Erin Evans - The Adversary

When the shadar-kai were out of sight and out of earshot, Dahl sprinted across the distance, toward the next patch of brush.

As he crossed the trail the guards used, his foot hit a rill in the dark, and he stumbled. Arms outstretched to cushion his fall, Dahl caught himself instead on the invisible barrier surrounding the strange village.

The crack of something hitting the wall jerked Havilar from her slumber. She sat up, tense and ready to attack whoever had made the noise. But the room was empty. The banging came again, and she considered the wall. Farideh’s room was on the other side. She pounded against the wall and smacked her knuckle crooked on the boards. Pain shot up her arm and forced a curse out of her mouth.

She sucked on the scrape, glad no one had seen that. All her anger and grief welled up-no. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to be awake. She reached for the wine bottle again, and spotted the note beneath it.

Havilar, she read.

There’s nothing I can say to fix what’s happened. But I hope you know I did what I thought I had to, what I thought I needed to do to protect us both. If anything happened to you I would never forgive myself, and the worst thing to bear is that now, I’ve made something happen that’s more terrible than I could have imagined.

You should know that our imprisonment wasn’t the price of Sairché’s protection. I owe her a favor, and she’s come to collect. I hope I come back, but if I don’t, I love you and tell Mehen I love him too. I am so sorry. I hope this makes things easier The necklace is yours. You were right. Rubies suit you better.

Havilar stared at the letter for several breaths, uncertain whether she wanted to cry out and run after her sister or crush the note into a ball and forget she ever saw it. She wanted to crush it, she realized. Even if she was scared and sad and aching in every corner of her heart, she still wanted to crumple up the foolscap and kick it under the bed.

The knock came again, and Havilar’s anger lit. As if she couldn’t hear Farideh gathering her things. As if a letter made the difference. As if Farideh running off into danger weren’t just another way she didn’t trust Havilar. If Farideh was going to go, then she ought to get on with it.

She stood woozily and caught herself on the table. . and noticed the ruby necklace Sairché had given Farideh balled against the wall like a frightened viper. As she watched, it uncoiled, the largest stone falling over with a clink.

That necklace, Havilar thought. That stupid necklace. What was it but a great big sign that no matter what Farideh did, she’d be rewarded and Havilar would be left behind? The big ruby in the middle hung crooked, as if someone had bent it toward the door. She scooped it off the ground, and slammed the largest stone against the corner of the table.

She expected the gem to rattle her hand and make her feel stupid.

But the ruby shattered under her palm, and the necklace exploded.

Havilar was thrown backward into the door by the force of the cloud of ash, knocking the wind from her. Her eardrums ached, but there was little sound beyond the tinkle of glass, the rush of smoke, and the sound of Havilar coughing.

And someone else coughing. Havilar rolled to her feet and peered into the room as the smoke thinned. She drew the little knife from her belt as the shape of a person came clear.

Lorcan, slowly standing.

“Shit and ashes !” he all but howled. He loomed over Havilar, looking like nothing so much as the sort of devil that crept into her nightmares, fierce and murderous. Ready to tear her apart. His hands were curled into weapons, and all Havi had was her little knife. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he snarled.

Havilar might still have been drunk, might have been frightened out of her mind. But she was still wise enough to reach into her shirt and clutch the amulet of Selûne that had settled between her breasts.

“ V–Vennela ,” she said, the trigger word sliding up, unimpeded by her frozen thoughts. A flash of silver light and Lorcan hissed as the binding spell crackled over him.

“Is that how we’re doing things now, you ungrateful little-”

Something about the air seemed to snap and whip past Havilar. Lorcan broke off with a cry of pain that had nothing to do with the binding, and fell to the floor. Havilar blinked at the strange sensation, gone so quickly she thought she might have imagined it.

Except Lorcan was still lying on the floor, panting.

Lorcan’s wings snapped open, sending the last of the smoke swirling. “Does your new mistress know you have such a sweet trinket?” he said, still seething. “Or have you played her just as false?” He looked up at Havilar, and there was no mistaking the surprise in his expression.

Havilar narrowed her eyes at him. “Wrong sister.”

He eyed her a moment, a change as clear as when he wore a human skin coming over him as he turned calm, charming. “On the contrary. You’re just who I’m looking for.”

“Liar,” Havilar said, climbing to her feet. “She’s gone . Like you ought to be.”

Lorcan spread his hands wide, still looking as if he’d prefer to tear her limb from limb, but at least looking like he was thinking better of that. “We’re on the same side here. If you think I’m happy. . well, whatever you’ve endured, I did it in the comfort of that shitting necklace. So tell me where your sister is, I’ll find my sister, and I’ll get to making both of us a little happier.”

Havilar shifted and glowered at the broken bottle on the floor. At least he knew Farideh was wrong. “I have nothing to say to you,” she said, sliding the knife into her belt. She missed and it clattered to the floor.

Lorcan peered at her. “I see wine is no cure.”

“Oh thrik-ukris and karshoj arlorcanominak ,” Havilar spat, the vilest curse she could think of. She scrambled for more. “You shitting bastard of a tiamashkosj . .”

“Calm down,” Lorcan said edging toward her. “No one’s saying you don’t deserve that wine. Hells, I would gladly take what you’re not using. But to start with, Sairché won’t be through-”

I don’t have to listen to this, Havilar thought. “I’m going to find Mehen,” she announced and turned on her heel. “I’ll bet he has a lot to say to you. ”

The alarm that blared through the safe house’s hallways stopped her in her tracks. Suddenly there were people-so many people-pouring out of rooms, and the tide of bodies dragged her through the hall and down into the taproom. She couldn’t see if Lorcan had followed her-no one screamed about devils, but he might have changed. Every other soul in the Harper safe house was there, and the doors were barred. Several wizards with wands out seemed to be separating the ordinary patrons-now dazed and glassyeyed-from the Harpers, who were clearly being counted up.

Mehen found her then, his scaly arms catching her in a close embrace. “Here you are,” he said. He waved away the wizard who approached with raised brows. “Where’s your sister?”

Havilar scowled. “Ask Lorcan.”

“Lorcan?” Mehen looked up and over her shoulder, scanning the crowd. “What are you talking about?” He fixed a yellow eye on his daughter. “Where is your sister?”

Havilar turned and searched the milling crowd of people, but there was no sign of the disguised cambion. She made a face. “He’s here. I didn’t imagine it.”

“ Where is your sister?” Mehen said again.

“Gone,” Havilar said. “She ran away. Didn’t even say where she was going.” She shoved the crumpled note at Mehen. “There.”