With that she selected one of the rings she wore on a chain around her neck, held it up, and blew through the center. A whirlwind seemed to spin out of the silver circle, then gusted back and enveloped Sairché. The cambion blurred as the wind threw her through the fog and out of the plane of entirely.
“Brin will be wondering what happened to us.” Havilar blew out a breath full of nervous energy. “Do you think he’s still waiting at the inn?”
Farideh shook her head. “I don’t know.” Why had a portal been necessary? Why had it dropped them in the middle of nowhere?
And Lorcan-gods, Lorcan. Her deal with Sairché looked terrible, on the face of it. Especially when they’d been fighting. If he’d just give her a chance to explain, that there hadn’t been time. .
“We might never find him again,” Havilar said, of Brin. “He might just go on to Suzail without us, and then what?”
Farideh looked at the bag in her hand. Lorcan gone, and Brin lost. And Havi-she didn’t understand. She wouldn’t understand until they’d figured out what to do about Brin, Farideh knew that much.
“We’ll go to Waterdeep,” she said. “Find Tam. Or Dahl. They can do that sending ritual and find out where Brin is. We can use the portal Mehen took. I’ll sell the necklace to pay for it. We’ll find him.”
Havilar wrapped her arms around her chest. “I cannot believe you made a deal with another devil. What karshoji demon possessed you?”
A very good question, a part of Farideh thought. They were miles from where they’d started, missing gear, missing allies. And her breath kept freezing on the air-how high up the mountains were they?
“I did it to protect you,” Farideh said. “Protect us.”
“From what?” Havilar demanded. She picked up her own cloak and haversack, fastening the garment shut with shaking fingers. “Proskur? Brin?”
“Devils,” Farideh said. She picked up the strange rod-the ivory that wasn’t ivory-and her nausea surged again. “They wanted my pact.”
“Well if you hadn’t made a karshoji pact,” Havilar said, “neither of us would need protecting and neither of us would be waking up on the other end of the karshoji continent!”
“No, it would have been worse!” Farideh drew a deep breath, trying to quell the sense of unease that she couldn’t seem to push past. “I didn’t tell you,” she admitted. “I should have. But there’s a reason Lorcan wanted me for a warlock.”
Havilar bent to grab the inferior glaive. “I don’t care how special he says you-”
“You and I are descended from one of the first Hellish warlocks,” Farideh went on. “The worst of them, I think. She helped Asmodeus become a god. She. . she did horrible things to make tieflings what they are. There aren’t many people descended from her-just three, and me. And you.”
Farideh had held the secret for so many months, but now it was no good to hide it. “You have the same spell of protection as me. They can’t scry us, but then Sairché found you anyway. Found us. There are devils out there who would do almost anything to have an heir of Bryseis Kakistos. Sairché’s going to protect us-it was that or let her have you. She said she would protect us until we turn twenty-seven, and I thought maybe. . maybe I could find some way-”
“Stop,” Havilar said, looking angrier than Farideh had ever seen. “You knew all that and you didn’t tell me?”
Farideh looked away. “I was scared.”
“Scared of what? Scared I’d do the same stupid thing and take a pact? Because you’re the only one who can handle it? Because you think I’m scared of some bugaboo old tiefling? Karshoj and tiamash, who cares who our greatwhatever-grandmother was? I’m not scared of nightmares!”
Farideh shook her head. “You should be. You need to be. Trust me, Havi, Lorcan is good for a devil. If you don’t-”
“I’m not going to make a pact!” she snapped. “Besides, how safe is it if now we have her chasing us around?”
“She can’t hurt us,” Farideh said. “That was the deal; that was the most important part.” She reached for her sister, but Havilar moved away. “She would have killed Lorcan back there. She would have taken you. I traded with her so she has to protect us instead. It was the only way I could stop her, I promise.”
Havilar brushed her hair back behind one ear. “I just want to get out of this pothac forest, figure out where we are, and find Brin.” She started tramping in the direction Sairché had indicated. “I cannot believe you got a necklace out of this, and I only got a disgusting potion.”
Dahl Peredur lingered over the last swallow of ale in his flagon, dreading returning to the offices above the Harper-run tavern. He had been sitting scribe for status meetings since daybreak, bent over a scroll and keeping his thoughts to himself. He would be there until sunset, no doubt, the Harper spymaster Tam Zawad asking him periodically if he had anything to add, the other Harpers giving him the sort of looks that clearly said “You’d better not” or “Go ahead, try-you’ll be wrong again” or “What are you even doing here?” Looks he didn’t dare point out to Tam.
A petite Tuigan woman with a shock of short black hair and large eyes dropped into the chair across from him. “I have been sitting over there,” she said, “well within sight, for the last three-quarters of a bell, and I know you noticed. So why are you sulking over here?”
Dahl swallowed a sigh. “Well met, Khochen. You had company.” He nodded at the woman sitting at the table, wearing a carefully unremarkable dress, her blonde hair caught up in a scarf. Lady Hedare, the agent who carried messages for the Masked Lords of Waterdeep these days.
“Yes, I know. That’s half the reason you should join us.”
Dahl glanced at the noblewoman, who was very deliberately not looking at Khochen or him, and made a face. “I’m fine here.”
“She hasn’t got a brightbird,” Khochen sang.
“One,” he said, “I’m not interested in Lady Hedare, and I don’t know why you’d think I was. Two, she does so have a brightbird. That bodyguard is doing more than guarding her body-you’re the one who told me that.”
“Did I?” Khochen looked back at Lady Hedare and waved her over. “Well you have to assume if it’s secret, it can’t be that serious.” The noblewoman smiled at Khochen, but took one look at Dahl and declined with a polite gesture.
“Three,” Dahl said, “she doesn’t like me.”
Khochen glared at him. “Well, if you’re going to be sour at her.”
Dahl tilted his glass, considering the dregs. “I’ve never been sour at her.”
“Liar. She said something you didn’t like, I’ll wager. What was it?”
Dahl hesitated. “After Lord Nantar died and she came up. . there was a misunderstanding. She thought I was Tam’s secretary, for Oghma’s sake.” He folded his arms. “I may have snapped at her. Now she acts as though I need to be coddled.”
“You are his secretary.”
“Only because someone has to be. I’m still-” He let the protest fall. It was arguable that he really counted as a Harper any longer, and that wasn’t an argument he felt like having. “Fine,” he said. “I’m his secretary.”
“I don’t know why that bothers you. It doesn’t mean you don’t count,” Khochen said, and not for the first time, Dahl wondered if the Westgate spymaster could pick through his thoughts. “You still have your itchy little tattoo to prove it. And while I’m sure it comes in terribly handy while you gather reports and make Tam’s schedule, it seems to mean you’re dedicated.”
Dahl scowled. “You’re going to have to have it done eventually.”
“And ruin this flawless skin?”