“You mean the marks on the walls?” Dahl asked quietly. “Those power the wards?”
“Yes. You see traces of similar spells in old Netherese ruins, but never intact like this. They’re clearly meant to prevent outside eyes from looking in. Or they were.” She shook her head. “The ones I found were still scintillating and when you said your sendings didn’t pass …”
Farideh’s thoughts were racing. She hadn’t checked the door before she broke the rune. The Book had said not to. She swallowed. She had to say something.
“Well, we can’t count on … their …” Tam swooned. Mira and Dahl sprang forward and caught him, eased him down to the floor. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice faint. “Let me up.”
“You’re exhausted,” Mira said.
Tam didn’t seem able to look at her. “I’m fine.”
“You are not,” Dahl said. “And you’re not in any shape to help us break out of here.”
“I think I have a better idea of what shape I’m in,” Tam said. “Help me up.”
“Please,” Dahl said. “You’ve run across this library end to end. Slung that chain around like a lariat. Broken your leg and then tried to heal it-and you’re still hurting, we can all see it. Cast more powerful blessings than I can recall at the moment, and you haven’t bothered to rest.”
Tam bristled. “I know what I’m-”
“If it were me,” Dahl said over him, “what would you say?”
Tam quieted. “It’s not the same.”
“You’re right, it’s worse. We need people who can heal and people who can cast to get past that thing and its ghosts. If you don’t rest, we’re down by one. The one we need most.”
Tam rubbed a hand over his face. “We don’t have time. We need a plan.”
Dahl gestured at the larger group. “You have plenty of help. We’ll come up with a plan while you sleep. You can tell us what we’ve done wrong when you can see straight.”
Tam scowled at the floor, looking as if he were searching for an argument to hurl back at Dahl. But there was no denying how worn down he was, or how dearly his injured state might cost them.
“I have more of the tea in my bag,” Farideh offered. “A little? To help you sleep?”
Tam didn’t answer, but Dahl nodded. “Yes. Make extra.” You need it too, his expression said. But they did not need her as much as they needed Tam. She dug out the little pouch and set a careful portion of water from their remaining waterskin boiling in a pot.
“There’s a hitch,” Tam said. He looked up at Mira, sad and furious all at once. “They ought to know who they’re working with.”
Mira stood a little straighter. “Does it matter?”
“Oh, I think so. I think when there are clandestine members of the Zhentarim pulling my people into danger, they have a right to reconsider alliances.”
Farideh looked up from the cookfire. Mira had gone perfectly still, not taking her eyes off her father’s. Everyone else watched them, uncomfortable and unwilling, it seemed, to step between and catch the sharp edge of the next words thrown.
“How could you?” Tam said.
“How could I not?” she said. “They make a persuasive offer. And it’s not as if every alliance you’ve made is so innocent. Even I’ve heard stories of the Culler of the Fold.”
“Being a paid assassin is not the same as being Bane and Cyric’s playthings.”
Farideh stoked the fire, uncomfortably reminded of half a dozen arguments she’d had with Mehen. But at least most of those times only Havilar had been watching.
“We want the same things,” Mira said. “To keep these powers from Netheril. To punish Shade for what they’ve done-”
“To turn these weapons to their own advantage?” Tam demanded. “Don’t be naive.”
Mira’s expression hardened. “If anyone is being naive,” she said, a low edge to her normally calm voice, “it’s you. Do you think for a moment that the Harpers will provide any sort of impediment to the Princes’ expansion? Do you think you can really stand against Shade and do anything but die? Take the allies you’re offered.”
“Does it matter?” Farideh piped up, unable to bear the tumble of their conversation down its rocky, awful path. “We’re all in this against Shade. Against Tarchamus. Perhaps against the Hells. And we barely stand a chance if we all stand together. Even if she meant to turn on us, you can’t pretend she’s foolish enough to do so with Pernika dead, and Lorcan on our side.”
“Yes,” Mira said bitterly. “Your warlock and her devil will keep us wicked mercenaries in line.”
Farideh flushed and dropped her gaze to the simmering water. “Many thanks,” she said, adding a few pinches of the tea. “I was on your side.”
“Enough,” Dahl said. “We don’t have time or allies to waste, so I think we can all be trusted not to kill each other, yes? That includes Zhents. And devils. So your conversation will keep until later,” he said to Tam and Mira. “First things first, we need maps of the lower levels-as clear as we can recollect-yes? Mira, that is obviously yours.”
“I can draw a map,” Tam protested.
“Farideh, if you have to pour it down his throat, make him drink that tea,” Dahl said. “No one talk to Tam.”
“Are we forgetting the shitting Netherese at the gates?” Maspero said.
“No,” Dahl replied. “Take Havi and Brin and make certain the doors are holding-and on your way back, make as many obstacles as you can. Make sure if they do get through, they’re forced to navigate the library as much as possible. But stay together, and let Brin scare the ghosts off if they get close.”
“What about you?” Brin asked. “And Farideh?”
“Fari can come with us,” Havilar said.
“No,” Dahl said. “We need better information about the arcanist. And the library. I think I know where to find it.” He glanced at Farideh, and it dawned on her that he knew about the runes. She’d told him. Ah gods. “She can help me when she’s finished dosing Tam,” he said.
Farideh cursed to herself. At least he wasn’t going to call her out in front of everyone. Maybe he knew how to repair them. Maybe he knew how to make new wards.
Maybe he just wants to be sure you know how badly you erred, she thought, pouring the tea into a clay mug for Tam.
Tam was staring at Lorcan when she brought him the tea. “I cannot believe I have to tell your father you called that devil down. What were you thinking?”
Farideh kneeled down beside his bedroll. “He called himself. And then I was thinking it was awful handy to have someone fly me out of that mess.”
He sighed. “And I cannot believe you are so flippant about this, Farideh. It’s your soul, but you’re treading a line you never had to, and I worry one day you will fall across it.”
She held out the mug to him. “Will it matter? If I look like this, is a soul really a surety?”
“Those sound like someone else’s words.”
“Plenty of other people’s. If you think I have a soul worth saving, you are well in the minority.” Her gaze flicked over to Dahl. “Even in this company.”
He took the mug, watching the steaming contents instead of her face. “Whatever part of you is devil, the greater part is mortal. And that part must have a soul capable of good. It would be a shame to damn that part of yourself because the fiendish part-if in fact some part of you remains irrevocably fiendish, mind-happens to control your outward features.” He blew on the tea and took a tentative sip. “And unless you are a splendid actress, I think you do care. Don’t let him tell you your soul is doomed.”
Farideh pursed her lips and watched him drink several more sips of the tea. “Is it me you want to save, or Mira?”
And Tam Zawad was wise enough at least to know not to answer that question.
“There may be a line,” Farideh said, “but I would hope crossing it had more to do with hurting people and being selfish, with letting bad things happen instead of stopping them and not stepping up when you’ve done wrong-with a great many things more important than the company I keep. I hope that’s true for her as well.” She stood, still smarting from Mira’s last jab. “Although, she did steal the protective circle ritual from your book. You should know.”