Erin Evans - The Adversary

“More or less,” Dahl said.

“ Hmmph. That’s less interesting than I expected. I don’t think it’s worth my secret.”

She said it light and teasing, as if she meant to lighten his burden. But it wasn’t so minor-through Farideh, Dahl had lost his last hope at returning to the Church of Oghma and his faith in his skills as a Harper. The urge to prove the Oghmanytes wrong, to find the answers and regain his standing, still rose up in him from time to time-but that was what ale was for, after all. His old mentor, Jedik, sent letters, now and again, and Dahl relegated them all to a box beneath his dresser, not sure enough to burn them, hurt enough to never read them.

If Khochen said a single, witty word about any of that, he would never speak to her again.

So Dahl only smiled. “You’ll just embellish it to be more interesting, anyway.” He stood and headed toward the taproom.

“You don’t think,” Khochen called, starting another little tune on her lute, “that there’s something odd here?”

Dahl turned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s awfully convenient that this girl-these girls-that you and Tam cared about and grieved for have suddenly turned up, in the taproom of the Harper Hall, hale and whole but in need of care and comfort?”

“You think she’s someone’s agent?”

Khochen shrugged. “I think if she’d turned up looking for anyone else, you’d be the first to suggest it.” She frowned and tweaked one of the tuning pins. “At least, you would’ve a few years ago.”

Dahl hesitated. The thought had crossed his mind-he’d pushed it aside when he’d seen how sure Tam had been, when no one who’d examined the twins had noticed anything amiss. “It’d be a clever plan,” he said. “But all you have is that.”

“All I’m saying is you ought to keep an eye on them. Especially the warlock.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Khochen looked up at him, as serious as he’d ever seen her. “Because truly, I would have guessed that little gesture-if she’s not some sweetheart you’re trying to win back-was that of a man trying to absolve himself. Trying to walk away. Which does sound like you, right now.”

Dahl gritted his teeth. Every urge to run from the overwhelming embarrassment that wrapped him like an invisible cloak at the sight of Farideh seemed to turn solid and unavoidable in his thoughts. “I know what I’m doing,” he said tensely.

“Good,” Khochen said, cheerful once more. “Did I hear you say ‘Mehen’ was coming? As in Lord Crownsilver’s bodyguard?”

“They’re his daughters,” Dahl said, still smarting.

“Interesting,” Khochen said. She strummed the lute. “You’ll have to introduce me.”

“Of course,” Dahl said. “ ‘Meet Khochen, she’s the one who started a rumor about your daughter, the Shadovar spy.’ ”

“ ‘And her torrid affair with the Shepherd’s secretary,’ ” Khochen finished cheekily. “If you’re going to tell tales, tell good ones.”

Dahl scowled at her. “Give my regards to Lord Ammakyl. And never tell me about his smallclothes again.” He turned and went down to the taproom, trying hard to ignore Khochen’s laughter.

Farideh had no sense of how long it took for the swell of grief to pass, only that it had wrung her dry. She sat up and wiped her eyes-hoping dearly no one had heard-and found Sairché standing on the other side of the small room.

“I see you discovered my little ruse,” she said.

Farideh lunged at the cambion, all fury and instinct. She felt the surge of Sairché’s shield go up, but it provided no more resistance than a stinging across her knuckles as she slammed a fist into the other woman’s jaw. Sairché’s head snapped back and Farideh’s hand exploded with pain. She didn’t care. She aimed another, more thoughtful strike at Sairché’s throat, but before it connected the shield flared again. The magic pushed back, yanking her arm against the socket and throwing her off balance. Farideh fell backward to the floor.

Sairché pressed a hand to her bleeding and rapidly swelling lip. “You little bitch,” she said, half-marveling.

“Seven years!” Farideh cried, tears streaming anew down her cheeks. “You stole seven years of my life, destroyed my sister, broke my father’s heart. And then you sent us off, without a word of what you’ve done? You’re lucky I only hit you, you miserable tiamash. ”

Sairché’s golden eyes seemed to simmer. “Maybe next time you’ll think about that before you throw around insults.” Her cruel smile returned. “And really, if you think about it, it’s closer to eight years.”

Much as Farideh would have liked to tackle the devil again, to lash out and drive some of the anger out of her heart, the shield was still there, shimmering faintly. She clutched her bruised knuckles.

“Why?” she said softer.

Sairché picked Dahl’s case of cards up off the floor. “Do you play cards, Farideh?” she asked, sliding the deck out. “You cannot lay just any old suit, any value down. You must think ahead, plan for what you will need.” She fanned the painted cards out. “This fortunately is not a game of cards, and so I can keep my best plays in my pocket and take them out when they are needed. Much better than laying everything out at the start or waiting for someone else to force my hand.”

“Havilar is not yours to play!”

“Not yet. But she and I haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“If you go near her, I swear, I’ll-”

“What? Strike me? Throw more bolts at my shield? I’ve had all this time to prepare for your little tantrums. There is nothing you can do to me.”

“Yet,” Farideh said. “You haven’t seen what I have to play.”

Sairché laughed. “Do you want a game ? Fine. The next move is yours-two days to yourself. Go ahead. Figure this out. Undo our deal.”

“Then what?”

“Then it’s my turn again.” She gave Farideh a wicked smile. “And I’ll collect on my favor.”

“I owe you nothing ,” Farideh said. “You didn’t keep your end-”

“I always keep my ends up,” Sairché said. “Protect you until you’re twentyseven, isn’t that what I said? And did any devil in the Hells give you the slightest trouble these last years? Hmm ? No. Not a one. And I fully intend to hold to that until the Marpenoth after this. Full circle.” She sneered. “You owe me a pair of favors, make no mistake. And I’ll collect the first in two days.”

Farideh swallowed. “And if I refuse?”

“Then your soul is mine,” Sairché said.

“You said my soul wasn’t on the table!”

“I said it wasn’t the price,” Sairché corrected. “And it’s not: it’s the forfeit. You don’t carry out your end of our deal, I get your soul. That’s standard practice-I shouldn’t have to specify that .”

Farideh’s heart hung in her chest like a lead weight. If there were a way around Sairché’s deal, a secret path through the phrasing she could exploit, Sairché had already had seven and a half years to find it. Seven and a half years, and a lifetime of the machinations of the Hells. She was born to this, Farideh thought. You were not.

But that didn’t mean she could stop hunting for the answer.

“What if you fail to keep your end?”

Sairché’s expression grew stony. “Then I have my own punishments. Trust me-I won’t fail. And neither,” she added, “will you.”

She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not with her soul in the balance. Not with Havilar to protect. Unless. .

“What would you take. . What would I have to do to take it all back?” she asked. “To go back. Even. . even just Havilar. If you could just put her in Proskur when-”