Indeed, House Do’Urden had become a de facto combination of House Xorlarrin and Bregan D’aerthe, with only Tiago Baenre holding any other direct in-House influence. The moment of joy that left Saribel thinking she might have gained the upper hand against Tiago was tempered only by the fact of Tiago’s family name, Baenre, and his noted standing with Matron Mother Quenthel.
“That will be up to the discretion of the matron mother, of course,” Tiago said coolly, composed again. “It is well known that Matron Mother Zeerith wisely seeks the counsel of Matron Mother Baenre at every turn, that she went to build her failed city at Matron Mother Baenre’s behest, and that it was Matron Mother Baenre’s decision to send the demon army to Q’Xorlarrin to allow Matron Mother Zeerith her retreat with most of her House intact.”
He turned to Braelin, his expression perfectly awful, as he finished with confidence, “Bregan D’aerthe’s tribute soldiers and House Xorlarrin’s attempt to rejoin the ranks of Menzoberranzan will be orchestrated by the will or whim of the matron mother.”
Tiago spun about and motioned to Saribel for her to follow as he strode out of the chamber.
“Drizzt alive!” he said to her when they were alone. “I had him! His head should stand on a pike outside this, my House, as a warning to all who would go against Tiago Baenre.”
“Your House?” she dared remark, and Tiago spun on her, eyes wide. “Your obsession with the rogue Do’Urden wounds us all,” Saribel pressed, and for a moment, she thought Tiago would strike out at her. “Ravel has tired of it, or could you not hear that clearly in his warnings to you?”
“Drizzt Do’Urden will fall to me,” Tiago promised. “And this is already my House, do not doubt. On a word from me, Matron Mother Baenre would cast out any of you.”
“There is a matron mother in the other room,” Saribel reminded him, motioning toward Matron Mother Darthiir’s private chambers.
Tiago scoffed.
“She sits on the Ruling Council,” said Saribel, as convincingly as she could.
“She is a useful puppet for Matron Mother Baenre,” Tiago replied. “And to me.”
“I know what she is to you, husband.”
“Do you, truly?” His laugh sent a chill to her bones.
“I am the future Matron Mother of House Do’Urden,” Saribel proclaimed. “You would do well to never forget that.”
Tiago laughed at her, and Saribel felt a scream of rage boiling up within her.
“Or perhaps the future Matron Mother of House Do’Urden will be borne by Matron Mother Darthiir,” Tiago retorted, and then, lewdly, he added, “by the beautiful Dahlia.”
“You disgust me.”
Tiago laughed and started away, and he pointedly unstrapped his weapon belt before he had even reached the door to Dahlia’s private quarters.
Saribel glanced around, feeling trapped. She wanted to go to Ravel or Jaemas, or perhaps even to Braelin Janquay, to see if she could build some support against Tiago. She understood the driving power of ambition-she was full of it herself, and indeed, was surprised by that, since she had always been the least of Matron Mother Zeerith’s children in the eyes of all around her, even in her own eyes. Her oldest sister Kiriy was the High Priestess of House Xorlarrin, but the next eldest child, Berellip, had always been presumed to be the truly ascendant daughter. Even her brother Ravel ranked higher in Matron Mother Zeerith’s eyes than she, Saribel had always understood, but had privately never accepted. She hadn’t even realized that until her marriage to Tiago, until she had been given the surname of Baenre. With the power of that House behind her, why would she not assume the mantle of House Do’Urden upon Dahlia’s surely-impending demise?
She would be the matron mother and her husband would serve as patron and weapons master.
But now it seemed that Tiago was both her ladder and her anchor. Could she rally the others against him?
She wanted to believe that she could, and tried to talk herself into that belief. But she was shaking her head the whole time she was trying to formulate some plan.
In the end, Tiago was a Baenre, and a shining light in the eyes of the matron mother. That mattered. In fact, Saribel’s best chance at her own ascent, particularly in light of the possible arrival of Kiriy or even Matron Mother Zeerith, rested wholly on her husband’s lineage and her new surname.
Tiago was a Baenre. Saribel was now a Baenre. That mattered above anything House Xorlarrin, Matron Mother Zeerith, or Bregan D’aerthe might desire.
Saribel’s private contemplations were stolen by a soft whimper from the other room, where Tiago was claiming ownership of the seed of succession.
Or was he fooling himself?
Saribel found some hope in the scene when Tiago had returned through Archmage Gromph’s gate. The mighty Gromph, in that event, clearly revealed his feelings for a half-drow abomination by casting Doum’wielle Armgo to the side of a distant mountain to die in the cold. Considering Gromph’s bold action against a member of House Barrison Del’Armgo and the lack of any response from the Second House in retaliation, was it likely that Matron Mother Baenre would let a half-iblith child assume the throne of House Do’Urden?
Even with the consideration that Tiago was her ladder to success, the knowledge that others would not tolerate Dahlia for long gave Saribel some comfort. She wanted Tiago to fail even more than she wanted herself to succeed. A sound from the room, the soft but sharp cry as Tiago violated Dahlia, only crystallized those feelings.
Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre reclined calmly on her divan, one leg freed of her decorated dress by a slit that reached to her hip. She clicked her long fingernails together and played with the multiple golden bangles on one slender wrist, all the while wearing an expression of complete boredom.
Tiago Do’Urden moved from foot to foot in front of her, barely able to contain his explosive temper.
But he had to contain it. The matron mother had cut him short at the utterance of his first word, informing him that she was not quite ready for what had been proposed in the meeting he had demanded. Now it had become a test to see if he could properly adhere to the lead of the matron mother. Quenthel had silenced him with an upraised finger, and was letting it stretch out interminably, just to prove that she could.
“You are wasting my time,” she said some time later, turning a glare that was both bored and threatening over the upstart weapons master.
“Matron Mother?”
“Yes, I am, as you must never forget. You requested this audience and I have granted it.”
“But you …” Tiago started to protest. He thought better of it and said instead, “I did, but only because it is a most urgent issue.”
Quenthel swung about on her jeweled and silken divan to place her feet flat on the floor, facing him directly.
“House Xorlarrin …” Tiago explained, shaking his head as if trying to sort it all out as he blurted the words. “They grow bold under the banner of Do’Urden.”
“They?”
“Saribel and …”
“High Priestess Saribel?” Quenthel interrupted, her correction a clear warning.
“Yes, my wife.”
“No,” Quenthel corrected. “She is not your wife. You are her husband, the mate of High Priestess Saribel Xorlarrin Baenre Do’Urden. Do you understand that distinction?”
Tiago could barely spit out a response. Where was this sudden attitude shift coming from? He had been the leader of the Xorlarrin expedition to claim Gauntlgrym as a drow city, even above High Priestess Berellip herself. Tiago had held no small measure of sway in every movement and decision of that expedition, because of the insistence of Matron Mother Quenthel. Now she would side with dimwitted Saribel Xorlarrin over him?