Jaleigh Johnson - Spider and Stone

Finally, Icelin answered. “The Silver Fire didn’t change you,” she said, “but it stripped away the magic that did.”

She was lying, of course. Zollgarza laughed at the absurdity of it. Did she really expect him to believe she and the others weren’t responsible for his condition?

“You’re all mad,” he said.

A chill passed over him. With his nakedness came awareness of how vulnerable he was. Zollgarza crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his knees up close to his body. The empty space between his legs jarred him. Gods, they’d taken everything from him. Goddess, why? The question wracked him. What’s the purpose of it all?

“Watch him … her , I guess,” the red-haired man crouched next to Icelin said. “She’s goin’ wild through the eyes.”

“Gods,” the thin man said, addressing Mith Barak. “If this is her true form, she had no idea.”

“She must be one of their higher-ups,” Mith Barak said. “A priestess or some other ranking female-must be why they’re coming after us now. They want her back.”

“Stop calling me a female!” Zollgarza screeched. The high-pitched sound mocked him. He wanted to kill every one of them. Hatred roiled in his belly, suppressing the panic for a moment. “You did this to me! You-”

“No,” Icelin said, interrupting him. Compassion shone in her eyes, which made Zollgarza hate her more. “Hear me, Zollgarza,” she pleaded. “I don’t know why this was done to you, or what it means, but this is your true form. There is no more magic left on you.”

“Lying bitch,” Zollgarza snarled. He couldn’t contain himself any longer. He lunged at Icelin, a feral cry ripping from his lungs.

Next to her, the thin man reacted, drawing his dagger, but he needn’t have worried. Zollgarza’s strength had not yet returned in the wake of Icelin’s spell, and he was not used to this new body. His limbs refused to obey him properly, and he ended up collapsing on his stomach, the breath knocked from his chest, his long hair spread around him. Sucking in ragged breaths, Zollgarza tried to channel his hate into energy but to no avail. He slammed his fist against the floor and screamed in impotent rage.

“She’s as weak as I am … or nearly,” Mith Barak said. Zollgarza didn’t look at the king. He couldn’t bear to see that smug dwarf face, those silver eyes he wanted to tear out. “If she is someone valuable, we might have the advantage over the drow.”

“But why was she sent here in this form,” Ruen said, “with no knowledge of her true identity?”

“Maybe she was never meant to be a weapon used against Iltkazar,” Icelin said. “Gods know she’s caused enough chaos, intended or not, but what if this is part of some other drow plot?”

At her words, Zollgarza went very still. Like a candle lit in a darkened room, a memory came to him in faint images, whispers. Mith Barak’s voice and the voices of the others faded, replaced by a soothing chant. Zollgarza closed his eyes to hear it.

In his mind, he saw an obsidian altar covered in carvings and stained with the blood of old sacrifices. His perspective hovered above the altar, so that he could not see the face of the female drow who crouched before it, chanting in a soft, velvet-smooth voice. He recognized that voice. It had issued from his throat only a breath ago.

“I knew I’d find you here,” said a new voice, coming from somewhere out of sight.

The figure before the altar halted in her prayers and looked up. For the first time, Zollgarza was able to see his new face, and it struck him, bewilderingly, how beautiful it was, and at the same time how faintly similar to his own male visage. The flaws he’d exhibited in his male form were corrected in the female. Muddy red eyes deepened to a rich scarlet, and high cheekbones accentuated them. The crooked nose was now straight and small. In his vision, his fall of white hair had been tied back, secured with combs studded with onyx and ruby. Taken together, the features looked so symmetrical, so natural, that Zollgarza felt the first twinges of foreboding deep in his gut.

“The preparations have been made. You can’t stop what I’ve begun,” said the kneeling woman. A second figure joined her at the altar. Zollgarza recognized Mistress Mother Fizzri. She angled herself on her knees so she faced the altar and Zollgarza’s double.

“I know. May we both be worthy for the task ahead.” Swaying forward on her knees, she kissed the other female, raising a hand to bury it in her thick white hair.

Zollgarza watched with a sense of detached amazement as his double leaned into the kiss, and his own body reacted, filling with warmth, desire, and frightening affection-for the woman he hated above all other drow.

This can’t be right. He had no memory of such an interlude between himself and the mistress mother, yet the physical sensations coursing through his blood were so familiar. His skin tingled, reawakened by the phantoms conjured before him. More images crowded his thoughts, superimposing themselves over the scene.

The night before-he remembered the two of them lying side by side in a bed covered in white silk sheets. Fizzri’s head rested on Zollgarza’s belly, her fingers stroking Zollgarza’s thighs.

She likes to lie this way, Zollgarza thought, facing away from me, her delicate neck exposed. It makes her vulnerable and excites her at the same time.

“Doesn’t it ever frighten you, just a little,” Zollgarza asked, her voice rough from sleep, “the hatred you see in their eyes?”

“Is that really what you were thinking about just now?” Fizzri purred. “You see, I’ve been contemplating all the wicked things I’m going to do to you in the next few breaths, yet all that consumes your thoughts are the males. Should I be jealous, Zollgarza?”

“I can’t imagine you any other way,” Zollgarza replied. She lifted Fizzri’s hair and scratched her neck gently while the mistress mother gave a soft little sigh. “I worry that we’ve grown complacent, too secure in our power and confidence. Lolth’s plan to become the goddess of magic-it has shifted the balance, given hope to the males. Such a dangerous thing, hope. It may cause them to plot against us in numbers.”

“They’ve given no indication of such a plot,” Fizzri said, leaning into Zollgarza’s touch.

“Perhaps we just aren’t looking at them closely enough,” Zollgarza replied. “The more the males give the appearance of subservience, the more I worry what they are thinking down in the depths of their souls.”

“I assure you, love, you don’t want to know,” Fizzri said, rubbing her cheek against Zollgarza’s belly.

“But I do,” Zollgarza whispered so softly, the mistress mother didn’t hear her.

Zollgarza remembered how she’d felt in that moment. She’d been unsure how much to confide in Fizzri. The threat of betrayal hung between them always, and the more knowledge one had of the other, the more the threat intensified. Fizzri thrived on that threat, and Zollgarza managed it by not giving too much of herself away, but so far neither had had cause for betrayal. Perhaps it was because they had spent so long being stronger together than at odds.

Zollgarza made her decision. She’d struggled too long with her doubts and questions. Despite the risk, it was time for an outside perspective. “I’ve asked Lolth for guidance, but she remains silent to me. I am … worried,” Zollgarza said.

Fizzri’s reaction was immediate. Her lover stiffened and pushed herself up on one elbow to glare at Zollgarza. “How could you be so foolish?” she hissed. “It is not for us to seek Lolth’s aid for trouble with a few males. If we can’t handle the problem ourselves, we are not worthy to be in her service.”