari!” Havilar hissed. “Gods, don’t be dramatic. Put it away!”
Constancia chuckled nervously. “Yes, put away your toy, warlock. No one here believes you’ll use it. Not where you’ll be found out.”
She could. She might. A quick spell and she could shatter Constancia’s prized armor, just to prove she could. She could burn her. She could make a lot of trouble.
We’ll be in Cormyr soon, Farideh thought, replacing the rod in its pocket.
“You utter anything like that again,” Farideh said, quietly, “and I won’t care who sees.”
Havilar gave the door one last, gloomy look before turning back toward the portal and their bounty. “Gods,” she sighed. “I hate Cormyr already.”
“How much?” Mehen roared from the head of the line.
Farideh and Havilar traded glances.
The man standing between them and the arcane circle that led to the city of Suzail, several thousand miles to the east, didn’t so much as flinch. His eyes flicked over Farideh, the shackled Constancia, and Havilar, sullenly leaning against her glaive.
“Eighty-five,” he repeated, “for the lot of you. Or twenty-five apiece. Gold, please.”
“I spoke to your woman two days ago,” Mehen said. “She said forty for all of us.”
“Big fellow like you? Plus the knight and her armor and those two tall-trees? I can’t move you all that cheaply. Maybe if you were halflings, I could do forty.”
“You’re not carrying us,” Mehen snarled. “I’ve been through portals. The size doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe you’re used to plague-battered portals,” the man said. “Cheaper ’cause you don’t always come through. This one’s new and as solid as they come. Verified by the Blackstaff himself.”
“You still quoted forty!”
The man shrugged. “Take it up in Suzail.”
Mehen let loose another string of invective in his native tongue. Farideh grabbed Mehen by the arm and pulled him away from the man.
“That henish!” Mehen started. “He knows well and good-”
“And he’s never going to admit it,” Farideh said. “You’ve gotten all the advance on the bounty?”
Mehen glared at Constancia. “Spent what she was carrying on getting here. We’ve got sixty-five and the purse will be empty after that.”