“She wants you, Saba, and what She wants, She gets. And when She does, She’ll give me the power to take what has been so long denied me. And She’ll give me Idris.”
Idris Ismorah, Tilde’s protege at Arcanix who’d decided to try the Maze of Shadowy Terror without a proctor, before he was ready. And more than her protege-it was widely rumored that he’d been her lover, and she was as good as admitting that now.
The sorceress had been unable to save him from his own hubris, and he’d died in agony in her arms. Sabira had often thought the experience should have made Tilde more sympathetic to her when Ned had died, since she, too, had been helpless to save a man she loved from a horrible death. Instead, it had fueled Tilde’s hatred for her, as she became convinced that Sabira had not simply watched as her brother died, but that she’d actually chosen not to save him.
As if Sabira wouldn’t have gladly traded her life for Ned’s in that moment, and in countless others that had passed since then.
“And Ned, Saba,” Tilde said, her voice almost gentle. “She’ll give him back to me, as well. You like to boast that you would have given your life for him. Well, now’s your chance.”
Sabira started at the sorceress’s words. They echoed her thoughts so closely, it was almost as if… of course. The medallion.
Tilde was no telepath, but she could enchant items in her sleep. It would have been a small matter for her to place a spell on the medallion so that it would transmit the thoughts of whoever held it, and maybe even influence them. After all, there’d been no real reason for Elix to give the necklace to Sabira, especially knowing how much it meant to his father.
“The nightmares, too, Saba,” Tilde said with her fanged smile. “Don’t forget those. Crafting them was so much fun. Almost as much fun as seeing you writhing helpless in their grasp.”
With a curse to rival Greddark’s, Sabira snatched the golden half-disk out of her pocket and threw it to the ground. It skittered across the stone floor and came to rest against the base of the dais, where it lay there in the red firelight, twinkling at her accusingly.
“Get out of my head, you sadistic bi-”
The sound of a hundred crossbows being ratcheted back in unison echoed through the small chapel.
“Now, now, Sabira. Your harsh language is upsetting the children.”
“She can’t do it, you know.”
They both turned to look at Greddark, who still had his crossbow trained on Tilde, waiting for Sabira to tell him when, or if, to pull the trigger.
“The Spinner. Whoever- whatever — She is, She can’t bring them back. It’s been too long. And even if She could, what would they be? Ismorah was torn to shreds by the Maze and not even Leoned’s bones could have survived that magma pool. Is that what you want, a lover who is less even than a zombie and a brother who is nothing more than a wraith?” The dwarf had clearly done his inquisitive homework before he’d agreed to come with her to Xen’drik; Sabira was impressed. “And that’s leaving aside the most important question of all-what makes you think either of them wants to come back?”
Tilde’s red eyes narrowed and she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder, an incongruously human gesture from such an inhuman being.
“Do be quiet. You’re boring me.” She gestured, and Greddark stiffened, his mouth slamming shut of its own accord, his eyes growing round and panicked as he realized he couldn’t move. Then she turned back to Sabira. “You really should have taught him not to interrupt while the adults are speaking.”
“You’re avoiding the question, Tilde. What makes you think they’d want to come back… to you?” Tilde might have untold power now, but she was still the insecure daughter of a House that needed but didn’t want her. Sabira could use that against her. Would use it, and without mercy. She had no other choice. “You know the answer. They wouldn’t. They don’t want you. No one’s ever wanted you, only what you could do for them. Not Idris, not Breven, not even your precious Spinner. If She did-if She really thought you were worthy-then why did She have you go to so much effort to bring me here?”
“Stop it, Saba.” Tilde’s voice was low and dangerous, and her eyes were wild. “I’m warning you.”
“Or what? You said yourself She wanted me. She’s not going to let you harm me.”
It was a mistake, and Sabira saw it in the sudden gleam in Tilde’s eye. It was her only warning before a dozen crossbow bolts buried themselves in her back, sending her to her knees on the stone floor, in too much pain to even scream.
“Oh, no. She doesn’t care if I hurt you-in fact, she likes it better that way. Pain amuses Her. Just so long as I don’t kill you, I can do whatever I want. And there are so very many things I want to do to you, Sabira.”
Sabira reached out one shaky hand, grabbing the pew beside her to keep from falling. She could barely breathe through the fire in her back, her belly, her lungs. Drawing on the strength of the urgrosh she still held, she managed to gasp out one bloody word. Despite Tilde’s claim to the contrary, she feared it might be her last.
“Why…?”
Tilde laughed, a cold, brittle sound with no true mirth in it. Because there could be no mirth where there was no joy.
“And you know the answer to that, Sabira Lyet d’Deneith.” The sorceress spat her name out like rancid meat, and as the world darkened around the edges of her vision, she realized that she did.
“… Breven…”
“Bravo. Perhaps you are as smart as Ned always said you were. In exchange for you, She will give me the power to bring the House that never wanted me begging to its knees.” She giggled then, a mad sound that curdled Sabira’s blood. “Just as you are now.”
“… not… begging…”
“Oh, but you will be.”
Another dozen crossbow bolts thunked into Sabira’s chest, tearing through her armor like a paper target and piercing her heart. A cry of anguish was ripped unwilling from her throat as she slammed back into a pew, then slumped to one side as the life drained from her in tiny crimson streams.
Ned, she thought as oblivion reached up to swallow her whole. And my dear, beloved Elix. I’m so sorry. I failed you both.
And then ice, and fire, as every nerve in her body screamed and she was brought rushing back from the edge of infinity by two drow soldiers pouring healing potions down her throat and over her myriad wounds. Sabira bit through her lip trying not to give voice to those screams, and then hot agony blossomed there as well as the drows’ magic sealed the jagged wound closed around her teeth.
Sabira blinked tears and blackness away and saw Tilde watching her with an expression of false concern. Behind her, Greddark still stood immobilized and forgotten. But as Sabira struggled to focus through the fog of pain, she thought she saw his left eye twitch.
“Leaving so soon? We’re not nearly finished here yet.”
Yes, there it was again. His eye had definitely moved; he almost winked. Either Tilde’s spell was wearing off, or she wasn’t able to maintain it at the same strength while her attention was on Sabira.
Which meant Sabira had to keep it there.
“I suppose… practice makes perfect.”
Tilde’s blonde brows shot up and she actually laughed.
“You have spirit, I’ll give you that much. I’ll enjoy breaking it.”
At Tilde’s command, the two drow stepped back, taking their places in the silent ranks. They hadn’t bothered to take Sabira’s urgrosh when they’d had the chance; they clearly didn’t see it-or her-as a threat.
She was going to have to change that.
She climbed unsteadily to her feet, using the blood-slicked pew for support.
“Jealousy is so unbecoming in a lady, Donathilde. Good thing you aren’t one.”
“Jealous? Of you?” Tilde scoffed. “Look around you, dear. I’m the one with the power here.”
“Here, maybe. Not on the surface. Not in Karrnath. Not anywhere it really matters.”
Tilde didn’t bother with the soldiers this time. She held out a hand and sent a bolt of pure, crackling energy lancing toward Sabira’s heart.
Sabira threw herself to the side, tucking into a ball and coming up on her feet in the main aisle. The lightning passed so close to her that her left arm tingled as if asleep and the hair on that side of her head stood on end.
