Brin’s bravado collapsed. For the first time, it occurred to Brin that the priest was dangerous. That he did not know where the rules of a silverstar and a Harper lay when it came to lads with sharp tongues threatening their cover.
“I … I need to travel with the dragonborn too,” he said. “I want you to tell him I’m traveling with you. That I need to come along.”
Tam frowned, his dark eyes searching Brin’s face as if what he wasn’t saying would be written there. Brin nearly told him too … but without knowing what the priest would or would not do, it was too dangerous. In some people’s eyes, Brin would be nothing but a boy in the midst of some mischief. In others’, he would be a traitor.
A slow, crooked smile crept across Tam’s mouth. “Oh. I see. Out with it then, which one of them is it?”
Brin’s heart started to gallop. Tam couldn’t have heard his thoughts. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Tam chuckled. “It’s all right. I won’t say anything. But let me give you a little advice: make up your mind before we leave. You don’t want to leave two girls wondering, especially when you’re traveling together. More especially if they’re sisters.”
“Oh!” Brin made himself look away, as if he were embarrassed, and pursed his lips hard, so he wouldn’t grin. The priest thought this was about Brin mooning over those tiefling girls. Blessed, blessed gods-this was perfect.
“You won’t tell them, will you?” he said.
“No,” Tam replied. “So long as you don’t discuss what you’ve heard. They’re only a part of my plans so far as I need extra blades to make it through Neverwinter Wood.”
“Then I will see you tomorrow morning,” Brin said.
He walked back out into the courtyard, winding his way around wagons and bedrolls and pickets of horses. Everything was going to be all right. Mehen would keep Constancia from catching Brin. Tam would get where he was going and never look too closely at Brin. Now he just had to find somewhere to sleep and not get trampled.
He took the whiskey bottle out for another tentative, celebratory sip, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He swallowed wrong. The alcohol burned his throat and lungs, and he coughed hard enough to make his eyes water.
“Oh good gods,” a female voice said. “Are you still all jumpy? Because I’m not going to invite you anywhere if you’re going to throw up again.”
Brin blinked away the tears and spun on his assailant. It was the leggy tiefling girl with the glaive. Havilar. Only the glaive was somewhere else. She stood there, just out of the torchlight, with her hands behind her back and the tip of her tail slashing back and forth. Brin didn’t know what that meant. Whether it was Tam’s insinuations or the fact that-this time-he wasn’t trying not to throw up, Brin had to admit she was a little pretty.
“Well met,” she said with a nice smile. She pointed at the whiskey bottle with her chin. “Do you want some help finishing that?”
CHAPTER FOUR
The High Road, two days south of Neverwinter 10 Kythorn, the Year of the dark Circle (1478 DR)
Farideh listened to her breath, too fast and too shallow. There was only a moment to consider leaping out after Havilar-to consider if she even
Whatever else was true of Farideh, she knew Mehen was right: Lorcan was dangerous. She should have rejected his advances. She should have told him where to go when he showed up at their camp in the middle of winter. She should have turned him away every time he came after that. Lorcan was a bastard and a devil, and devils were nothing but trouble. She knew that.
But even though she knew enough to dread Lorcan’s arrival, at the same time an unmistakable gladness went through her when the portal opened-a gladness she knew better than to tell a soul about. Especially Lorcan.
“Come now, my darling,” Lorcan said from behind her. “Am I so much more frightening than the night and a caravansary full of strangers?”
Farideh kept staring out the window at the torchlights along the courtyard. “Who said I was frightened?”
“Then you just want your sister to join us?” She turned and saw him smirking down at her. “Sorry, darling, you’ll have to break it to her gently; you’re the only one for me.”
Farideh felt her cheeks burn. “You shouldn’t be here. What if Mehen comes back?”
“Well,” Lorcan said, still entirely too close, “at some point you’re going to have to stop worrying about what your lizard thinks.” She didn’t move as he paced around her. “Maybe tonight’s the night. We can all agree I was right about your little scuffle before.” His voice was suddenly much closer to her ear. “You were magnificent … despite Mehen’s best efforts.”
“Would you have said the same if that priest had caught me?”
“I won’t let anyone catch you, darling. Be as bold as you like.”
She watched the door as if her gaze was the only thing keeping it shut. “Mehen thinks you sent the orcs.”
Lorcan chuckled. “And what on all the planes would I be doing with
“Why are you here?”
“I thought,” he said, reaching an arm around her, “you might like a new spell.” He opened his right hand, and she felt the rush of Hellish powers through him, through her. His palm flickered with a dull yellow light. “You certainly proved you can handle what you have against those orcs.”
Farideh stared at the dancing light. It was dangerous. Too dangerous. Every one of these spells was a step farther down the path that surely doomed her.
“What does it do?”
In answer, Lorcan took her left hand in his and the dull light coalesced in her own palm. A thread of power wound its way through her arm. He aimed her fingers toward a piece of firewood sitting beside the hearth. “
“
The light flashed and in the same moment, the wood exploded. Lorcan’s wing cut across her vision to shield her, and when he drew it away, she saw a fine scattering of splinters littered the floor. There was nothing else left of the firewood.
“Don’t try it on anything too large,” Lorcan said. “Or living. It’s not that sort of spell.”
Farideh watched the last fleeting motes of the spell crackling across her palm. “What do I use it for?”
“You’ll think of something,” he said, drawing a finger down her wrist. “You’re clever.” He slipped around her and she stepped back.
Farideh glanced at the door again. Havilar had to be back any moment. Mehen wouldn’t be long. Anyone who heard the crash of the spell.
Lorcan’s eyes flicked in the same direction, following her glance no doubt, and he raised an eyebrow. “Expecting someone?” He shifted toward her and this time, she held her ground and tried not to notice the way he smirked as she did. Sometimes it felt as if he were herding her, driving her this way and that like she were a frightened sheep.
“No. Only Havilar. And Mehen. And I do care,” she added, “what he thinks.” Lorcan’s eyes narrowed. “You promised,” she said.
“ ‘Never in front of Mehen,’ ” he said. “And I keep my word.” He moved away from her so swiftly she was momentarily afraid he was going to walk out the door and through the taproom.
But instead he threw the bolt.
“There. Problem solved.”
