Erin Evans - The Adversary

The sound of the latch made her leap off the bed, all adrenalin and instinct. The sun had risen, she noted as she caught her breath and tried to slow the hammering of her pulse. How long had she been asleep? She wiped her face as the door opened-long enough all her tears were gone.

So were the rod and the sword.

It was not Rhand who opened the door but a human woman in a threadbare gray skirt and blouse, a black cloth tied around thick auburn hair shot through with gray. She curtsied before entering, trailed by a guard in spiked armor holding a wooden case.

The guard was shadar-kai, and shorter than Farideh by a head and a half, but by the way she moved every ounce of her seemed to be muscle, encased in black leather and trimmed with chains. Her silvery hair was cropped short and stuck out from her head in a wild halo. Piercings of blackened metal pulled at her face, giving her a strange grimace. There were knives at her hips and crossed on her back. The guard looked Farideh over and smiled, displaying teeth filed into points.

The human made another little curtsy. “Well met, my lady. I’m Tharra,” she said, with a familiarity that didn’t fit. “They’ve asked me to dress you for morningfeast.”

“My lady,” the guard added, dropping the case on the table.

“My lady,” Tharra said, smoothly, as if she’d merely paused a moment too long. As if the guard weren’t terrifying.

“What am I supposed to call you ?” Farideh said, Sairché’s warnings echoing in her thoughts.

The guard’s eyes were black as Lorcan’s but colder, much colder. She curled her lip, displaying a row of filed, pointed teeth. “Nirka.” She turned to scowl at the maid. “Be quick about it!” Tharra bobbed her head and went to the wardrobe.

“I’m already dressed,” Farideh said. Tharra considered Farideh’s torn and gore-stained blouse, and raised her eyebrows. She looked to the guard who snorted.

“You’ll change,” Nirka said. “He’ll have things to say if you come down wearing that.”

“I’ll suffer them.”

Tharra straightened her apron. “There are lovely gowns in here,” she said, and whether it was her tone or the worry of what Rhand might do, Farideh found herself curious. It wouldn’t be such a concession to change. .

Farideh frowned. That wasn’t like her, not at all. She wondered what Rhand-or Sairché?-had done while she slept.

“There are combs and a necklace, as well.” Tharra opened the case to show a wide collar of jet and rubies that would sweep over Farideh’s collarbones. The combs were decorated with little clusters of lacquer poppies spangled with more rubies and weeping drops of pearl milk. “They won’t suit your current clothes. And Nirka tells me the wizard would like you to wear them.”

I’ll bet he would, Farideh thought.

Farideh thought of Sairché’s cool confidence. She thought of Lorcan’s sly sharpness. She thought of Temerity’s stillness in the face of a Brimstone Angel. She could do this.

Farideh steeled herself and sneered the way she had when faced with Rhand and the dead guards to answer for. “Are the gems what’s making me so interested in dresses?”

Tharra stiffened. “What?”

“What do they do?”

Tharra stared at her, and Farideh had the strangest sensation that she was keeping herself from looking to Nirka. “ ‘Do,’ my lady?”

“How are they enchanted?”

Tharra smiled and shook her head. “They aren’t. Do you prefer they were?”

Farideh touched the gems tentatively-no itch or buzz or tingle. No sense there was anything magical at all about them. She frowned.

“Put her in the dress and come along,” Nirka said. “Your morningfeast is getting cold and Master Rhand is growing impatient.”

The maid pulled several items from the wardrobe-a dark green velvet gown; a gauzy silver one, matched with a long corset; a third, glittering black and red with long, carefully placed strips. Tharra’s amused expression showed clearly through the very transparent red sections.

“That one. A fine gown,” Nirka said, though her disgusted expression showed she didn’t agree. “Put it on.”

“I’m not wearing that,” Farideh said, feeling her stomach knot. “Ever.”

“It will suit your figure,” Tharra said. “You could try it on?”

She could. She could just try it. There was no harm in-

Farideh flinched as if she could shy from the embarrassing, intrusive thoughts. “Hold it up again?”

Tharra had no more than lifted the dress, but Farideh pointed a finger and spat a word of Infernal that carried with it a shiver of energy. The middle of the dress exploded into cinders and tatters of thread. Tharra and Nirka jumped back in surprise, the guard catching the hilts of her hip daggers as she did.

“I am not,” Farideh said again, “wearing that.” She considered the open wardrobe. “Haven’t you any armor for me? Anything with breeches?”

Nirka eyed her impassively. “What do you intend to do, little demon? Fight your way out?”

“I intend to wear what I want,” Farideh said sharply. “Or not leave this room. So you can decide-do you want to explain to him where I am? Or do you want to find me something I’ll wear?”

Nirka looked her over slowly, as if thinking of all the ways she could cut Farideh into pieces. “You will wear the jewels and the combs. And you will tell him what you did to the dress.” She stepped closer to Farideh-close enough Farideh thought about which spells she could cast, which tender spots she could strike if the shadar-kai grabbed her around the throat. “But do remember, it won’t make any difference.” She gave Farideh another horrible grin that bared her pointed teeth. “It may even make it worse.”

The powers of the Hells coiled around Farideh, ready to lash out if the guard so much as moved-

A claw of pain gripped the back of Farideh’s skull. The lights began blooming around her vision again and clustered in shadow-black and foul green around the guard’s heart, and a shimmering purple and bruised yellow around the servant’s. Blue sparked around the corner of her silvered eye. Farideh held steady, trying to channel someone cold and dangerous and not at all afraid of what was happening. Trying not to cry out.

“Don’t leave,” Nirka snapped at Tharra as she swept from the room.

Tharra shut the door behind the guard. “Shall I dress your hair while we wait? My lady?”

“Where are my weapons?” Farideh demanded.

Tharra smiled, the purple light in her pulsing. “I wouldn’t know. They brought me into the fortress just this morning. If I had to guess, I’d say someone took them to the armory.” She gestured at the chair before the mirror. “Nirka would be the one to ask. My lady.”

Farideh sat, her nerves ready to shatter. Nothing felt right, and she couldn’t shake the sensation that at any moment, she would be surrounded by all the things she feared. That if she stopped preparing, tensing for them, they would sweep her away as neatly as Sairché had swept her out of the world.

And then there was Tharra, who was so calm and falsely pleasant, it set Farideh’s nerves on edge.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what’s fashionable in Shade,” Tharra said. “Or have the skill to make it happen. But I can plait-”

“Do what you want,” Farideh said. She could tie the whole mess up in a bow, and it wouldn’t make a difference. Instead of watching her unwelcome reflection, Farideh watched Tharra in the mirror, as she deftly separated hanks of Farideh’s purplish-black hair, plaiting them into smaller sections and twisting them up into knots under Farideh’s horns. A pang of heartsickness hit Farideh-Havilar would have cheerfully pinned her hair up. Although she would have spent the time trying to convince Farideh that the combs would look much better on her.