Or a bracelet.
Her knees went weak as she realized suddenly why Elix had arranged for her father to be released from prison, however temporarily. Why he’d asked Aggar, her hearthbrother, to come. Even why his own father was here.
This wasn’t a Badge Day celebration.
It was a betrothal party.
“Elix, I-”
She wasn’t sure what she’d been going to say. They’d only just admitted their feelings for each other a few months ago, having banished Ned’s ghost once and for all. And even though she loved having him to come home to-or having a home at all, for that matter-that little black box and everything it represented frankly terrified her, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.
Was it because, on some level, it would mean giving up a measure of freedom? But freedom to do what? Sleep with any man she wanted? There was only Elix. Freedom to remain a Marshal? Elix was a Deneith-he’d never ask her to give that up. Freedom to come and go as she pleased, traipsing over miserable ground to track down dangerous criminals for ungrateful clients and not nearly enough pay? Was that really a freedom she wanted to keep?
Was it because she still harbored some feelings for Ned, because deep down, she’d wanted him to be the one to give her such a bracelet, and not Elix? But, no. Leoned had been her partner, closer than even a spouse, and that hadn’t stopped her from caring for Elix, then or now.
Or was it because, in her heart, she knew that as much as she loved him, she wasn’t good enough for him, and never would be?
She was saved from having to answer by the big double doors at the other end of the dining room crashing open and a harried-looking steward rushing in, followed almost immediately by Baron Breven himself, the dragonmark on his cheek standing out in sharp contrast against the lividity of his face.
“Wilhelm! What is the meaning of this underling refusing me entrance? Since when-”
Then the bald, stern-faced patriarch of House Deneith caught sight of Khellin.
“What in the name of the Dark Six-?”
Sabira bit back a vindicated smirk as the head of her House was reduced to the exact same epithet she’d used at the sight of her father.
Then Breven saw her, and understanding dawned. He looked over at Elix pityingly.
“You’re asking her now?”
Wilhelm moved out from behind the table quickly, hurrying over to the Baron and casting a dark look at his son as he passed.
“My lord, please accept my apologies! If you’ll just join me in my study-”
Breven interrupted him brusquely.
“No time for that.” He held up a necklace from which dangled a golden semicircle depicting half of the Deneith chimera. Sabira and Elix exchanged shocked looks of recognition as Breven continued. “Tilde’s gone missing.”
“… the drow-Xujil, I think his name was-made it back to the surface with the bat and gave the medallion to ir’Kethras, who had it couriered to me in Karrlakton.” They sat around the dining room table, the spread of Karrnathi delicacies untouched and long-cold before them. Khellin had been removed from the room under armed escort and was being held on Baron Breven’s private airship, which was docked at the nearby tower. Considering that the crew of the Barony was fiercely loyal to Breven, down to the Lyrandar who piloted it, Sabira wasn’t entirely sure he’d be making it back, Kundarak guards or no.
When no one else responded, none of the Deneiths willing to state the obvious in front of Wilhelm, whose face was white with grief, Aggar finally spoke up.
“It’s been almost two weeks, then. What reason is there to believe she’s even still alive?”
Breven cast a glance at the Count, and Sabira thought she caught a glimpse of something suspiciously like sympathy there. He carefully avoided looking at her.
“After Leoned died and we were unable to recover his remains from that cave-in, Tilde created a sort of reverse summoning spell to return her body to my study in Sentinel Tower in the event of her death. She didn’t want Wilhelm to have to suffer that same uncertainty twice.”
Elix’s hand closed over Sabira’s beneath the table. She didn’t dare look at him for fear of releasing the tears that burned suddenly behind her eyes, but she returned his grasp with a grateful squeeze.
“So you want to send in another party to do what, exactly?” she asked when she could be sure her voice wouldn’t break. “Rescue her? Or put her out of her misery?”
Wilhelm blanched at her words and even Elix looked appalled, but Breven didn’t blink.
“As your hearthbrother said, it’s been almost two weeks.”
Twelve days, and at least twice that to get another group back down to the city of the so-called Spinner of Shadows. If Tilde wasn’t dead by then, she’d no doubt wish she were.
Which didn’t explain why Breven wanted to send someone after her in the first place. Tilde was a powerful sorceress and a family friend, but neither of those was reason enough for Breven to risk another thirty men, regardless of what torture she might be enduring. She hadn’t had access to any great House secrets; she wasn’t technically part of the House at all.
“Two weeks in which your precious artifact has been sitting there for anyone to take, now that Tilde’s opened at least one of its locks, you mean.” Breven’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and Sabira knew that she was right. This wasn’t about Tilde at all.
But then why was he here? He hadn’t needed to play messenger boy with Tilde’s medallion-any of his lackeys from Sentinel Tower could have brought Wilhelm the news of her loss.
No, the House patriarch wanted something specific from someone in this room, and Sabira had a sinking feeling it was her.
Elix had come to the same conclusion.
“You mentioned that you became aware of this artifact because of some snippet of the Prophecy the Wayfinder Foundation had recovered,” he said. “What exactly did that snippet say?”
The draconic Prophecy was an ages-old pattern of portents and omens written in the skies, in the earth, and on the very flesh of the races of Eberron, in the form of the dragonmarks borne by the great Houses. The dragons of distant Argonnessen purported to study these signs to determine the future and understand the past, but Sabira put little stock in such things. Prophecy of any sort was so subject to interpretation that it could mean anything to anyone, and so became little more than an excuse for people to do what they wanted under the aegis of divine or mystical guidance. As far as she was concerned, the draconic Prophecy was no different, save for the fact that dragons were more able than most to ensure that their interpretations were accepted and adhered to.
Breven regarded Elix for a moment, considering.
“It’s not even a snippet, really. Just a few incomplete couplets found on a tattered parchment, most of which had either rotted or been burned away.”
Elix and the others looked at him expectantly.
The Baron gave a half-shrug and dutifully recited:
“Far beneath the clawing desert
In the belly of the She
Lies a treasure, plainly hidden
With eight locks but just one key
When the Anvil next is silent
The Book is closed, the Warder dreams
Comes a daughter, Stone and Sent’nel
Her arrival…”
When he trailed off into silence, Sabira finished the rhyme for him.
“What? ‘… not what it seems?’ Or maybe, ‘… met with screams?’ You sent Tilde into the depths below the Menechtarun where Dol Dorn knows what was waiting for her, based on that?”
Breven bristled, the dragonmark on the left side of his face stretching taut.
“She wasn’t coerced, if that’s what you’re implying, Sabira. She interpreted the Prophecy the same way I did-the same way scholars far more versed in the subject than anyone in this room did-and she was more than willing to do whatever she could to serve her House.”
More like, she was more than willing to do whatever she had to in order to finally be acknowledged by that House-a House that continued to punish her for her mother’s decision to marry outside of it, long after her mother was dead and buried. But Sabira kept that observation to herself. Breven already knew what she thought, and Wilhelm wouldn’t welcome the reminder of his sister’s choice to place love ahead of duty.