Arvin realized at once who the baron was talking about: the yuan-ti who had attacked the young pickpocket. He shook his head in disbelief. The yuan-ti had a lot to learn about diplomacy.
Foesmasher continued speaking. “If you provide me with a description of Zelia, I will see to it that she is watched. If she comes to Ormpetarr, you’ll be alerted.”
Arvin murmured his thanks. It was time to get back to business. “You said that, on the night of Glisena’s disappearance, she retired to her chambers and dismissed her servants. Presumably after that, she slipped out her door—”
“No,” the baron said. “The guard in the hall was questioned under Helm’s truth. He did not see her, and he was awake all night.”
“Did she climb out a window?”
“Her chamber has no window.”
Glisena was sounding more like a prisoner by the moment.
“Does your daughter know any magic?” Arvin asked.
Foesmasher shook his head. “Not so much as a cantrip. Yet she must have used magic to flee the palace. Someone aided her.”
“Or kidnapped her,” Marasa muttered under her breath.
Wanting to stave off another argument, Arvin interrupted. “I’m ready to manifest my power,” he told them. “Could I see Glisena’s chamber?”
“High Watcher Davinu already examined it,” Marasa said. “There was nothing—”
“And now the psion will examine it—with mind magic,” Foesmasher told her sternly. “Come,” he said to Arvin, rising from his chair. “I’ll take you there.”
Glisena’s bedchamber was even more ornate than Arvin had imagined. The bed, side tables, and wardrobe were painted white and trimmed with gilt. The rug on the floor was also white, with a border of prancing centaurs. Arvin’s feet sank into its softness as he entered the room. The windowless walls were divided into panels, painted with scenes of noblewomen waving silken favors at jousting knights. The ceiling was of molded white plaster, the pattern an ornate spray of bouquets and tree boughs.
The chamber gave the appearance of still being occupied. A fire crackled in the hearth, and a brazier filled with scented oil perfumed the air. A gown had been laid out on a clothing rack and fresh water stood in a pitcher beside a floral-print wash bowl. Next to these were a comb and brush. The bed was turned down for the night.
“I felt it wise to keep up appearances,” the baron explained. “None of the servants know that Glisena is gone.”
Marasa, standing a little behind him, shook her head sadly but made no comment. “What do you hope to find here?” she asked Arvin.
“There is a psionic power that allows me to view emotionally charged events that have occurred in this room,” Arvin explained. “Whether Glisena ran away or was kidnapped, she’s certain to have been highly emotional at the time. I hope to catch a glimpse of something that will provide some clue as to where she went.” He glanced around the room, wondering where to begin. “The manifestation will take some time,” he told them over his shoulder. “Please don’t interrupt until—”
The baron placed a heavy hand on Arvin’s shoulder and turned him around. “You said you were going to use mind magic to track her—not to spy on her private moments. What my daughter does in her chamber is her own affair.”
“What are you so concerned about, Thuragar?” Marasa asked. “That he might catch a glimpse of Glisena undressing for bed?”
The baron’s face flushed. “He will not cast that spell.”
“Thuragar!” Marasa said in an exasperated voice. “Your daughter is missing. Surely a chance at finding her, no matter how slim it might be, is more important than—”
“Lord Foesmasher,” Arvin interrupted. “Be at ease. I assure you that, whatever I might see, I will be… discreet.”
“For Glisena’s sake, Thuragar,” Marasa said. “Let him cast the spell.”
Arvin smiled to himself. Marasa, so doubtful of his powers at first, now seemed willing to believe in them.
The baron stood in silence for several moments, conflicting emotions in his eye. At last, reluctantly, he nodded. “Very well.” His hand fell away from Arvin’s shoulder. “Begin.”
Arvin looked around the chamber, sizing up its contents. Though the power could provide glimpses into the past of any event that happened in the immediate area—up to three dozen paces away from the manifester—it was most effective if it was concentrated on a specific item—a bed that an angry young woman might have flopped down onto after an argument with her father, for example.
Touching one of the lace-trimmed pillows, Arvin manifested the power. Psionic energy awoke within two of his power points: his throat vibrated, and a coil of energy slowly unwound within his abdomen, tickling the area around his navel. The baron and Marasa glanced uneasily at each other as a low droning filled the air—part of the secondary display. As the power manifested fully, Arvin felt the pillow dampen with ectoplasmic seepage where his fingertips touched it.
The vision came almost at once. Suddenly the bed was occupied by two people thrashing against one another—a man and a woman making love. The figures were transparent, almost ghostly, and seemed to be writhing on the neatly folded-down sheets without ever mussing them.
The woman was young and somewhat plain in appearance; her face was a little too square to ever be pretty, though her naked body was sensuously curved. Her head was thrown back in rapture, her long loose hair splayed against the pillow Arvin was touching. Arvin felt a blush warm his face as he realized he was looking at the baron’s daughter, soon to peak in her passion.
The man on top of Glisena had his back to Arvin. His lower torso was hidden by the bedding. But when he tossed back his long, dark hair, Arvin caught a glimpse of slit pupils and snake scales, and a face he recognized at once. Dmetrio ran the forked tip of his tongue along Glisena’s breast, and as her mouth fell open in a low, shuddering moan, he began to laugh. The look in his eyes was harsh, triumphant. He suddenly withdrew from her, levering himself up off her body, and spoke in a sneering hiss. “If you want more,” he taunted, “you’ll have to beg for it.”
“Please,” Glisena gasped, clutching at Dmetrio and trying to draw him back down to her. “I’d do anything for you. Please.”
“That’s a good start,” Dmetrio said, a look of triumph in his slit eyes. His feet were visible now, protruding out of the bedding. They were rounded and scaly and looked like snake tails; each foot ended in a single large, blunt toe. Dmetrio wrenched himself free of Glisena and sat up in a kneeling position, then twined his fingers in Glisena’s hair and yanked her forward. Dmetrio, like many yuan-ti males, had a slit at the groin, inside which his reproductive organs rested. Arvin, staring, was horrified to see emerging out of it not one, but two….
With a shudder, Arvin yanked his fingers away from the pillow. He felt sullied by what he’d seen. If he did manage to find the baron’s daughter, it would be hard to look her in the eye.
“Well?” the baron asked. “What did you see?”
Arvin hesitated. The baron had closed the gate long after the horse had bolted from the stable—or rather, into the stable, in this case. The wardings on the palace had been in vain, but how to tell the baron that diplomatically?
“Your daughter was quite… passionate about Dmetrio, wasn’t she?” Arvin began.
The baron’s face purpled as he realized what Arvin was implying. “Here? In this room?”
Marasa glanced sharply at the baron.
“I saw Glisena and Dmetrio kissing,” Arvin said. “The vision must have been more than a month old—from before the wards were set. It wasn’t the one I was hoping for. I’ll try again.”
Before the baron could reply, Arvin retreated into a second manifestation. As the droning of his secondary display filled the air once more, he looked around the room, this time trying to pick up general impressions. As he glanced at the baron, he once again saw a double image—a ghostly baron standing just behind the first, his face also twisted with rage. He was shouting something. Curious, Arvin extended his hand in that direction, willing the vision to come into focus.