“Then there has to be another portal?”
“It’s a portal, not a blacksmith’s. If there’s another they’re keeping it private.” He bared his yellowed teeth and tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tasting the air for trouble. “We can’t afford eighty-five. We’ll have to take the overland route.”
The overland route to Cormyr’s capital would take tendays-months if the weather didn’t hold. They might be able to fund their passage by hiring on with a caravan-assuming they could find a caravan willing to take on tieflings and a dragonborn with a shining knight of Torm as a bounty-but even if everything worked out, it meant tendays in Constancia’s company. Farideh traded another look with her sister, who clutched her glaive until her knuckles were white-Havilar might be taking her turn as the good sister, but it wouldn’t last long with Brin’s awful cousin provoking her.
Farideh bit her lip and studied the portal, the stubborn portalkeeper and his guards all waiting for an answer. “What about fifty?” she said.
“Fifty wouldn’t be as good as forty, but it would do.”
“So buy passage for yourself and Constancia-that’s fifty. Leave Havi and me here.”
Mehen looked down his snout at her, as appalled as if she’d suggested they pay the portal fee with his ancestor’s eggshells. “Out of the question,” he said. “We’ll find another way.”
“What other way? Overland will take months and cost just as much, maybe more. This way it will be finished in a few days at most.” She shrugged. “What can happen in a few days?”
Mehen narrowed his eyes. “Where should I start?”
It would take a shift in the planes, Farideh thought, for Mehen to stop treating her and Havilar like children. She could lead an army across the continent and he’d still try to make her drill with Havilar and then send her to bed. If he wasn’t there to watch over them-
“What … what if we stay with Tam?” she asked. “We’ll keep to the inn he mentioned, make sure he knows where we are, and you’ll be back soon enough. Tomorrow, right?” she added. “That’s not enough time to get into trouble.”
Mehen growled low in his throat, the scaly ridges of his face shifting with annoyance as he warred with reason and fear. The growl cut off abruptly and Mehen stormed across the room to the portalkeeper. “Paper and a quill,” he snapped. The portalkeeper demanded a few coins for the favor, and soon Mehen was scribbling a lengthy, hurried note.
“You take this directly to Tam,” he said when he was finished and the ink had mostly dried. “You’re not to go out without each other or without your cloaks-which means Fari, get a cloak. Go to sleep at a reasonable hour and, Tiamat pass you by, you keep that boy away from Havilar, understand?”
“Who? Brin?” Farideh said, taking the folded note and the small pouch of coins he offered her.
“Fari,” he said in a warning tone. “I mean it.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about Havi and Brin.”
“I hope so,” he said, half to himself. He glared down his snout at her, in that fierce way she knew meant he was angry not at his daughters, but at the world they lived in. “Whatever blossoming romance you think is happening, at your age, it’s doomed, no matter the sweetness.”
Farideh flushed. “I’ll keep that in mind should I ever have a ‘blossoming romance.’ ”
Mehen narrowed his eyes. “That devil shows up, your sister will tell me. You’re better off without him around.”
Farideh doubted that. She wasn’t Havilar, after all, who took to the glaive like she’d been born with one in her hands. The sword she carried had become mostly for show since she’d taken the pact-a state that was safer, really, for everyone involved. She couldn’t lose her grip on a burst of magic.
But without the pact, she had no magic. And without Lorcan, she had no pact.
“What did you say?” Havilar marveled after they’d watched Mehen and Constancia pass through the portal, and started heading toward the inn.
“Just the right reasons at the right time.”
“Well you’d better tell me the reasons. For future reference.” Havilar considered her sister for a moment. “Would you have done it?” She jabbed two fingers toward the underside of her jaw in pantomime.
“No,” Farideh said, embarrassed. “Though I wished it had scared her just a bit.” They turned and headed out of the hall. “She’s horrible, isn’t she?”
Havilar shrugged. “I’m sure she has good points. She raised Brin after all.”
“Mehen thinks he ought to worry about you and Brin. Isn’t that funny?”
“Mehen worries about everything,” Havilar said. “What’s the note say?” She snatched the note from her sister and unfolded it.
“Gods, he wants Tam to keep us on a short lead. Meal times, bed times-is he mad? We aren’t twelve-suggestions for sparring to keep us busy. What does he think we’re going to do in a day?”
Farideh looked askance at her sister. In the previous year, Farideh had taken on an infernal pact with Lorcan, gotten them ejected from the village, been accosted by numerous priests and bystanders, and accidentally run afoul of a cult of devil worshipers. And Mehen thought of her as “the quiet one.”
“ ‘No whiskey,’ ” Havilar read. “Calls that out specifically. Nothing happened the last time I drank whiskey. ‘No boys’ is on here too.” She scowled and folded the note up.
Farideh watched Havilar a moment. “Mehen’s not right, is he?”
“Of course he’s not right,” Havilar said. “Don’t be stupid. You need to buy a cloak, right? Let’s do that. Go back to the inn later.”
“Do you think Brin’s gone there?”
“I don’t care,” she said, firmly taking Farideh by the arm and steering her toward the market in the middle of the city. “I think you should get one with ribbons. Or velvet. Something in a nicer color than brown.”
“I don’t know why everyone’s so fussed about you two,” Farideh said. “You’re just friends.”
“Friends keep their promises,” Havilar replied. “He said he’d come with us.”
“He said he might. And he meant ‘no.’ ”
“Then he should have said ‘no.’ ”
They walked in silence until they reached the market. Stalls and tents overflowed with bright apples and crinkled, emerald greens, nuts piled up like treasure, bolts of fabric and smooth pots and all manner of other things-all in the shade of a striking black tower.
Farideh eyed a cart of chickens with jewel-red eyes, all strung together and clucking. “You know he gave me trouble about Lorcan too. It’s not just you.”
Havilar snorted. “It was for show, then. Mehen doesn’t think you can call Lorcan anymore. He just doesn’t want you to try.”
“I might be able to,” Farideh said defensively.
“Well, you haven’t,” Havilar said. “And that says something.” She sighed. “I almost wish you would get Lorcan back. Then Mehen would stop bothering me about boys. Come on.”
Havilar marched her toward a likely looking storefront. The shopkeeper didn’t greet them as they entered, only eyed them with a puzzled stare.
“Well met,” Havilar said. “D’you sell cloaks?”
The man blinked at her. “Sell the fabric,” he said slowly. “Got a few readymade. Used, all of them.” He jerked his head toward the far end of the shop. “Over there.”
Havilar dragged her sister over to the shelves of colorful cloth, the rack of shabby clothing. “How long do you think it takes to make a cloak?” she asked.
Farideh looked back over her shoulder at the shopkeeper, who’d moved around his counter to keep a better watch on them. “Awhile, I suspect. We’d need a tailor. And more coin. Just look at the worn ones.”
Havilar wrinkled her nose. “These are hideous. Better you wear your burned-up one than this.” She pulled out a roughspun cloak large enough to cover Mehen.