Dahl scratched the last line of runes across the parchment, completing Farideh’s account of the internment camps, Adolican Rhand, and the Nine Hells acting out on Toril.
“I’m assuming,” Tam said to Farideh, “that you’re leaving things out.” Farideh colored a little. “Nothing that matters.”
Tam sighed heavily. “You remember I have artifacts in hand that can make you share.”
“I remember.” She rubbed her still-shackled hands together. “Although I wish you wouldn’t. It’s just private things.”
Tam regarded her for a long moment. Dahl wondered what she was talking about. Lorcan, he decided, dropping his eyes to the page. Probably Lorcan.
He caught Tam’s eye and shook his head surreptitiously. It wasn’t worth heavier methods to make her admit she’d kissed the devil.
“Since this is a great deal of information we had no knowledge of,” Tam said, “since there are coordinating accounts, and since you will have at least two sets of eyes I trust on you-”
“And since I’m not a Shadovar spy?” Farideh interrupted.
“Even if you were, at this point you’re more useful to us than to them.”
Tam smiled. “I won’t keep you. But should anything further come to light, we may ask you to return. And I hope if those private matters turn out to matter to the rest of us-”
“They won’t.”
“Six internment camps filled with god-blessed prisoners,” Tam said, “and not a soul noticed.” He cursed and propped his hands behind his head. “This is going to be a nightmare of an undertaking.”
“You’re going to have to contact the other networks,” Dahl pointed out. Tam shot him a dark look. “Later.” Farideh was not, after all, a Harper, even if she was exonerated. He stood. “Get those chains off her and get her back to Mehen. I want a list of available agents. Be back here in two bells.”
“Where are you headed?” Dahl asked.
“Barber,” Tam said, as he passed out the door.
Dahl kneeled and unlocked Farideh’s shackles. “That was painless.”
“Relatively,” Farideh said, a small smile tugging at her mouth. She spread her fingers, the pale third finger standing out like a ghost among the darker ones. An unwelcome reminder of Adolican Rhand. Dahl took her hand in his. “There’s probably a way to change it,” Dahl said, examining her finger. “I don’t know it off the top of my head, but people do it all the time for cosmetic reasons. Fancy revels and things.” He smiled at her. “I am completely certain someone can turn it dryad-green.”
“Better than this.” Farideh looked away.
Dahl squeezed her hand. “Worst comes to worst, we’ll find you some nice gloves.”
Farideh took her hand back, and Dahl stood and found something else to look at. “I suppose,” she said, standing, “there are plenty of places that sell gloves in Suzail.”
“Probably,” Dahl said. “Probably Lord Crownsilver can find a merchant who’d be delighted to fit his dear friend with gloves.”
“So long as no one knows that dear friend is me.”
Dahl didn’t argue. He didn’t have the faintest idea how Brin and Mehen thought returning to Suzail with tieflings in tow would work. He half hoped it didn’t and he wouldn’t have to trek to Cormyr when Tam decided he needed more information from Farideh. “What did you leave out?” Dahl asked. “Is it just-” She met his gaze. “Please don’t ask me. I won’t lie to you, but. . please, if you and I are friends at all, don’t ask. I promise it’s not anything the Harpers need to know.”
“All right,” Dahl said. “But you’ll tell me if you’re in trouble?”
“I’ll tell you if there’s anything you can do about it.” She pulled her sleeve down over her ruined hand. “Dahl. . I know you don’t want to know about your soul and. . things.”
“I don’t,” Dahl said firmly. If she was going to bring this up again, there were a hundred other things he could slip away to do. “I won’t keep you from Mehen,” he started.
Farideh wet her lips. “It’s only. . You should know, Dahl. I don’t think Oghma’s finished with you yet.”
Dahl felt his chest squeeze tight. “What makes you say that?” he asked, as nonchalantly as he could.
“The others,” she said, “the Chosen, they all have runes-symbols-that I can’t read, as if the gods have marked their souls.”
“And I have one?” Dahl said. “I doubt that.”
“You don’t,” Farideh agreed, and Dahl was embarrassed at how suddenly his heart seemed to collapse at that-even though he knew better. He struggled to think of some glib thing to say, but then she went on, “Yours are. . in other tongues.”
Dahl went still. “What. . what do they say?”
Farideh still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You asked me not to look again. I haven’t. . I only managed to read one line of it-in Draconic. It might be that it’s the same all through-it’s a lot of writing, as if someone made the light into ink-”
“Fari,” he said sharply. He felt dizzy, as if none of the blood were reaching his head. “Please. What does it say?”
And finally she looked up and met his eyes. “Vur ghent vethsunathear renthisj.” “ ‘And after,’ ” Dahl translated, “ ‘my priest speaks.’ ”
“You’re all right?” Mehen asked Havilar again. “You don’t need anything?”
“I’m fine,” Havilar said, grinning. All Mehen’s worrying-everything that had made her feel smothered and annoyed before-just felt like home. “And I will be here in the morning, I promise.”
Mehen studied her for a long moment, as if he thought she might be lying, as if he knew she was hiding something. “All right,” he said finally.
He stroked her hair once with his great hand and smiled halfheartedly. “If you change your mind, you can wake me.”
Havilar rolled her eyes, but still she smiled. Everything was falling back to the way it should be. Everything was almost normal again. She dawdled with the hand mirror she’d been left, trying to decide if she ought to take her braids out or pin them up or something altogether different.
The face that stared back was strange, but happy-and Havilar was less and less surprised each time she saw herself.
The knock at the door half a bell later made Havilar leap from her seat, all but throwing the mirror down. She yanked the door open to reveal Brin. “Havi,” he started.
“Well met,” she said, pulling him into the room. They’d hardly had a decent moment alone on the way back, always crowded by strangers and Harpers and Mehen-and even though Havilar was pretty sure Mehen knew by now what was going on, she’d rather keep things quiet until they sat down and told him properly.
Brin went a little stiff as she drew him in, and Havilar frowned. She shut the door behind him, but he didn’t relax. “What’s wrong?”
“Havi,” he said again, “I have to tell you something and. .” He swallowed.
“It’s not an easy thing-to hear or to say-but I need you to listen to the whole of it before you make up your mind, all right? Can you promise me that?” All the blood seemed to drop out of Havilar’s head. “Brin, you’re scaring me.”
He looked as if he were scaring himself as well. He guided her back to sit on the edge of the bed. “Just promise me? Please?”
“All right,” she said, too afraid to say otherwise. She watched his mouth as he wet his lips again, the moment stretching out, taut and sharp and horrible before he spoke: “I’m engaged.”
“En. . engaged with what?”
“Engaged to be married,” he said hesitantly. “Come summer.” Havilar pulled her hand back, the blood somehow sinking farther away from her head. She felt as if she were going to faint. She felt as if she were someone else, somewhere else, watching this happen. “But. . you said you loved me.”
“I do,” he said. He reached for her face, but she slipped away. “I do,” he said again. “I love you-”
“But you love her too,” Havilar finished.
“No,” Brin said. “It’s not a love match. It’s a political marriage. Raedra and I are. .” He seemed to hunt for the right word. “Allies.”