Erin Evans - The Adversary

“You and I are the only souls in this building-maybe even in this whole city-who they know,” Tam had said, in a way that said he would hear no argument. “And as you are so fond of pointing out, I am terribly overextended. This is your task.”

This is my next failure, Dahl thought, standing in front of the door to Farideh’s room. His chest was a knot of guilt and fear and anger-a snarl of feelings all pulled up and pressed together into something new and unnameable and awful.

She hated me, he thought, considering the grain of the door. She convinced me to do things I still regret. Or did he have it all jumbled-did she try to save him and he scorned her? Was she more a herald bearing the god’s message than a devil sent to vex him? He couldn’t deny-not even in his worst moments-that he’d been the one to lead her into terrible dangers, that he’d had good reason to wonder if he bore a portion of the blame for her rumored death. But he thought surely he could remember Farideh laughing, smiling, talking in a serious but comradely way. So which way was he wrong?

After more than seven years, Dahl still wasn’t sure.

He was sure, however, that if he couldn’t get a little information out of someone he knew Tam would be right to throw him out of the Harpers. “Farideh?” Dahl called through the door. “Are you in?” There was no answer. She does remember, he thought. You were the worse one. He turned to go. Maybe Havilar was still awake.

The door cracked open, and Farideh peered out, her silver eye framed in the gap of the door. “Yes?”

A flood of fear rushed through him-without realizing, he’d been hoping she wouldn’t open the door. “Well met,” he said. She eased the door wider. Her face was red and swollen from crying-ah, gods. “I thought you should know. Mehen will be here the day after tomorrow.”

Whatever sorrow she’d pushed down threatened to burst free for a moment, but she looked down, overcame it. “Oh.”

Gods, don’t make her cry, he thought. “He’s well. If you’re worried about that. Not. . not a Harper. I think he thinks we’re all making things harder than they have to be.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I was surprised, when I first met him, you know? I didn’t know your father was a dragonborn.”

“Is he angry?” she asked, and in that moment, Dahl couldn’t imagine why he’d ever cast her as a devil.

“No,” he said gently. “Not at you, anyway.” He hesitated. “I assume. . he’s going to be mad at Lorcan.”

She gave him a strange look he couldn’t read. “Lorcan didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Oh. Well. . whoever it was,” Dahl said, “do you think they’re likely to come after you?”

Farideh shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have any idea what. . the devil wants? Why they took you? Why they brought you back?”

She swallowed hard. “I said before. I don’t know.”

Stop asking, he told himself. Just go. This is not the time.

He held the card case out instead. “Here. They’re Wroth cards,” he added as she took them from him. “I was trying to buy just a playing set. That’s what they had. They’re meant for fortune-telling, but you can divide the numbers and it will work.”

“Thank you,” she said, sounding reflexive.

“There’s a reason. I mean, do you know Deadknight?” he asked. She shook her head. “It’s a card game. You play it alone. When my father died. . It’s hard not to just sink into all that sadness. I was starved for things to distract me, to keep my hands occupied. I played a lot of Deadknight.” He stared at the case, all too aware of that sick, sad feeling creeping up on him. Whiskey worked a lot better than Deadknight these days. “I wished someone had told me about that. Before.”

“I don’t think cards will fix this,” she said, her voice catching.

“No,” he said. “They just make it easier to sort through. Slow it down.”

She blew out a heavy breath. “Give them to Havilar.”

He took the second deck from his pocket. “I have one for her too.”

She stared at him. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Maybe you can’t,” Dahl said and regretted it immediately. It might be what he wished someone had said to him, but it wasn’t what she needed to hear.

“Thank you for the cards,” she said after a moment, her voice softer, smaller. She turned the deck over in her hand. “Is there anything else? I’d. .” She swallowed again. “I don’t really want to talk.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Sorry. I’ll check back another time. But can I say-”

She slammed the door before he could finish and a moment later. . a heart-wrenching wail, muffled so he wouldn’t hear. Dahl shut his eyes and stood before the door, wanting so badly to be anywhere else, but finding a perverse penance in listening.

You didn’t cause this, he told himself. You couldn’t have. Whatever you regret, whatever you were afraid happened. .

He shouldn’t have stayed so long. He should have left her alone. At least, he thought, as he went to Havilar’s room, he hadn’t managed to apologize-that had been a foolish plan.

His life had gone on, snarled and frayed as it was, but hers had stopped. He tried to imagine what it felt like-if it was anything remotely like how it felt to have fallen.

Gods, he thought as he knocked on Havilar’s door, either no more whiskey or enough to shut you up. Two makes you maudlin.

Havilar wasn’t much happier to see him. She took the cards as if they were some sort of trap. “Brin is coming too. Isn’t he?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Dahl said. That might smooth things over and it might start everything up again. “Do you want to talk about what happened, before they-”

“My pothac sister made a deal with a devil,” Havilar interrupted. “That’s what happened.”

“What did the devil have you do in exchange?”

Havilar scowled. “I didn’t do anything but get sucked into her stupid decisions. This aithyas isn’t my fault.”

“I wasn’t blaming you,” Dahl said.

“Well, don’t. Go bother Farideh. She’s the one who has to fix this mess.” Havilar slammed the door in his face.

Dahl sighed. You still have tomorrow, he told himself. He could show them each the rules to Deadknight, get them talking. He wandered back down the stairs, through the twisting corridors. He was already dreading it.

The sound of an off-key lute drifted through the hallway and he stopped beside a small alcove, where two battered chairs faced each other. Khochen had draped herself across one.

“Are you going to tell me?” Khochen asked, not looking up from her instrument.

“Tell you what?”

“The tiefling. The one with the odd eye.” She plucked a string, frowning as she tweaked the pins to raise the pitch. “Although, I’m curious about the other one too. She just seems to be less interesting, when it comes to you.”

“Oghma’s bloody paper cuts, Khochen,” Dahl said. “Stop trying to invent me a love life you can gossip about.”

She raised her eyebrows as she adjusted another string. “I didn’t say love life.”

“But were you about to. Honestly-say no and I’ll owe you an ale.”

Khochen looked up at him and smiled. “What’s her name?”

“Farideh,” he said. “And Havilar. They’re. . they know Tam. And one of the Suzail agents.”

“And you.”

“And me,” he agreed. “It’s not that interesting, I promise.”

“Don’t tell me what’s interesting,” Khochen chided. “If she hadn’t gotten into a shouting match with Nera, I would’ve guessed they were agents, maybe you were assigned together at some point. You and Tam both hopped-to, casting sendings and summoning the wizards, not even once suggesting this is a trick of Shade or Thay or Vaasa or who-in-the-Hells-can-even-predictanymore, so she’s-”