14
Arvin sat in Karrell’s room at the Fairwinds Inn, staring at the cold ashes in the fireplace, exhausted in mind and body. His limbs were heavy with fatigue and his wounds ached; even thinking was as difficult as wading through deep water.
What was Karrell doing, speaking to Zelia? She was putting not only Arvin’s life in danger by doing so, but her own life, as well. The two women might share the same goal—finding Sibyl—but Zelia was utterly ruthless in that pursuit. She’d allowed Arvin and Naulg to fall into the hands of The Pox then subjected Arvin to one of the cruelest psionic powers of all in order to achieve her goal. Why would Karrell ever want to ally herself with such a person?
Because, Arvin thought heavily, Karrell was also a yuan-ti. She didn’t fear that race, the way a human would.
And because—and with this thought, Arvin sighed heavily—Zelia was a far more powerful psion than he was, far more capable.
Had Karrell decided to abandon him?
The drawing Karrell had done of him was still lying on the table. He picked it up. She’d drawn him as he lay sleeping; in the portrait, his face looked relaxed, at peace, which was hardly how he felt right now.
Everything had gone right, yet everything had gone wrong. He’d done what Tanju had demanded of him—found Foesmasher’s daughter—even without using the dorje. But what good had it done? Glisena was about to give birth to a demon; her chances of survival weren’t high. And once again, those who had committed this foul crime—Naneth and the abomination Sibyl—would go unpunished.
Thunder grumbled in the coal-dark sky, a distant echo to Arvin’s thoughts.
If Glisena did die, Foesmasher would be devastated. The baron didn’t think clearly where his daughter was concerned. He was bound to take his frustrations out on those who were “responsible,” in however oblique a way, for any harm that came to her. He demonstrated that when he’d lashed out at the soldier after the death of the satyr. Arvin might be the next one on the chopping block—especially if his absence from the palace were discovered. Marasa had instructed him to stay close at hand, and he’d disobeyed her. That alone would be enough to rouse the baron’s wrath.
Arvin clenched his gloved hand until his abbreviated little finger ached. It was like serving the Guild, all over again.
He’d been wrong to think he could make a new home for himself in Sespech; wrong in putting his faith in the baron; and most of all, wrong about Karrell.
He stared at the bed in which they’d made love—in which they’d conceived a child—then he looked back at the portrait, still in his hand. He crumpled it and tossed it onto the cold ashes in the fireplace.
He leaned forward and drummed his fingers on the table. If he knew where Zelia was, he might have tried to head Karrell off, to talk some sense into her. But the baron had been too preoccupied—to say the least—for Arvin to ask him where Zelia had been spotted. All Arvin knew was that she was somewhere in Ormpetarr… Which was all Karrell knew about Zelia, as well. And yet the message she’d left with the soldiers sounded as if she knew where Zelia was. How? Karrell was a stranger here; she knew less about Ormpetarr than even Arvin did. She’d have no idea which inn Zelia might have chosen to stay at—
Arvin stiffened. Zelia was an agent of House Extaminos, a trusted employee of Lady Dediana. She wouldn’t stay at an inn.
She’d stay at the ambassador’s residence.
That was where Karrell went.
His exhaustion suddenly forgotten, Arvin hurried from the room.
Arvin approached the ambassador’s residence warily, his feet squelching on melting snow. If he was right in his guess that Zelia was staying here, he didn’t want to run into her in the street. He pulled his hood up and tugged it down over his forehead to hide his wound. The lapis lazuli was still in place over his third eye; if Naneth scried on him again, he wanted to know it. Besides, removing the stone wouldn’t accomplish much. Though the cut on his forehead had scabbed over completely, hiding the stone from view, Zelia would quickly realize what had prompted such a wound. Even with several days’ worth of stubble shadowing Arvin’s face, she’d recognize him.
He stared at the ambassador’s residence from the shadow of an arched gate down the street. Several lights were on inside the building, and figures moved busily back and forth, their silhouettes passing across the draped windows. A large cargo wagon was pulled up in front of the main gate. The wagon was already half filled with boxes, rolled-up rugs, and furniture; slaves hurried back and forth from the residence, loading it.
It looked as though Ambassador Extaminos was beating a hasty retreat from Ormpetarr. Had he heard what was happening at the palace?
Four militiamen in cobra-hood helmets stood guard over the wagon. Arvin recognized one of them by his prominent nose. He touched the crystal at his neck, whispering a prayer of thanks to Tymora for sending him good fortune. He still had a little energy left in his muladhara, but he didn’t want to spend it on a charm unless he had to. Rillis, fortunately, responded to more mundane prods.
Arvin fished two silver pieces out of his coin pouch then walked toward the front gate of the residence, hailing Rillis by name. “I’m looking for Karrell—the woman who was with me when I spoke with Ambassador Extaminos. Have you seen her?”
The young militiaman shook his head.
Relief filled Arvin. Maybe Karrell had second thoughts about talking to Zelia. Then again, maybe Rillis hadn’t been in a position to spot her. “How long have you been on watch?”
“All night,” Rillis said with a wry look. “As usual.”
“Always at the front gate?”
“Mostly,” he said. He kicked at the slush. “The snow might be melting, but it’s still been a damp, chilly night,” he added with a wink.
Arvin noticed that Rillis wasn’t shivering. He’d obviously been inside at least part of his watch, warming himself at the fire.
Rillis stared at the wound on Arvin’s forehead. “What happened this time?” he asked. “Another naga?”
Arvin shook his head. “Nothing so exciting as that,” he lied. “A thief tried to grab my coin pouch. He cut me.”
Rillis nodded sympathetically. “Good thing he wasn’t aiming lower,” he said, drawing a hand across his throat.
Arvin nodded gravely. He stepped closer and opened his hand just enough to reveal the two coins. “There’s another woman I’m also looking for. A yuan-ti who serves House Extaminos, named Zelia. She has red hair, green scales, and a blue forked tongue. Have you seen her?”
Rillis arched an eyebrow. “One gorgeous woman isn’t enough?” He started to laugh but faltered when he saw the glower in Arvin’s eye. “The red-headed yuan-ti is here,” he said quickly. “She’s a guest of the ambassador.”
Arvin glanced up at the residence. “Is she here now?”
Rillis rubbed his finger and thumb together. Arvin passed him the coins.
“Yes.”
“Which room is she in?”
“Second floor. At the back. The second to last suite on the right.” Rillis gave Arvin a tentative glance, his expression a mixture of greed and fear. “Do you… need me to get you inside?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Arvin answered. Rillis looked relieved.
Arvin took two more coins from his pouch and passed them to Rillis. “If Karrell does show up and asks for Zelia,” he instructed, “tell her that Zelia’s not here. That she’s somewhere else.”
Rillis grinned as he took the coins. “Consider it done. But I’m only on duty until dawn. The ambassador has finally risen from his dream sleep, and he’s in a hurry to leave; I’ll be part of the escort accompanying him to the morning riverboat.”
“Will Zelia be going with him?” Arvin asked. “Or will she be staying on at the residence?”
Rillis shrugged. “That’s up to the new ambassador. He’ll decide which slaves and militia—and which house guests—he wants to stay on.”