Sos’Umptu’s eyes widened, but Quenthel began to laugh.
“Because she does not care that we know,” the matron mother explained. “Yvonnel is secure now that she is in control. She is pleased to let us view this great achievement-and can we deny that it is exactly that? What power must it take to maintain such a distinctive illusion? Perhaps she shows us this to learn if we, knowing now the truth, can see through her facades.” She gave a helpless little laugh. “Though I am confident that we will not, and so is our dear Yvonnel, no doubt.”
It was obvious to the other two that Sos’Umptu wasn’t very happy with that answer, but she said nothing to deny it. She stood there shaking her head, again studying the paintings as if looking for clues. Finally she simply shrugged and sighed and let it go.
What could be said, after all?
Matron Mother Zhindia’s audience chamber was right next to the chapel, close enough for her, First Priestess Kyrnill Melarn, and their guest to hear the screams from Braelin as his long and excruciating transformation began.
“You are interested in the ceremony?” Zhindia asked her guest, seeing the priestess staring at the wall with clear intrigue.
“I have only witnessed it once,” Kiriy Xorlarrin replied, “when I was much younger. I have heard that it is quite satisfying.”
“Immensely,” Zhindia confirmed.
“But it would not do,” said Kiriy. “We cannot have Braelin seeing me here with you now.”
“There is no danger,” Kyrnill explained. “When Braelin walks as a drider, he will remember nothing but the agony of this day. And for the rest of his miserable days, if any thoughts against Lolth or the matron mother he serves enter his head, he will revisit that agony. He could never find the strength to betray your secret.”
“Do they suspect House Melarn?” Zhindia asked.
“House Do’Urden is full of clever nobles now,” Kiriy replied. “I have led them astray, as we agreed, into thinking that Bregan D’aerthe likely ambushed their patrol, but that theory will not hold long, particularly if the wizard Jaemas is somehow in league with Jarlaxle, as we believe.”
“We should move quickly then,” said Kyrnill.
“We must move quickly, particularly if these other whispers from the tunnels prove true,” said Zhindia.
Kiriy looked at her curiously.
“A sickness of the mind,” Matron Mother Zhindia explained. “Some say it is the thinning of the Faerzress. Others pose that the presence of the demon lords in the Underdark is the cause of the madness. But we know better. It is House Do’Urden, its mere existence, that so offends Lady Lolth. It will not stand.” She looked directly at the First Priestess of House Xorlarrin and qualified the remark, “Not in its present form.”
Kiriy nodded. They were going to tear down the hierarchy of House Do’Urden, murder that abomination Matron Mother Baenre had placed on the throne, and replace it with a House to the liking of the Spider Queen. It would be a House devout, in Melarn’s own image, a House that would correct both the abomination of Matron Mother Baenre and the wayward path Matron Mother Zeerith had steered for House Xorlarrin at the same time. And it would be a House with males put in their proper place in accordance with the edicts of Lolth, at long last.
If the fall of the abominable House Do’Urden also led to the fall of House Baenre, might the new Xorlarrin quickly ascend the city’s ranks? The thought teased Kiriy, particularly if they could wrangle an alliance with their once arch-rival, House Barrison Del’Armgo.
The promise of glory for the Xorlarrins remained, if the family had the foresight and the courage.
The promise of a new House devout, in Lolth’s favor, and in alliance with the new powers of Menzoberranzan: House Melarn and House Barrison Del’Armgo.
House Xorlarrin, led by Matron Mother Kiriy.
“What else did you give to the child beyond the memories of Yvonnel the Eternal?” Quenthel asked Methil later on when they were alone.
“I did as I was instructed,” the illithid answered in his gurgling voice. “Much as I did for you.”
“Much, but not all,” Quenthel accused. “There is more than simple illusion at play with that one. But it is not magical illusion at all, is it?”
“I am quite sure that it is,” Methil answered. “Your mother had some understanding of the old illusionary magic, and I know that this child was quite attentive when those memories were imparted.”
“More than that!” a frustrated Quenthel retorted. “A simple illusion would alter Yvonnel’s appearance somewhat. Even I can do that, and I cared little for that part of your … instruction. It’s not difficult for one skilled in the Art to simply alter her appearance, but what Yvonnel is doing is beyond that. She is not merely altering her appearance, but subtly managing the expectations and desires of each individual who looks upon her, even multiple individuals in the same room with her at the same time. And she’s doing it in a way that will gain her the greatest individual advantage over each observer.”
“Indeed, and she is doing it continually.”
“How?”
“I do not know,” the illithid replied. “Her sensitivity to the perceptions of others is instinctual.”
“No, she took this from you,” Quenthel said. “When your tentacles were in Minolin Fey’s womb, this baby, this creature, took more than you were offering. She borders on the mind magic of the illithids, if she is not fully there.”
“You would be better served in directing this to Lady Lolth,” Methil replied. “I do not doubt the power of Yvonnel. She is as strong as the Eternal.”
“I am as strong as the Eternal!” Quenthel snapped back.
Methil didn’t answer, and the matron mother understood that as a clear repudiation of her claim-and she knew, to her ultimate frustration, that Methil was correct in his assessment.
“The powers come so easily to her,” Quenthel lamented, more to herself than to the mind flayer. “To maintain such a ruse …”
CHAPTER 9
He was a little older, a little thicker, his head a bit shinier, but Catti-brie recognized Niraj’s brilliant and inviting smile. She flew above the Desai encampment, just a short distance south of the mountainous area where the floating city of Shade Enclave had tumbled from the sky to crash and break apart in the foothills. He tended some sheep, filling a water trough and taking the time to speak to and pat each and every one.
The giant crow remained up high and circling. Catti-brie allowed herself a few moments to remember the earliest days of her second life. She had slept so peacefully in the arms of Kavita, and had enjoyed, with the perspective of an adult, the unconditional love and fatherly protection of Niraj as he fawned over her.
She would have her own children this time around, she told herself, and her crow head nodded. In that first life, there had been so many pressing needs-one adventure after another. Catti-brie didn’t regret any bit of that existence, didn’t lament her lack of progeny, but this time, it felt right to her. She was determined that she would share with Drizzt the warmth of familial love she had shared with these two.
But she had a terrible feeling that it wouldn’t come to pass, that Drizzt wouldn’t return to her this time. Had she waited too long already?
She shook aside her doubts and circled lower. When she was halfway to the ground, Niraj looked up at her. His eyes went wide and he stumbled back a step-this crow descending upon him and the tribe’s sheep was as large as he!
“Ah, back!” he stammered, and he backstepped and tried to shoo the sheep behind him.
Catti-brie swerved to the far end of the field and set down, transforming back into her human form. She approached an apprehensive Niraj, her face brightly smiling, her arms out to her sides.
For a moment, he seemed confused, but the word “Zibrija” slipped from his mouth.