Havilar threw her arms around her sister. “Oh,” she said, overcome, and she buried her face in her sister’s hair. “Oh.” Farideh hugged her hard, glad she had been wrong, glad that nothing ill had come of not saying good-bye. She had no words either.
“Against the cliff!” Tam barked.
They broke apart and had just flattened themselves beside the others against the stone when the other side of the mountain erupted, blasting their ears and shaking the ground beneath their feet hard enough to send rocks bouncing over them and down the slope below.
They would hear later that it had ripped the peak of the mountain away, that it had rained down flaming stone and fat ashes on the High Forest for miles. The plume of smoke and steam would be seen as far away as Waterdeep, and Shade would quietly hide away any mention of the library, the mission, and the score and a half of Shadovar lost in the explosion. The books Mira had carried out would be passed from scholar to scholar, except for a precious few which would secure the strength of Maspero of Everlund for a few years more.
“Everyone’s all right?” Tam asked as the rattle of falling stone slowed, and for the moment, it was the only thing that mattered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WATERDEEP
1 ELEASIAS, THE YEAR OF THE DARK CIRCLE (1478 DR)
Traveling back through the wilds of the silver marches had been simpler than their first trek in some ways and far rougher in others, Farideh thought. They knew right away where to camp and where to ford the streams. They had little trouble finding food to supplement their trail rations, knowing where the likely sources were. Brin and Havilar weren’t fighting with each other, nor were Dahl and Tam. The Zhentarim had separated from the Harpers’ group as soon as possible, and so there were no more arguments about that.
But even though they skirted Rhand’s Shadovar forces, they traveled with an eye on the road behind them, and another on the skies overhead. Plus it was plain that Mira’s flight, expected or not, devastated Tam. Brin and Havilar were busy acting as if their time together was borrowed and about to be reclaimed. And the addition of Lorcan meant that no one was very happy with Farideh, even if his help had meant they had escaped the library after all.
Only Dahl had decided to make good on his promises finally, to teach her the last seven rituals from their bargain. He was still surly about it, and Lorcan still sniped at him given the chance, but for an hour or so each day, Farideh was grateful to have someone to talk to about something that wasn’t how she was doing everything wrong or whether or not Brin’s eyes were his best feature. Or worse.
“Are you planning to tell Havilar about what we talked about?” Lorcan asked, as they waited outside the coinlender’s for Brin and Havilar to return. He’d hidden his true form, changing his skin for the appearance of a strikingly handsome young man, and passersby who weren’t staring at Farideh’s horns and tail were staring at him. “About the Brimstone Angel?”
Judging by his tone, Farideh thought the answer should have been “no.” “She deserves to know.”
“But does she deserve what comes of such a revelation? Knowing leads to more questions, leads to searching for answers.” He gave her a wicked smile. “Leads to devils.”
All worries Farideh had already had.
“Why didn’t you take Havilar?” she asked. “She could have been your warlock.”
“Easy, darling. Your sister wants things well within her reach.” He turned that wicked smile to an older woman who was not-so-subtly assessing him. “She never needed help. Though,” he added, as Brin and Havilar reappeared, “that can always change.”
“Bad news,” Brin said. “I don’t have as much as I thought.”
Farideh frowned. “I thought you said you had a kraken’s load.”
“He did,” Havilar said. “Someone cleared it out.”
“I think what I have might be exactly enough to buy back Squall and pay for an inn and stabling for a few days and then passage by portal for Squall and myself,” Brin said with a scowl. “I might be off a little. I wish I’d never taken any of it.”
At least he’d taken what was left. They were desparately low. When they’d parted ways from the Harpers earlier in the day, Brin had offered the funds in the safehold as a temporary solution while they sorted out what had happened to Mehen.
Farideh had managed to increase the limits of the protection spell, with painful, careful practice-she could be ten steps from Lorcan now without the spell snapping back. But as they walked through Waterdeep and Havilar and Brin fell into step, arms intertwined and heads together, she found it easier to keep pace beside Lorcan.
“Darling,” he said, apropos of nothing, “you mentioned you were having nightmares. What did you see in them?”
“You,” she said, not looking at him. “The way they might have been torturing you. Devils. Things that might be in the Hells. Why?”
He hesitated, studying Havilar and Brin’s backs. “Curiosity,” he said finally. “What sorts of things that might be in the Hells?”
“Well, here you are,” the innkeeper said when they returned to the Blind Falcon. “All that asking and once you leave, not an hour passes before your message from ‘Mehen’ arrives.” He retrieved a thick envelope from under the bar. “And knowing how persistent you girls were, I held onto it.”
A weight lifted off Farideh’s shoulders. “Oh, thank the gods.” She took the envelope. “Do you have any rooms left? We need …” She looked back at Lorcan and Brin, his hand still intertwined with Havilar’s. “Three, I suppose.”
“Two will do,” Lorcan said.
“Two’s all I have, so that’s good to hear.” He squinted at Lorcan. “Well, well. Where’d they pick you up?”
Farideh slid the coin across the counter, trying not to blush at what the innkeeper was thinking. “Cousin,” she blurted. “On … our mother’s side.”
“Ah,” the innkeeper said, clearly disbelieving. “Well, the two at the end of the hall.”
Farideh thanked him and took the envelope. “I guess Tam wasn’t exaggerating about the fuss.”
Brin peered at the seal, a blazon of dragon with a crown muzzling its jaws. His eyes widened. “Oh no. Crownsilvers.”
“Maybe they just lent him their paper,” Havilar said nervously.
Farideh cracked the glossy yellow wax and withdrew the thick parchment letter from its envelope. The fluid script of a practiced hand flowed across the page, dense with the detailed language of courts and officials and the sorts of people who set bounties, not earned them. Farideh squinted at the text, trying to sort the meaning out from the nonsense. Therefore the man identified as Mehen, being as he has entered Cormyrean soil …
“They wouldn’t,” Brin said urgently.
… the Crownsilvers’ claim being paramount against the established bounty …
“Well, maybe they’re telling you he’s on his way back,” Havilar said. “Maybe they’re saying thanks for returning Constancia.”
… and the complicating factors under consideration in the case of discreetness …
“Maybe it’s an invitation to join the dragonborn in their vacation home in the Feywild,” Lorcan said, caustically.
… until such time as reparations are made. Farideh’s stomach dropped. “Oh gods.”
“What,” Brin demanded, “does it say?”
“Mehen’s in prison,” Farideh said. “They think he kidnapped Brin.”
As much as Tam Zawad had disliked the spy they called the Fisher, he entered the Harper stronghold with a heavy heart. Dahl and several more Harpers out of Everlund whose names he would have to learn followed him through the tavern on the ground floor, up through the narrow, sooty hallways to Aron Vishter’s secret office.