Forgotten Realms 1. Secrets

**Author's Note: **It's been way, way too long since I last worked with these characters. I'm hoping that this will be a little more fleshed out than_ Chasing_ was. And yes, there is some character overlap between this storyline and Sabal A'Daragon's.

* * *

Silence reigned supreme in the halls of House Duskryn, its velvet cloak draped over the ivory throne and rolling down the stone steps like a funeral shroud. Matron Mother Siniira was seated there at the center of the frigid cold like a queen of ice complete with the iron crown of her line. Where a fire of passion had once raged, now there were only embers of a burning dream.

Ten years had never in her centuries of life felt so excruciatingly long. She rose from her seat and returned to her habit of leisure: patrolling the halls lost in memories both nostalgic and painful. Around every corner was the echoes of a laughing child or a cooing infant. The ache at the center of her chest had not numbed-instead she salted her wounds and let the desire for vengeance grow from that agony. But she said nothing of it. How could she when there were no words for the depth of hatred she felt?

"Matron, may I have a moment of your time?" a silver voice said sweetly. It was Zesstra, her eldest child.

Siniira turned and looked at her daughter. Zesstra had much of her father's will and arrogance in her bearing, hidden under a veneer of charm. Ambition was the fire that burned in her eyes. But the Matron saw little of herself in this particular child. Instead, she felt almost like she was looking at some contemptible and alien race.

"A moment, yes," Siniira said. Her chest felt like it tore as the red hot needles of hatred dug into her and set her stomach churning. Her appetite had been poor these days-fortunate, considering the many attempts to poison her. It was more of a nuisance than a genuine threat due to her own caution. How quickly people seemed to forget that she had clawed her way to the top, treading on the bodies of her enemies at every step. Obviously she would need to offer a refresher course soon for the worst offenders...one of whom was standing in front of her now.

"Lir-"

Siniira's eyes narrowed into a glare that left Zesstra fighting not to check for frostbite. "If you think I will be drawn into some dispute between you and your sister, you are sorely mistaken," she said sharply.

Zesstra flinched back unconsciously. If Siniira had been disapproving before, she was now cruel in her cold way. A yawning void had opened between her and her daughters as the tension in the house became a sort of subtle, political war. The matriarch of House Duskryn was not inclined to forget or to forgive. "But-"

The Matron rounded on her eldest. "Because clearly what happens between the two of you is the most pressing of matters in all of Menzoberranzan. Not surface raids or city politics or the favor of Lloth or the future of this house," she said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

The priestess knew that her mother was in a mood and backed down. "I apologize for troubling you, Matron," Zesstra said, bowing slightly and retreating.

It was the anniversary of Siniira's greatest regret and a time she preferred to spend far, far away from her family. Ten years to the day. She had nursed her pain a long time and now she was finally ready to enact her vengeance with the calculating and purposeful dedication that had earned her the throne.

Zekatar was waiting for her in her chambers, his false smile plastered on his face. He was only Patron now, the title of Weapons Master passed on to Keldzar for "services rendered" at Zesstra's urging. Siniira had agreed because it suited her own purposes in humiliating Zekatar and stripping him of valuable influence.

"You look tired, Matron," he said as she stepped in past him with a swish of her robes. It was true; thin lines had etched themselves into her forehead and the corners of her mouth, adding a sort of premature age to her. After all, Siniira was still a drow woman in her prime years. They disappeared when she was relaxed, but that was a sight he had not seen in a very long time. Not since Valyne.

Zekatar still thought she was beautiful, if cold. He didn't love her or even hold much fondness for her. Instead, he found that he needed her as a protector and a benefactor. And he resented her for it, just as he resented the way she had so easily removed his power from him.

Unlike any other male drow that might have been in his position, he made no move to offer himself for stress relief. Since the assassination attempt that had nearly killed her and rendered her barren, she had no interest in his presence in her bed. Nor did she take any other lover as far as he was aware. But Siniira had always been incredibly secretive, even for a drowess. Where other Matrons might brag about that kind of thing, her lips remained tightly sealed. It left him incredibly off balance at every turn and regarding every subject. He was never certain what she knew concretely and what she was only supposing. The answer was probably that she knew a great deal more than he would have liked and possessed an accurate enough guess to come uncomfortably close to the truth that he might have preferred to keep hidden.

"House Faen Tlabbar and House Mizzrym are in a spat," he said to fill the foreboding silence. "Our troops on city rotation have been peeling their soldiers apart. Too many people with tempers running too high."

"They will yield. If not to us, then to Baenre. If not to Baenre, then to the Church," Siniira said absently as she picked up a hairbrush from her vanity's top and examined her reflection with a critical eye. "Mind you, I could say the same about your daughters. But instead of exercising caution, they behave as though they were untouchable. Your influence, I suspect."

"And what will you do to correct it?" Zekatar asked.

"Some problems correct themselves," she said simply. It was a long shot, a hedged bet, but Siniira had to hope that it would work. She was keeping her cards very close to her chest of late, preparing the House for what was to come. Even Zekatar and Yasrena had no knowledge of what her intentions truly were. She prided herself on that. There was a sharp double knock at the door and Siniira struggled to keep a smile off her face. "Enter!"

The door opened to admit Revered Yvonnel, who raised an eyebrow to see Zekatar in the Matron's chambers. He was the Patron, but that didn't mean it was a common sight. "Matron Siniira, a pleasure as always," she greeted before turning slightly narrowed eyes on the male but saying nothing to him. "I'd prefer to discuss the matter that brings me here privately."

Zekatar had never understood what it was that the Eye of Lolth had against him, but she seemed to find him constantly distasteful where she tolerated other males, particularly the Matron's guards, with a certain sort of amused pleasantry. Then again, none of the personal dynamics involving Yvonnel were particularly clear. After all, she called on the Matron frequently enough that he might have thought they carried on a friendship were it not for the way they were constantly at each other's throats politically. And yet, whenever one could crush the other utterly, they held off. It was disconcerting.

Siniira's lips quirked into a faint half-smile at the clear dislike in the priestess's demeanor. Yvonnel always had been an exceptional judge of character. "Zekatar, you're dismissed. And do inform the guards that we are not to be disturbed."

He obeyed, stepping out of the Matron's quarters and closing the door behind him. There was a brief moment after it clicked shut where the wards of silence had to regain their power. Yvonnel carefully waited a beat before speaking even as her entire posture relaxed almost imperceptibly. The priestess considered very few people in her life to be equal: they were either above or, usually, below. Siniira was a notable exception. "I wanted to thank you," she said casually. "Though really, I should be flattered that Baenre can be bothered enough to send assassins."

The Matron Mother's skeptical look was just a little bit too innocent, immediately informing Yvonnel that her suspicions had been perfectly founded. "I have no idea what you're referring to."

"Indeed? Perhaps assassins always drop over dead at my feet from powerful divine magic, very coincidentally when you walk by, and I'm just now noticing," Yvonnel teased, falling into a comfortable chair next to the powerful cleric. She reached up and smoothed a finger over the faint lines appearing at one corner of the Matron's mouth. "These are going to start becoming permanent soon."

Siniira shrugged, but the tension in her shoulders and her jaw had eased noticeably. "You usually thank me by courier."

"It's been ten years to the day. I thought you would want company that isn't your mouth-breathing moron of a Patron." Yvonnel rolled her eyes at the last part and moved her hand back to her lap, regarding her sort-of rival. The average drow was a petty, vain creature ill-inclined to strike up any relationship with someone who had bested them in the past. But as the last scion of X'larraz'et'soj, she had learned to be fluid and long-sighted. The church had offered her power as well as security, but Siniira wielded influence, something equally valuable, and happened to be scintillating conversation even on her worse days. Their rivalry had long ago cooled into mutual respect, but they kept up competition as both misdirection and a chance for each to challenge the other into excelling.

There were just certain lines now that neither of them crossed. They might put each other at a disadvantage politically, but never stooped to attempting to ruin their opponent's life. The mental scoreboard was wiped free of favors and they tipped the scales a little more in favor of the other at any turn where they weren't in direct competition. However incredibly unorthodox and likely scandalous-were anyone to find out-it was, both had prospered from it.

"Jealous, are we?"

Yvonnel again arched an eyebrow, her expression one of faint irritation. She knew that behind the impassive look lay silent laughter directed solely at her. For a supposedly unreadable woman, the Matron was quite expressive. "As I so often am of lower life forms, clearly," she said dryly. "Just for that, I should keep the results of my inquiries to myself."

"But you won't. You enjoy the idea of your spies being more successful than my own," Siniira pointed out. Her tone was just a touch more distant as she steeled herself for the unpleasant news she didn't doubt was coming. It had been a great deal of time since the rumors died out with no evidence to sustain them and as every day passed it took a little it more hope with it.

Now was not the time to preen, Yvonnel knew. Instead, the priestess charged straight into the heart of the matter with an honesty she knew would be refreshing. "Valyne is still alive, Siniira. Just beyond the reach of your thoroughly extensive spy network. The surface, to be precise."

Siniira almost collapsed with relief, instead tightening her grasp on the edge of the vanity and carefully lowering herself into the chair in front of it. They were sitting side by side now. "You're certain?" she murmured, gratitude clinging to every syllable. The favors and gold that had gone into obtaining that information were probably countless. Not for the first time, she thanked the Goddess for saving Yvonnel from the rest of her family's fate.

"If I'm wrong, I'll gladly offer to hold Triel's sacrificial dagger with my kidney," the Eye of Lloth said. The change that such a small piece of information had wrought in the Matron was remarkable in how dramatic it was. Yvonnel could count the number of drow women she knew who indulged in such attachments on one hand. She still hadn't decided whether it was a sign of weakness, insanity, or strength. "That kind of incompetence should be incompatible with life. Speaking of which, have you considered throwing your Patron away? I highly recommend out a window."

"He still serves a purpose." There was a brief, companionable silence before Siniira spoke again. "If she's on the surface...what if she doesn't return?"

Yvonnel frowned at the uncertainty in the powerful cleric's voice. "Would you have abandoned the House if you were in her position, Siniira?" she asked pointedly. "She will return. She will be ready. Have faith. You mean to trust her with the future of the House, after all."

"I should have protected her." The Matron's face was serious and distant, like a statue carved of onyx looking forward into a world only she could see.

"It is only in the darkness that one comes into their own. You did as necessity dictated. Now she will make up the difference," the Revered Daughter said firmly, confident in her own prediction. The Goddess arranged every situation for a purpose. Surely this was no exception.


	2. The Masked Woman

They said that at the center of every web dwelt a spider. For Valyne, once of House Duskryn, once of Menzoberranzan, that web stretched throughout what the Sword Coast considered a city of splendors and outward down the country roads into the courts of nobles human and elven alike. Even, people whispered, into the orcs' clans and giants' caves. Of the woman herself, very little could be ascertained. She was an elf, a human, a half-elf, a tiefling, a different thing with every new person that was questioned-her appearance changed like the phases of an inconstant moon. The only universal thing to be expected was that she would be wearing her mask, a simple white face adorned with gray arcane markings that concealed from scrying and detection magic. Paladins in particular hated it, unable to sense anything of her nature.

But she didn't wear it here, in her own quarters. "Privacy is an expensive luxury, sweet thing," her succubus companion commented dryly as she looked over a summary of expenses, mostly bribes, lounging on the bed as if it were her own. Malcanthet was a valuable asset and one of the few she could rely on to perform even the most morally reprehensible tasks without even a flicker of conscience. She was also the only person now in Val's life who knew what she really looked like. "You have visitors downstairs."

"They can wait a little longer," Val said as she studied her face critically in the mirror. Her magical disguises had improved a hundred fold in exile and today she was wearing her favorite half-elven face, pale skin and brown hair with her native soft features and full lips. The gray eyes remained another constant. "And it's worth it to not have people asking too many questions."

Malcanthet's smile was as inscrutable as always. She swept her crimson hair back out of her face with a clawed hand and twitched her sinuous tail. The taint of the demonic was unmistakable in Valyne's aura once the mask came off. It made the succubus feel almost proud of her former pupil, since the girl-Val would always be a child to her with barely anything compared to her own millennia of life-had finally abandoned most of her moral qualms out of necessity.

"Ten years to the day," the succubus said instead, winking when a steely glare was tossed her way. "Do you miss it?"

"I have what I want."

"Liar," Malcanthet teased, springing up in one smooth motion. She moved to stand behind her summoner, running her hands up Val's arms. "You want to walk around as yourself. And let's not forget the revenge. Oh, the revenge." She sighed almost wistfully. "So much power you've accumulated, sweet thing, but for what purpose? It's not enough to just have it. It will never be enough. Not until you can demonstrate it in front of your mother by ripping out the hearts of those charming people that tore that life away from you."

Val swatted her away and picked up the mask from where it was lying on the table. "I have guests."

"They can wait a little longer," the demon countered. She enjoyed twisting the words of others back onto themselves for her own purposes. Abyssal habits were arguably the hardest to break, not that she would ever want to.

The spellcaster's eyes narrowed slightly. It was a familiar dance, one that she had memorized the steps to over the last year. Malcanthet would push and she would shove back. The succubus would tempt her with detailed renditions of murder that appealed to her inner darkness and she would curtly bring up the fact that she didn't have the resources to attempt anything on that scale. "Are you trying to infuriate me?" she said lowly, skipping straight to the end of the pattern. Despite herself, there was a hint of an unnatural, guttural growl in Val's tone.

"Mmm. I love it when you use that voice," the succubus purred. "Reminds me of your father."

"You never did tell me much about him, but I'll take it as a compliment anyway. Now, can you handle the paladin of Torm who was asking questions?"

"I adore holy men, you know that," Malcanthet said with a smile that even touched the corners of her blank white eyes. "Corrupting them, anyway."

"You're a credit to your kind," Val said dryly, putting on the mask. She felt the familiar warmth of her enchantments spread across her skin. It added yet another layer of protection to her disguise. The surface world would not be kind to her if they knew that she was drow, even less so if they knew about the shrine to Lloth she still kept beneath the estate that was her current home. "I'd rather have him dead than following you around drooling, Malcanthet. It would draw too much attention. And that's not even counting the puddles."

"So cruel," the succubus complained, covering her heart with one clawed, elegant hand. "But it suits you, Lady Val. Enjoy your guests. I'm sure I can find some way to amuse myself until you return."

Val narrowed her burnished steel eyes, knowing that it was the only sign of disapproval that would be easily visible. "Leave the guards alone. They have a job to do. And whatever you do, keep it off my bed," she warned before stepping out.

Malcanthet grinned. Her little drowess knew her too well. But she'd omitted the staff from her forbidding and there was plenty of space besides the bed. She loved the Material Plane: never a shortage of willing victims.

* * *

Downstairs, Galen shifted in his armor and rubbed the holy symbol of Torm worked into his breastplate for comfort. It was a nervous habit that he'd tried to crush all throughout his training as a paladin, with moderate success. His half sister rocked on her heels next to him, looking restless as well as fascinated with her surroundings. As a rogue, Cessair never seemed to tire of pretty things, particularly those she could potentially take. Their little group had been left to wait for almost a half hour now. It was as if their host somehow knew how uncomfortable it would make them all.

"Ye sure we shoulda gone here?" the dwarf beside him growled, tugging on one of the braids in his beard. "Yer brother's been lookin' inta the woman for a month and a half now."

"And he didn't turn up anything that bad," Cessair said with a wave of her hand, beaming down at the disgruntled warrior. She was blond and blue-eyed, heavily favoring her elven father's side. "We need someone who knows the Underdark and can fight worth a damn."

Galen sighed. They'd fought about it for days, but his sister was obsessed with the idea of this venture. An elven relic lost in the same raid where her father had died to be somehow mysteriously reclaimed from wherever the drow had taken it. He almost shuddered at that thought-he'd heard horror stories about the dark elves from some of Corellon Larethian's followers. But Cessair hadn't let it go, as if this would somehow make up for a lifetime of being picked on for her elven nature without her father around to defend her. And so, like the protective brother he was, he'd refused to let her go alone. As much as he liked to think she was streetwise enough to never do anything so ridiculous, he knew she probably would run off by herself if he hadn't insisted otherwise. Storunn had been equally stubborn about not allowing them into the depths without him. The paladin knew he would be forever grateful to the dwarf for that.

And all this had brought them to the doorstep of Lady Val Selonna, the same half elf that he'd spent all this time investigating. For the most part he'd come up completely empty handed except for rumors. Supposedly, she was a woman who dealt in intangibles: information and power, pleasure and pain. He couldn't confirm that she'd done anything illegal, but she certainly had friends who did on a regular basis. He wasn't one to spend too much time distinguishing between an assassin or a spy and a woman who facilitated for assassins and spies. However, she also had a lot of friends in prominent places that were always too happy to make little problems like investigations vanish.

Life could never be simple. So of course this particular viper just happened to have the kind of information that they needed. At least Cessair had understood when he begged her not to trust this woman.

"Matuk's coming back with someone," his sister reported, her ears much keener than his own. She'd turned her charm on the half orc steward full force in an effort to get them an introduction. Galen wasn't certain that Cessair was the servant's friend, but they were at least on good terms. It was a half-human bonding thing, from what he could determine.

"...think a simple 'no' would suffice. I appreciate you bringing it to my attention, Matuk. If he harasses your betrothed again, his head will be forcibly parted from his shoulders. You are, of course, free to pass that on to him," an unmistakably female voice said, approaching down one of the hallways. Galen felt himself shiver slightly at the smoky quality it had, combined with a definitely foreign accent that he couldn't place. He had a feeling that if the speaker read off a list of groceries he would find it fascinating.

Cessair and Storunn both straightened up beside him as their host stepped through the door just ahead of the tall half-orc who had greeted them at the doors. Val was not as tall as he had expected, but she moved with an effortless ease that Galen hadn't expected from an arcanist. He couldn't read anything from her either magically or mundanely with that mask on, but he almost flinched when the gray eyes focused on him with an unwavering intensity.

"Ah, I see Torm's paladins have finally decided to grace me with their presence rather than skulking around and frightening the maids on errands," Val said casually. Her displeasure was felt rather than overtly stated, a chill lingering long after her words had faded. When she'd been exiled, it had also freed her from the shadows of her older sisters. Here in her own domain she was every inch a Matron's daughter, commanding a room with sheer presence.

"Actually, that's not why I'm here," Galen said awkwardly. He still felt guilty that he'd shaken up that poor girl so badly. He'd lost his temper and forgotten how intimidating he could be when he raised his voice. "Cessair?"

His half sister cleared her throat, nerves finally showing themselves now. "We need your help," she said without real preamble. "My brother isn't here to cause you any problems."

"I see." Even with the mask on, he could almost sense the eyebrow begin to rise incrementally. "I assume that you are aware my expertise is not, in fact, free."

Cessair smiled and held up a small silver token engraved with a spider and a particular arcane glyph. "Duncan said you'd be good for this," she said, producing it. "Favor token or something, right? You owed him, now you owe us. A big favor, too."

Val fought the urge to curse, knowing that her scowl was hidden behind the mask. Duncan, a human rogue affiliated with the local theives' guild, had saved her life in Luskan during a back alley battle going particularly badly. She'd expected him to call in the favor someday, but never that he'd give it up to someone else. Apparently the half elf girl had some...colorful friends. Strange that she'd associate with a paladin. "You have my attention," she said evenly. "What can I do for you?"

"We need help finding something in the Underdark," Cessair said with a vague wave of one hand. "Duncan vouched for you in a fight and rumor has it you know the Night Beneath better than anyone else in the Sword Coast except maybe Do'Urden. And, you know, he probably wouldn't want to go where we're going. Menzoberranzan, in case you were wondering."

Galen realized his sister had said something wrong when the masked woman went deathly still. He wasn't positive, but he thought she might have stopped breathing.

As soon as she heard the name of her home spoken, Val was blindsided by ten years worth of homesickness. It felt like a planar gate had opened up in her chest beneath her heart and allowed that organ to plummet straight into the Abyss. Her eyes burned and her vision blurred as tears threatened to fall. Malcanthet was right, damn her eyes: she wasn't happy like this. "Menzoberranzan?" she breathed, the word like a prayer, like a fragment of a dream.

"Yeah," Cessair said. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, well aware that she'd just stumbled inadvertently into something sensitive. She couldn't tell if the arcanist had very fond memories or very unpleasant memories of the place or both. "Will that be a problem?"

Val examined her fingernails for a long moment, blinking back the tears as she pushed back all those emotions. After dealing with the demonic urges which had become almost overpowering with her binding, her heart seemed a fairly easy foe to ward off for at least a time. "That depends on what you would like me to help you fetch, does it not?"

"A sword," the half-elf rogue explained, her blue eyes earnest. "A holy weapon of Corellon that was lost to the depths when drow attacked the temple."

_What are the odds?_ Val reflected, forcing herself not to react. As far as she knew there was only one sword like that in Menzoberranzan and she'd been the one to claim it, the one to dedicate it to Lloth. "Well, the divine do have a sense of humor," she commented out loud. Perhaps this was a sign from the Goddess that it was time to come home, that she was ready even if she didn't think she was. Certainly she'd come a long, long ways since she'd been abandoned in the wilds of the Underdark with only a slim dagger. "May I inquire as to why you seek it?"

"Her father was a paladin of Corellon killed by the drow," Storunn said gruffly, moving forward like he was going to somehow try and shelter the rogue from their host. "Are ye gonna help or not?"

The disguised drowess considered her position carefully. If she refused, word would get out that she didn't pay her debts or honor her favors and that would put her in a world of hurt. But if she agreed, that meant walking into her home city with blood enemies and abandoning everything she'd built here. That said, it also meant walking into her home again.

Cessair gripped the little token tighter, offering up silent prayers to any god or goddess listening in the hopes that they could sway the masked woman to her side.

"I will have to make arrangements," Val said finally. She couldn't just drop everything in case she needed her hiding place to come back to. "I have business here that cannot simply be abandoned."

"You'll help?" Galen said, surprised. He had only half listened to his friends while he stared at the enigma in front of him and tried to puzzle out what was hidden behind that mask.

Again those gray eyes focused on him, this time almost amused. "I honor my debts, paladin. I'm certain you are somewhat familiar with the concept," Val said steadily. Malcanthet could be trusted enough to handle things, though perhaps a bit too zealously. That was a problem for Waterdeep's populace to guard themselves against. "Three days. I suggest you make certain that you have all the supplies you will need."

Val knew she would probably regret this, but she couldn't help feeling as though a weight had lifted. She was finally going home.


	3. The City of Blades

"We can't just walk into Gracklstugh as we are. Not if we want to keep breathing," Val said, motioning for the others to halt. They were less than an hour away from the duergar metropolis after more than a week of travel. The drowess had an innate sense of time even though they had lost the light of the sun, but Cessair and Galen were completely dependent on her for indication. They were also relying on her magic to see, courtesy of a pair of enchanted rings she'd crafted out of spare jewelry and her own blood.

"What do you mean?" Galen asked. He had made a concerted effort to be kind to the masked woman, but she'd greeted his efforts with suspicion and more than a little discomfort. It wasn't entirely his fault. The holy aura he radiated as a paladin burned when it washed over her skin, sickening her when it mixed with her own demonic magics. The closest she could tolerate him comfortably was about ten feet away.

She pointed at Storunn. "Shield dwarf." She pointed at Galen. "Paladin."

"Aye," Storunn acknowledged gruffly. "Duergar ain't what ye might call friendly with my lot. Most of 'em are evil too, so they won't take kindly to a paladin."

"What about you and Cessair?" the paladin asked. He didn't like the idea of having to strip off his breastplate in favor of the unadorned one Val had secured from some traveling merchants on the surface. However, walking around wearing a symbol of Torm could get his companions killed and he knew it.

"I'm a scoundrel. I fit in everywhere," Cessair said, flipping her blond hair out of her face and flashing him a quick smile for reassurance. "Also, I agreed to wear a hood. That should solve our problems until we move into drow-held territory."

"I have my own precautions," Val said. She made a small gesture for show and then allowed her disguise spell to melt away. Now her natural appearance was on full display save for the mask she was still wearing, onyx skin and white hair in stark contrast to each other. It was a little twisted that they assumed the disguise was the real her and the real her was the disguise. The Goddess really did have a sense of humor. "The duergar and drow conduct trade and even engage in a certain level of diplomacy despite their mutual hatred. Life in the Underdark would be impossible if there was no cooperation at all."

"You've done this before. Passed as a drow, I mean," Galen said with a shrewdness that was normally foreign to his naive character. He definitely did not approve. If even a fraction of the stories were true, she had undoubtedly done all kinds of awful things in the name of keeping her identity secret.

"I spent a lot of time down here. Around two centuries, actually," Val said. It sounded about right, but she wasn't really certain of her age anymore. Binding demons tended to wreak havoc on one's sense of time. Some mornings she felt like she was thousands of years old, her soul tattered and threadbare. It was worse when she'd gone without binding for more than a few days-like now-because even keeping her connection to the Abyss part way open wasn't enough to satisfy the cravings. It never was.

"Galen, drop it," Cessair said sharply as soon as he opened his mouth. She loved her brother, but their guide had looked about ready to tear his head off last time they discussed Val's 'questionable ethics'. "What are we going to do about Storunn? Galen can probably just strip off the symbols of Torm and not smite anything."

"Well, we could make him look like a duergar," Val murmured, giving their fighter an appraising look.

Storunn gripped his battle axe a little tighter. "Not a chance in all nine hells."

"The alternative is for you to wear a slave collar," the arcanist said dryly. She was greeted by the fierce scowl she'd come to expect. Storunn was as rigid and inflexible as the stone around them, as firm in righteousness as their paladin. It made her want to crack their heads against each other sometimes. "I didn't craft duergar norms, dwarf. Whining won't change them either."

"I'd rather be me self," he grunted. "But don't think it makes me yer pet, drow." He clearly meant the mention of race to be an insult, but Val found it oddly comfortable.

Cessair tossed him a leather collar. She was trying to hide her smile at his stubborn grumbling, but the picture was just a little bit too amusing. "But I've always wanted a pet. We could call you 'Grumpy' and walk you on a leash and-"

"Still holding me axe, lass," Storunn said, hefting the weapon in a silent threat. He lowered it when the rogue looked appropriately chastised and buckled on his new collar. As soon as it was clasped, he felt a jolt and a hint of magic crackle across his skin. "What'd ye do?!"

"A slave wouldn't be allowed to wear armor or carry weapons unless their master had some kind of special control over them. And before you can start ranting and raving, I am not the one in command of you. Cessair is," Val explained. "Which, come to think of it, may be more of a curse than a blessing for you."

Galen frowned as he removed his breastplate with its holy symbol and replaced it with the blank battle-scarred one that their guide had purchased. He didn't like how casual she seemed or how comfortable she was with slavery, one of the foulest institutions that he'd ever borne witness to. "I don't like this," he said once the straps were cinched tight to hold his armor in place. He had to admit that it felt pretty good. For all her flaws, Val at least understood what to look for in armor.

The drowess shrugged a little. "No one is asking you to like it, paladin. We're just asking that you suffer in silence. While we are in a duergar city, we play by their rules. In Menzoberranzan, we'll extend the drow the same courtesy. If you don't, you die."

"Perfect," he grumbled.

Cessair just clapped her hands together in excitement, blue eyes bright. "Well, now that Grumpy and Judgy are ready to go, shall we?" she said lightly.

Val couldn't help the way her lips turned up at the corners in amusement behind her mask. The rogue had proven...tolerable, which was more than she'd ever expected from anyone who followed the Seldarine. The half elf seemed to go through life taking virtually nothing, including herself, particularly seriously. It was unfortunate that Cessair had taken it into her head to travel to Menzoberranzan. Nothing good would come of that.

"Don't call us that," Galen said in protest, frowning deeply at his half sister.

The rogue ignored him, pulling up her hood and falling in step beside Val. They were quiet for the next few minutes until they reached the end of the tunnel and the beginning of a cavern so massive that it was almost like being on the surface. Cessair couldn't even see the far walls. But below them lay a massive, dismal warren of a city polluted with the reeking smoke of foundries and armories, occupying much of the southwest shore of the Darklake. So this was Gracklstugh, the City of Blades. "Sune's mercy, it looks like the place where dreams go to die. Probably of stab wounds in a back alley," the half elf said. Her mouth had gone dry with a sudden burst of nerves.

"Are you certain you haven't been down here before? Because that's an incredibly accurate description," Val commented. She supposed it was her drow superiority talking, but she had always regarded the duergar with a mix of cautious respect and definite distaste. They were greedy, vicious little bastards that would take a mile if given an inch. However, the Deepkingdom did have one of the largest armies in the Northdark, so necessity dictated that things never come to open warfare between them and the drow. Instead, the duergar bristled with suspicion constantly and the drow made sure to secretly facilitate any attacks made on the gray dwarves by ancestral enemies.

Behind them, Galen and Storunn exchanged a pained look. This was not going to be enjoyable.

* * *

An hour later, they had made it into the heart of Gracklstugh. The city was every bit as filthy and alien as it had seemed from that vantage point above. Unfriendly dark eyes watched them with suspicion everywhere they went, particular hatred focused squarely on Storunn. Cessair had made sure to position herself close to her dwarven friend, staking ownership over her supposed slave. A couple of duergar had offered to buy him, probably so they could murder him in a particularly gruesome and slow manner. Galen was more worried about what kind of trouble his sister might find, so he stayed at her side whenever possible.

There were slaves everywhere, working in the foundries in one capacity or another. The ones that were too burned or broken to keep up with the demands of their labor had been tossed to the wayside like so much miserable trash. They crowded the slums, begging or performing even less savory tasks to try and earn enough to eat. Their desperation and misery seemed to have seeped into the stone itself. Currently, however, they were in the merchant's district, which was cleaner if no less packed with bodies. The only one who seemed to move through the area without being jostled was Val. She moved like someone important and powerful, not like some two-bit mercenary trash that had been scraped out of Eryndlyn's gutters.

The city itself glowed with the light of fires and hot metal, the air with steam, smoke, and the ringing of hammers. Massive pillars of stone stood throughout the city, hollowed out and filled with metalworks of all kinds. It was like an infernal forge worthy of Asmodeus himself.

"We'll find an inn soon. It'll be alright," Cessair said reassuringly to her brother in Common. She didn't look at him, however, her eyes fixed on the crowd. In a city, even a foreign one like this, she was in her element. "Val hasn't lead us astray so far."

"This would be a prime place for her to start," Galen muttered, almost falling over when a duergar shoulder-checked him powerfully. "Bastard. If we didn't need supplies, I would have never agreed to visit this place. Where are we going, anyway?"

"Here," Val said, abruptly veering off to the side at door marked by the sign of an ivory mace. It was clearly some kind of inn.

Cessair braced for the worst only to be pleasantly surprised. The tavern was cleaner inside than anywhere she'd seen outside and seemed to cater to foreigners, including others who had probably come from the surface. No half elves, but there were a couple of paranoid looking humans. She couldn't really blame them. A day in this city would make anyone suspicious of the world around them. There were only a few duergar in here, albeit they looked like mercenaries and did immediately glare belligerently at Storunn. The shield dwarf scowled at them and gripped his axe handle tightly.

"Storunn," the rogue said threateningly, elbowing him in the side forcefully enough to be felt through his scale armor. "You'll only encourage them."

Galen found them a table to the side before any violence could break out while Val headed to the counter and sorted out the business of rooms. Cessair immediately sat so she could have her back to the wall. This was one of the few places she'd ever been where casual stabbings seemed a realistic expectation. She wasn't going to make it easy for anyone to sneak attack her.

Their drinks arrived maybe a minute before Val returned and Storunn was the first to indulge. Anything to keep him distracted from the duergar, who had begun making some rather incendiary comments about his people. He wanted to go over and punch them into a paste. Unfortunately, as long as he was wearing this collar, he couldn't do anything like that without Cessair's express permission.

"I see you have a fan club," Val said, glancing over at the grey dwarves. They were ugly, scarred warriors with well-worn armor and keen weapons, save for the one furthest back who seemed to be in charge. As far as she was concerned, the noises coming out of their mouths might as well have been the cawing of particularly obnoxious crows. It certainly wasn't anything worth paying attention to.

Storunn grunted his acknowledgment. "They'll soon be chattin' to me axe."

One of the duergar across the room stood up and sauntered towards them. He looked different than the others of his kind, dressed in fine clothing and wearing a multitude of rings set with different gemstones. Storunn recognized him as a mage of some kind, those who embraced the arcane arts far more common among the gray dwarves than their nobler cousins. He certainly lacked the scars that distinguished the others. "Trouble," Galen said, his hand drifting over to rest on the hilt of his sword. Even Cessair had tensed almost imperceptibly.

"Lady Valyne," the duergar said with a smile that seemed less than wholly genuine, stopping at their table and giving the drowess a short bow. He spoke in Common for the benefit of her companions, who seemed equal parts unsettled and confused by him. The gray dwarf hadn't been certain who the drow was without any magical clues to go off of until he'd seen the ring and heard her speak. "I have heard much of your reputation but never considered that I might be fortunate enough to actually encounter you."

Val carefully kept her posture as open and relaxed as it had been before he approached, though she was prepared to cast offensively if he so much as breathed wrong. "And you are?" she said with a hint of boredom creeping into her tone. She left off the condescension drow normally treated duergar to since he was another mage and she didn't fancy getting into a fight here without an army at her back. The arrogance and disinterest served as a shield to keep him from catching a hint of her actual feelings.

"Thangardt Firehand," the duergar said. He was pointedly ignoring Storunn's presence at the table, though Cessair wasn't certain if it was because their warrior was a shield dwarf or pretending to be a slave. "A student of the arcane arts, though not one as accomplished as yourself."

The drowess narrowed her eyes slightly. Any time the normally hateful, churlish duergar started to throw around compliments like this, they were up to something. "Does this conversation have a point?" she asked flatly.

"Val, the least you can do is offer him a seat," Galen said, appalled by the lack of courtesy their companion was displaying.

Thangardt grinned, displaying surprisingly white teeth in contrast to his granite-colored skin. His black eyes were bright like a raven's and shone with equally surprising levels of intelligence. "Don't be too affronted, warrior. I find the lack of manipulation refreshing. Few drow are inclined to be so direct with my people. It's to her credit," the duergar said with confidence. He focused his attention squarely on Val again. "I speak to you on behalf of my employer, Durna Thuldark. No doubt you are acquainted with the name, Lady Val."

The arcanist had, in fact, run across it. Her mother had made it a point that she be well-read in the politics not only of her own homeland but of their enemies and allies alike as well. "She is the head of the Merchant's Council. A formidable woman," Val noted. She was somewhat surprised that the gray dwarf in question had even heard of her. "It's unfortunate that she hasn't risen to laird."

"Indeed," Thangardt said. The gleam in his black eyes suggested that she had correctly gotten to the heart of his employer's problem. "She would like to meet with you at your convenience before you leave the city. She has a problem that you may be able to assist with. You can find her at her home." He bowed slightly again and departed back to his own table.

Cessair sensed her brother's unease and made a pacifying gesture with both hands. "Look, working for a duergar would be sketchy, yes. But I don't dislike the idea of an influential one owing us a favor. If we are going to walk into Menzoberranzan, we might need it."

"A fair point," Val said. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop thoughtfully, weighing their options. It wouldn't do to simply ignore the invitation, not when slighted duergar held grudges with a tenacity that even most drow found somewhat excessive. "Insulting Durna is also not what I would call a wise move. Cessair, you and I should be the ones to talk to her. Galen and Storunn can wait here."

"What if ye come to blows?" Storunn focused on the tactical problem posed by this scenario, knowing it was an argument that Val wouldn't just discard out of hand like she would something that was principle-based.

"We'll run away," Cessair said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Give us some credit, Storunn. We're not idiots."

Galen gave their mage his best stern look. She seemed distinctly unimpressed. "If anything happens to my sister, I'm holding you responsible."

"If something untoward happens, I'll have much larger problems than one disgruntled human," Val pointed out, fighting down the urge to roll her eyes. "We'll leave in an hour or so. Jumping up right now might give Durna the idea we're eager to please and that's the last thing I want her thinking."

"And what do we do?" Storunn asked gruffly. "Cozy up to these bastards?"

"I wouldn't advise it. Familiarity breeds contempt," the drowess said smoothly even though her thoughts had already moved on. If she was going to walk into this meeting, she was going prepared.


	4. Desperate Times

_Lirayne cursed, trying to look around in the magical darkness. The first assault out of the shadows had turned her patrol into a few stragglers, including herself. This whole temple was wrong and twisted. She could feel the aura of demonic pollution in the stone. She gripped her mace more tightly and pushed away the urge to shudder. She was a priestess of Lloth. Fear was incompatible with that status as far as she was concerned._

_"We need Keldzar and the others," their wizard said as he patiently bore his wound and waited for their exhausted healer to mend his shoulder. "We have to turn back." _

_She wanted to gnash her teeth and curse him, but it would be stupid to vent her rage at him for telling her the truth that she knew full well. "The bulk of the enemy is behind us. We can't fight our way out. Keldzar and his men know where we went. We have to find a defensible position and wait for them to come get us," the noble said sternly instead. As much as she hated the male in question, she knew the Weapons Master wouldn't just abandon them. Not when the Matron would hold him accountable, anyway. _

_Kiaran grabbed her elbow. "I can't keep healing, Lirayne," she said quietly. The younger priestess was barely still on her feet. "We need rest. Let's go further ahead, get a few more doors sealed between us and the enemy." _

_Lirayne nodded. Even though the commoner was her younger sister's age, they had become good friends over the course of the past six years. She felt responsible for what happened to Kiaran and even somewhat protective. It made a giant difference to have at least one person in her life who would tell her when she was being unreasonable. "Only a little ways," she said cautiously, taking the lead. With her heavier armor and better combat training, she was the natural meat shield for the two more vulnerable spell-casters. _

_"We'll be alright. You've gotten us through worse," Kiaran said. She even flashed a tired smile in an attempt to reassure their leader, bumping her shoulder against Lirayne's. "I have your back."_

_Even with hands on the wall they were fumbling and stumbling over the cracks and splits in the ancient stone of the neglected temple. At least, until they came out into the remains of the main hall of the complex, which was lit by glowing braziers that cast light across the surface of strange, twisted statues. The abyssal taint had become so strong it was almost overwhelming. The scents of rot and corruption were thick enough to make even Lirayne gag a little. _

_The priestess had a sudden, chilling sense of premonition. Something was waiting for them. Something far more dangerous than anything they'd run across yet. "Kiaran, Pharaun, go back!" she barked at her companions, immediately readying a powerful spell of warding. But it was too late. The doors had slammed closed behind them as a hulking, bat-winged figure approached. _

_**Ah, Duskryn. My new pet**__, the creature purred, flexing its claws. Glittering yellow eyes focused on the noble with a malicious pleasure reflected in them. Demons were not to be trifled with, particularly one so powerful. It had clearly turned this place into its own little demesne in the Material Plane, complete with a twisted altar to itself that thralls and lesser demons made blood offerings at._

_Lirayne barked out an invocation only to have her spell fizzle and fail completely for the first time in her life. She felt her knees go weak even though she managed to stay on her feet. When she reached out for divine power, she felt nothing. It was as though her connection had been perfectly severed. The Goddess had abandoned her. "No! No no no!" _

_**I do so love to play with my pets. Even better when they struggle. I think I'll keep you.**__ Her hands started to tremble as she felt an overwhelming presence surge into her, completely dominating her every action. __**Kill them**__._

_She was trapped in her own head, unable to do anything with her body but obey. Her grace was gone when she turned on her companions and yet the power to wield her deadly mace remained. Kiaran looked so horrified..._

The priestess awoke with a start. To think that was her most pleasant experience in that accursed place.

Was it still a nightmare if it had really happened? Lirayne shuddered and kicked the sheets away from herself, getting up. It was almost five hours before habit compelled her to start her day, Narbondel's light not high enough in the city to even touch her window. She used a cantrip to clean herself off, feeling her hair untangle itself as all the sweat and dirt from sleep was stripped from her body. But it was never enough. Nor were the baths, though she'd studiously avoided them since her return to Menzoberranzan like so many other things that had once been habits.

She still hadn't set foot in the Fane. For her whole life, her faith had been a part of her identity, her shield against everything the world had thrown at her. And the one moment she'd needed it the most, it had utterly failed her at the whim of her own goddess. Her usual sparring with the Patron had also been abandoned by the wayside.

To think a yochlol had once told her that the Abyss's affinity for her family was a blessing. After watching her body eagerly obey a demon's every whim while her mind remained painfully clear and aware, she felt more cursed than anything else. Her only solace was that no one knew the extent of the damage. Even Keldzar, who had helped wound the creature until it withdrew deeper and sealed the path, only bore witness to the fact that she'd tried to defend it with all the grace of a jerky marionette puppet. The demon's concentration had been waning then and she'd broken free only a moment or two later. An eternity too late, as far as she was concerned.

She hadn't said a word to the Weapons Master despite all of his taunts. She'd just healed herself of all the bruises and scrapes hidden beneath her armor, then walked away. Her caustic edge had come back by the time everyone was rested and ready to travel again, but her heart wasn't in it. Being powerless to defend herself, to defend her friend, had shattered her confidence. Oh, a good priestess could fake it like an expert, but she felt more vulnerable now than she had even at Arach-Tinilith. Lirayne dressed in her cleric's robes since she wasn't expecting to wade into combat just yet.

The truth would come out sooner or later. She knew that. It hadn't been very long now and so nothing showed, but her magic was already changing along with her body. Every day she was exhausted and frequently nauseous. She'd been terrified after the first week of waking up only to vomit. The detection spell only confirmed her suspicions.

No one in the House could know. Not when conception was supposed to be a priestess's choice.

A soft knock on the door snapped Lirayne out of her own thoughts. She immediately answered it even though the last thing she felt like was visitors at the moment. "Nalfein," she greeted the soldier with all the politeness she could muster. She had made it a point to remember the names of her father's veteran comrades, since she'd spent so much time training alongside them. "Did Zekatar send you?"

"Yes, Mistress. Though he expected you to be sleeping, so you are under no obligation to answer the summons. He and Mistress Zesstra are with the Matron and the Weapons Master now," Nalfein said. He could tell that something was off kilter with Lirayne even though this was the first time he'd spoken to her since her return. She looked tired, like she hadn't been sleeping well for some time.

Zesstra. Her sister's name made her jaw clench involuntarily with such a ferocity that she was probably risking broken teeth if she kept it up. The bitch had to have known-she was the one who had handled the scouting parties that had uncovered evidence of strange activity in the settlement. But of course Lirayne had been left to walk into the demon completely blind. "Did they tell you what they wanted from me?"

"Your tactical skills, I believe," Nalfein said softly. "You know your way around the battlefield as well as the Patron."

Normally, Lirayne would have glowed at that kind of compliment and indulged her vanity. This time, the soldier didn't even see a hint that she recognized the statement for the commendation that it was. "Tell them I'll be there in a moment." The veteran's brow creased in puzzlement, but he made no comment. It was always better not to give a priestess reason to think her orders were being questioned.

Lirayne watched him depart and waited until he was out of earshot to take a deep breath. She had to be calm and in control. With her magic at less than its full strength, a confrontation could be suicide. It was hard enough already to hide how reduced her power was, particularly from her mother and her sister who were so attuned to these things.

By the time she arrived to the small meeting room, she could hear Zekatar and Keldzar having a spirited argument about where to position troops. Apparently the Matron had decided it was for the best just to let them fight it out, because she hadn't cut them off as soon as they started into it. Lirayne slipped in quietly and was immediately spotted by the room's occupants.

Zekatar frowned. "So nice of you to join us," the grizzled older male said brusquely. He was still irritated with her for avoiding him since her return. And how on earth could she explain? Her father's respect and approval were two of the most important things in her life and there was not a power in the world that could compel her to wittingly throw them away.

"Matron, do we really need Lirayne's tactical knowledge? The last assignment she was on ended with a patrol dead," Zesstra sniped. These days she never waited long to bring out the claws since the fight for succession was down to the two of them. "Although, if we need demon bait, she does come well recommended..."

Lirayne looked over at Keldzar, who had suddenly found the far wall to be absolutely fascinating. "You told her?" she hissed out. Oh, she knew he hated her, but it was still a low blow. Lower than he probably realized. The shame was like a choking knot in her throat that stopped her breath almost completely.

"The Matron asked for a complete briefing and Mistress Zesstra was present," the male drow said bluntly. He had to admit that he wasn't too broken up about the fact that Lirayne came out looking less than stellar. It was strange to see something flicker behind her glare that looked like...pain, however.

Zekatar's look was heavy with disapproval, so she pointedly focused her attention on her mother. "I made a mistake," she said steadily. It was not the kind of admission she would normally ever make, but she could still feel the blood of the people who had been relying on her all over her hands. Besides, excuses would only irritate the Matron. "I didn't do a more thorough check to make certain I understood what kind of enemy I was facing. There were...holes in the reports that Zesstra passed onto me. I should have paid more attention."

"Did the demon find your incompetence as charming?" Zesstra goaded.

Something in the younger priestess snapped like a reed. Lirayne wasn't entirely certain what happened next. By the time she came back to her senses, her hand felt like it was on fire and Zekatar was dragging her backwards by one arm and her hair while Keldzar caught Zesstra, who had staggered back clutching her face. It was the first time since they were both children that Lirayne had ever dared lay a finger on her older sister in anger. She was almost positive that she'd broken a bone in her hand as well as Zesstra's nose. Now if she could just rip out that damn tongue, she'd be satisfied.

"Enough!" Siniira barked, rising from her seat at the table littered with maps. "The two of you can bicker all you want, but I will not tolerate nobles assaulting each other. Zekatar, Keldzar, Zesstra, out!"

Lirayne felt a shallow sort of satisfaction when Zesstra glared at her as she left with the males, still cupping her nose with one hand to vainly stem the flow of blood. Unfortunately, it also meant she was being left alone with her mother for at the very least an unpleasant argument.

Siniira waited until the door had closed before rounding on her second daughter. "What in the Demonweb is wrong with you, Lirayne?" she said coolly, effortlessly reigning in her own temper. She was not the kind of woman to raise her voice unduly when simple inflection could express her displeasure with equal authority.

_I killed my best friend under the effects of a domination spell. Also, Lloth abandoned me in battle and I'm pregnant with demon-spawn. Happy now that I've laid it out there?_ Lirayne snapped in her head. "Nothing that concerns the House," she said aloud. It sounded bitter now that it was spoken, but she didn't know how else to make her mother drop the line of inquiry.

"But it does concern me," Siniira said, softening slightly. Lirayne drove her completely insane most of the time, but at the end of the day they were still mother and child. Some days she wanted to curse the Goddess for giving her daughters too much like herself: always committed to handling all of their problems on their own without telling anyone there was an issue. "Mourndar came by earlier with your letter. Why do you want permission to travel freely outside of Menzoberranzan?"

"I want to find Valyne," Lirayne admitted. She knew it made almost no sense, but if anyone knew anything about demons and what to do in her situation, it would be Val. She didn't care about becoming Matron any more. She just wanted out. Maybe it was a fool's errand and the mage was already dead. Better than staying in Menzoberranzan all the same, where her family would quickly realize just how weak she had been.

Siniira cocked her head slightly despite herself, raising an eyebrow. "You're making a poor case for your mental health, Lirayne."

"It wasn't just some demon we fought, Matron. It was powerful, at least a balor. It was there for a purpose," the younger cleric said, telling as much of the truth as she could bear. One didn't lie directly to Siniira if they had any sense. Omission, however, could sometimes pass undetected. "Val knew more about the Abyss than anyone else in Menzoberranzan. We're not prepared to fight it without her. I...I couldn't cast when it was near me. Can you imagine what kind of damage it could do unchecked?"

"Keldzar told me that it had been defeated," Siniira said cautiously. She crossed her arms and frowned slightly as she considered this new information. Lirayne had a point. Something like that wouldn't be in the Material Plane by coincidence, certainly not as the work of a lone summoner.

Lirayne laughed without humor. "It withdrew. Oh, his men wounded it. Maybe even gave it pause. But we escaped because it wanted us to. They don't like to kill their victims when life prolongs the suffering."

"And Zesstra neglected to mention the presence of the creature to you when she explained the situation." It wasn't a question.

"Well, think of how convenient it would be for her if I was killed in battle with a demon," Lirayne said. She could feel her nails biting into her palms, but she couldn't quite force herself to relax. Goddess, how good it would feel to just inflict a fraction of the suffering she'd endured on her sister.

Siniira's look was carefully expressionless. This was exactly the kind of behavior that she'd come to expect from her eldest: anything and everything for the sake of power. Yet another reason to never allow Zesstra close to the position of Matron. "You're right. We can't walk into any enemy this powerful while blind. I'll send a patrol-"

"No!" Lirayne blurted out just a little bit too quickly. She stepped back a little when she felt her mother's attention focus on her, turning away like she was shielding herself from that intrusive gaze. "She was exiled, Matron. If we send a patrol, she'll probably think it's to finish the job. I'll go."

The Matron's eyes narrowed slightly. "Alone in the wilds? Reckless even for you."

"You let her go," the younger priestess said, her lip curling. Anger was her refuge, her unassailable bastion of safety. As long as she was furious at someone for something, she didn't feel weak. It also pushed Siniira back away from her vulnerable thoughts. "Let's not pretend you think I'm anywhere near as valuable as Valyne, Mother."

Siniira leveled a finger at her child warningly. "You are still my daughter. Whom I would rather not see as a corpse."

"And the beauty of it is that you'll never see me if I do become a corpse. That's what scavengers are for," Lirayne sneered as she drew her burning armor tighter around her damaged heart. "I can handle the wilds and anything that might cross my path. I assume you know where to look for her?"

It wasn't an argument that the Matron of House Duskryn felt like pushing. After all, if she forbid it, her daughter would probably leave the city anyway with no direction whatsoever and promptly get herself killed. "I have an inkling," Siniira said with a sigh. She didn't look at all convinced that this scheme was particularly intelligent. "Let me show you on the map. Just promise me you won't do anything foolish. This is not a death or glory situation, Lirayne. I'd much prefer you remain alive."

"I promise to do my best." _For both of us._ She rested a hand on her flat abdomen when her mother turned away and bit her lower lip. Maybe she wasn't ready and she didn't know how she felt about this situation, but what choice did she have?


	5. Durna's Favor

For a duergar, Durna Thuldark was the very soul of beauty. Her blocky gray features were softer than most and she actually had dark hair instead of a bald head, though it was very closely cropped. The corners of her black eyes crinkled a little when she was amused or pleasantly surprised and her thin, stern lips even turned up into a smile. She wasn't particularly evil, preferring a sort of hard-hearted neutrality and gold like so many of her kind did. But a lifetime of being a merchant had taught her how to be charming when needed. This was certainly one of those times.

"The pleasure is all mine," Durna said, pouring a glass of wine for each of her guests. She smiled at the surface dweller who was looking around curiously to try and take in every part of her surroundings, flattered at the display. She was wealthy for a duergar, but she had heard that the other races of dwarves were even more ostentatious. Her home was built in straight lines and sharp angles with elaborate carvings in the door frames. The furniture and fabrics in the room were drow in style and material. She had been introduced to spider silk as a young trader and vowed to never again settle for undyed cotton and rough wool from the surface realms.

The masked drowess was much harder to read for even such an experienced merchant. Durna was well acquainted with Valyne Duskryn's reputation, intimidating as it was, but she had a feeling that what people discussed only scratched the surface. A sorceress without equal when it came to the darker arts, she even supposedly had the blood of demons running through her veins. If that was the case, it wasn't obvious, but no one would put consorting with fiends beyond drow.

"Your home is very impressive," Cessair said honestly. It was an alien, harsh beauty to her surface sensibilities, but she could still appreciate it. Expensive but tasteful and understated. Taste like that was rare among the upper echelons in any city, let alone a duergar one. They reminded the half elf a little bit of dragons in the way most of them obsessed over wealth.

"Nothing compared to what your friend is used to," Durna said, all pleasantness as though this were a meeting between friends and not the negotiation it actually was. "I was in Menzoberranzan a few weeks ago to discuss trade agreements. Every time I set foot into the City of Spiders, I marvel."

Cessair was curious. Valyne had said remarkably little about the city they were going to or its inhabitants, allowing her to form her own impression based solely on the stories of surface elves. It seemed less that their guide wanted her to be misinformed and more that the masked woman didn't want to share her feelings about Menzoberranzan. But the rogue hadn't missed the faintly wistful look that came into burnished steel eyes when the subject was broached.

"Incidentally, Valyne, your family is still doing quite well," Durna continued mildly. "Though if I didn't know better, I would say your mother is extremely upset with your absence."

That immediately grabbed the attention of both of her guests. The surface dweller seemed surprised, as though her companion had never mentioned her family. Odd, as normally drow nobles took every chance to remind the world of their position. But then again, Durna could see where Valyne was coming from after all the unpleasantness.

Val seemed to stiffen slightly, clearly on her guard. "How...kind of you to take an interest," she said carefully. "You'll understand if I prefer not to discuss the matter in the present company, I hope. We did not part on the best of terms. Thangardt Firehand mentioned that we might be able to assist you somehow."

"Of course. I'm willing to compensate you, though I understand money is not necessarily a currency you prefer," Durna said, allowing the conversation to be redirected. This matter was the more important one anyway, as fascinating as it was to see the interaction between the drowess and her traveling companion. "My uncle is the ruling laird of our clan and a very influential man in the city. We have had a disagreement of sorts. He wants it to be settled by combat, but has insisted it be between champions. He's quite aged, you see, but he has powerful friends. His chosen warrior is a powerful half giant named Antares. If I win, I assume his position as laird. If he wins, I lose my position and the ability to remain in Gracklstugh. Not a battle I can afford to lose, obviously."

"You want one of us to serve as your champion," Cessair said thoughtfully. She'd already made a mental note to question Val about her apparent family later.

"Valyne would be ideal," the female duergar said before sampling her own wine. "She looks much weaker than she actually is. It would throw him off guard. It would also make my rivals think twice before challenging me if they think I have friends in Menzoberranzan. The lairds are loathe to do anything that might bring them into open conflict with the drow after their defeat in the War of the Spider Queen."

"But it keeps you the support of the average duergar because it looks like you have control over the drow," Val said thoughtfully. She leaned back a little and considered the arrangement as she discretely checked her glass of wine for poison. There wasn't a single trace of toxin, which meant Durna was being at least mostly straightforward about the deal. "Very clever. You understand that you'd owe me a substantial favor, since this would vault you quite a ways higher in Gracklstugh's political hierarchy."

"That goes without saying," Durna acknowledged. She wasn't exactly eager to have that sword hanging over her head, but it was a necessary evil. If she thought anyone else would be able to achieve this kind of victory, she would have chosen them. "Do we have a deal, then?"

Val inclined her head slightly. "I suppose we do. I'll need some time to prepare. When is the fight set for?"

"Tomorrow," the female duergar said with a pleasant smile. "Why don't you fetch your companions and bring them here? It would be an honor to say I hosted the daughter of Siniira Duskryn. My hospitality is at your disposal."

"Such generosity," Val said, a hint of amusement in her gray eyes. "You must really want me to kill Antares."

"Very much so, yes."

Cessair and Val didn't start back for the inn until more than an hour later, after everyone had finished their wine and they'd had a long chat with Durna about more pleasant matters. The half elf seemed to enjoy every story they could coax out of their host, the little snippets of conversation offering the rogue a window into what had seemed like a grim and colorless world. The Underdark was beginning to reveal itself as no less vibrant than the surface world in terms of the variety of life, even if much of still was malicious. But now that they were away from the gray dwarf, she felt like she could voice the questions that had been raised.

"Val?" When the drowess made a noise that indicated she was listening, Cessair continued. "Who is Siniira Duskryn? Durna seemed to think she was your mother."

_Of course she wouldn't forget that. Now how in the Demonweb do I explain this away?_ "She's a very powerful woman in Menzoberranzan," Val said with a vague motion of one hand. "I'd rather not discuss the subject."

"What happened?" Cessair said firmly. She wasn't inclined to drop this, not when there was obviously something very important that Valyne wasn't telling them. "Look, whatever you say, it's between us. Galen and Storunn don't have to know."

"Alley, now," Val said sharply, grabbing Cessair's upper arm with a bruising force that startled the half elf. She hadn't expected a mage to be nearly that strong. It reminded her of the few times Storunn had seized her and hauled her along. "There are a lot of things about me that you're better off not knowing, do you understand?"

"No, I don't. Why would a drow let a half elf masquerade as her daughter?" the rogue said fiercely, keeping her voice low even though they were alone in the alley for the moment. The last thing she wanted was anyone overhearing this, though the odds that they would be understood were low since they'd switched fluidly into the elvish tongue.

Val fought down a growl. She wanted to shake the girl until she dropped the subject, but that wouldn't actually solve anything. "It's complicated, damn it!" she snarled.

Cessair felt her blood chill when the gray eyes she was looking into suddenly changed. The pupils narrowed like a cat's until they were barely more than slits. The grip on her arms had only tightened until she was positive that there would be marked bruising of her flesh. "Val, please calm down," she said gingerly. "You're hurting me."

The reaction was instantaneous. Val immediately released her and recoiled back, her eyes suddenly normal again. "Sorry," she murmured. It really had been far too long since she last indulged her demonic side if she was slipping into it accidentally. She hadn't even noticed the way the colors brightened and the world became more vivid, too caught up in her own anger. "That happens when something gets under my skin. I try to avoid it." Her apology was genuine, even if they'd only been traveling together for two weeks. As she saw it, feeling shame over losing control was one of the few things that still marked the existence of a soul in her.

"It's okay. If you don't want to talk to me about your family, you can always tell me whatever the hell that was," Cessair offered, a hint of levity in her tone so that Val wouldn't take her too seriously. She wasn't really upset now that she knew it was unintentional.

"What I say has to stay between us. This isn't something Galen or Storunn would approve of. Understood?" Val said firmly.

"Look, I know I drive you crazy sometimes, but I don't let my friends down when I can help it. I won't breathe a word," the half elf promised.

"The Abyss is in my blood. I was born that way," Val said. "It's part of the reason I can't stand to be near your brother. What he is and what I am aren't meant to mix. My spellcraft, at least the majority of it that people down here know me for, uses that connection. It's a very old, very rare, very potent form of magic. But it has side effects. One of which you just saw."

"Okay," Cessair said, nodding a little to show she understood. She could definitely understand why Val didn't want this paraded out for Galen to see. It also explained wearing a mask that hid her magical nature from being detected. "What other side effects are there?"

"Well, once you start using it, you can't stop," the drowess said wryly. "It's...like finding out you've spent your whole life walking around like a husk of a person, unfeeling and weak. At first the power is intoxicating, addictive. But then it fades and you're weaker than you were before. The world seems faded out, distant. The only thing that makes it better is binding. And the more you bind, the more you need it to feel anything. The magic gives a great deal, but it takes away even more."

The half elf shuddered slightly. She couldn't imagine what that would be like, but it sounded horrible. "Why would you even start?"

"Obviously I didn't know at the beginning what I know now about its effects. But more than that, I was young and foolish. When failure means death, you're willing to try anything to survive and even more to make the people who cared for you proud," Val said softly. "I think you're familiar with the feeling, considering you're a half elf in the Underdark chasing after a lost relic on behalf of your dead father. Anything to feel like you matter, right?"

"I can see where you're coming from," Cessair admitted. "We should definitely never mention this to Galen or Storunn. They would pitch a fit. Also? We probably shouldn't tell them that we agreed to murder some random fighter for fun and profit on behalf of a duergar."

"Technically, you didn't agree to anything," the drowess said, amused by the way her companion had put things. She lead the way back out into the street now that their little chat was over.

"Still an accessory to the crime if not an accomplice. Besides, if Durna had asked for two fighters, I would have gladly jumped in the ring with you. It could have been our girl bonding time. Did you know Galen seriously thinks that's a thing?" the rogue said glibly, returning to her normal self with surprising ease. She definitely hadn't forgotten about what Durna mentioned regarding Val's supposed family, but she knew it was an off-limits topic and could respect that. After all, Val had finally opened up and shared something else incredibly personal.

"You may still have your chance if Antares decides he doesn't want to play fair."

* * *

The match was at the very beginning of the next day and Cessair had engineered a suitable distraction, sending Galen and Storunn off hunting for rumors about happenings in Menzoberranzan and maps of the tunnels between Gracklstugh and the City of Spiders 'in case they needed a back up route' while assuring them that she and Val would be similarly occupied. Instead, of course, they'd made their way to a small arena packed with spectators of various races-most were duergar, but not all.

"Hold this," Val said, taking off her mask and handing it to Cessair. It was incredibly liberating to be herself in public again. The rogue had no magical detection, so she wouldn't realize that the drow appearance wasn't a disguise or that the corruption of the Abyss ran down to her core.

"Got it. Are you going to use the magic you told me about the other day?" Cessair asked, running her fingers over the mask. It felt smooth and feather-light, more like it was made out of solid smoke than leather or porcelain or fabric. Even without any knack for magic she could feel the power in it.

"Against this kind of opponent? Absolutely. I wouldn't have the physical strength to go toe to toe with him otherwise," the drowess said.

Antares was a towering hulk of muscle topped by a shaggy and malformed head joined to his broad shoulders by an almost nonexistent, beefy neck. Based on his incredibly intimidating and less than handsome appearance, the parent that wasn't a giant was, in fact, an ogre of some sort. The war club he hefted was made out of a knotted bar of adamantite carved with the symbol of Surtr, the giant god of destruction and fire. It looked about as big around as Cessair and almost as tall. Val could hear the crunching of her ribs on impact echoing through her head already. She looked like a malnourished child compared to the behemoth she was fighting.

"Hey, at least you're prettier," the rogue said as if she could sense the anxious thoughts going through Valyne's head. She flashed the mage a quick grin. "You know, I'm almost sick with nerves and I'm not the one going into that ring. Good luck, Val. I'll be over here rooting for you and sharpening my knives just in case someone else goes for your back while you're dancing with Ugly over there."

"If I die, you can have my things. Just don't let Galen get his holier-than-thou hands on any of it or he might burn it. That would be a terrible waste," Val said as she heard her name called out. She took a deep breath and centered herself, then strode confidently out of the little sheltered area into the open dirt expanse of the arena floor itself.

Above in the stands, Durna Thuldark smiled a little at the slender figure of her chosen champion. Her uncle's chuckle rumbled in his throat. "That's your fighter, Durna?" the laird said. "She hasn't even got a weapon or armor. Antares will crush her and your future in one blow."

"We'll see."

Back down below, Val squared off with the massive brute. She ignored his sadistic smile and the jeers of the crowd, tapping into the gift in her blood. She felt the barrier between herself and the Abyss melt away as though it had never been there. Something immensely dark and powerful filled the void. Her body jerked and doubled over as the fires of a demon's unholy presence surged through her veins. A ripple went through the crowd as they saw the slender drowess suddenly begin to transform. Her fingers stretched and twisted into lethal black claws even as her head snapped back and she felt her jaw crack while fangs forced their way out. The muscles in her back contorted in unnatural ways, allowing black bat-like wings to sprout from her shoulder blades.

She could hear the half giant's heart beating out its fluttering, fragile pulse against his frail ribs. The fear of the audience rolled across her tongue with all the sweetness of honey. She was more than drow: she was perfection incarnate, power at its most pure and destructive. Every breath of air left her feeling more invigorated. How fortunate for her that her opponent wasn't smart enough to immediately start backpedaling. She licked her lips, considering all the different ways she wanted to slowly peel him apart. Her body was wreathed in shadow and flames, emanating a profane presence. This was going to be very enjoyable, at least for her.

Val snapped her fingers, conjuring up a whip of flame. It was the favored weapon of a balor, the particular variety of demon she was currently hosting in her body. Not even she really could tell where it ended and she began. "Shall we dance, giant-kin?" she purred, watching him heft his war club as though it would actually offer him any protection.

Halfway across the city, Galen stopped cold in his tracks. "Did you feel that?" he asked Storunn quietly, ignoring the duergar who had been forced to stop also and were now scowling at him.

"Feel what?" the dwarf grunted.

"It's like someone just walked over my grave," the paladin said. He couldn't think of another way to explain the sudden, nauseating chill that had just run down his spine. "We should find Cessair and Val. It worries me."

"The lasses can look out for themselves, lad," Storunn said, adjusting the battle axe swung across his back. "Ye ought to worry about the blighter who tries to hurt them."


	6. A Friend Indeed

When he had first seen the little drow woman walk out into the arena, Antares naturally assumed that he had this fight in the bag. But then she had changed and everything began going horribly wrong. He was used to being the strongest and most powerful around, yet here she was laughing at him like this was a game she could win at her pleasure. This was an insult more than he could stand-when he finished with the diminuitive dark elf, he would turn his club on the Thuldark woman no matter what the laird said about it.

Val sprang to the side of his overhand swing, neatly avoiding a crushed skull and instant death. Her main advantage was his lack of speed. With the power of the Abyss surging through her veins, she could move with inhuman speed and possessed an equal amount of stamina for maintaining it. So far, her contribution to the fight had been avoiding his blows and watching as he began to tire. Occasionally the flaming whip would draw lines of agony across his body where he was exposed or she'd dart close enough to rip viciously at his tendons and ligaments with his claws, inflicting crippling wounds. He was limping now and howling with impotent rage.

"Hold still, bitch!" the half giant roared, recovering quickly enough to twist at his hips in a new swing. He clipped one of her bat wings, knocking her off her feet.

A snarl of fury and pain clawed its way out of Valyne's throat. She had been barely holding herself in check. Even with a demon bound to her flesh and blood, she struggled to contain herself. But now, wounded? All she could think of was tearing his face off. She rolled up to her feet in an avoidance of the next blow and reigned in her temper. There was an audience. She couldn't go wild. What if she hurt someone she didn't mean to? She'd dropped the whip too, damn it. A good thing she could simply conjure it back to her hand.

The hunger was like a fire in her stomach, threatening to consume everything including her own sanity. She was so distracted by it and the half giant that she didn't notice the handful others approaching her from behind with weapons drawn. They were duergar soldiers, clearly dispatched because she was proving too much of a challenge for Antares.

"Val, behind you!" Cessair shouted, vaulting over the wall down into the sands. A normal person would probably quaver at the idea of leaping into an arena with a possessed woman, but the rogue had always made it her policy to trust her companions. Galen wouldn't approve, of course, but she couldn't just stand by. Granted, neither could she take on that many opponents alone.

The demon binder whirled and was on the first one of the soldiers before the crowd even had time to blink. Her claws pierced his armor like it was paper, one hand seizing his jaw while the other grabbed his shield arm. His long, drawn out scream split the air as the possessed drowess tore him literally in half. He was joined only by his entrails when she dropped him and went for the next with bloodlust burning in her eyes.

Cessair meanwhile found herself face to face with Antares, who was leering. She was clearly an opponent he could dispatch without issue. "I'll crush you in a blow, little girl," he thundered, whipping the club at her with surprising speed.

She flipped back like the acrobat she was, landing neatly on her feet with a long, sleek elven dagger in each hand. "You have to hit me first, bonehead. Let's see what you've got," she said casually, giving him a wink. The hood had fallen back to reveal her elven features, but she had bigger things to worry about. Besides, duergar wouldn't care the way the drow would.

Antares charged her despite his wounded leg, confident that she could jump around all she liked. After all, there was no way this little half elf had the superhuman speed or stamina that the drowess did. He moved with an animal cunning, slowly forcing the rogue back against a wall where she would be penned in and far less able to evade. He didn't manage to get a solid blow in on her, but he clipped her numerous times doing her serious damage: cracked ribs, a shoulder just short of being dislocated, and a lot of bruising.

Valyne was hardly having an easy go of it herself. Even fueled by demonic rage, she was still an arcanist and that meant melee combat was not her strong suit. Between hurled spells and her claws, she could give better than she got, but the axes of the duergar had left serious bleeding wounds across her limbs and torso. Nothing fatal...yet.

"Val, I need you!" Cessair shouted when her back collided with stone.

The drowess clawed the face of the duergar soldier bearing down her, finding the eye-slots of his helm with frightening ease. Then she turned and took in the scene before her. Antares was going to kill the half elf with her boxed in like that.

_Good riddance_. The thought was cold and rational and unbidden. She wouldn't have to guide them any more. She would be free of the nagging questions about her history. The truth of her allegiances and her motivations would remain unrevealed and she could dispose of Galen and Storunn with bloody ease now that she was on her own ground.

All it would cost her was the closest she'd come to having a friend in ten years. Someone who had taken one of her most intimate secrets, her magic and its taint in her blood, at face value. Someone who talked to her without judgment and mistrust. Someone who continued to trust her even when it was clearly not in their best interest. Like she had trusted Keldzar.

She knew what it was to be betrayed. No one deserved that, particularly not someone who had treated her with kindness.

Val howled a spell in Abyssal, feeling unholy magic surge through every fiber of her being as she hurled herself between Antares and Cessair, taking the blow that would have crushed the half elf's skull with her shoulder. She could feel the bones crunch despite the magic, white-hot agony flooding through her frame. Her right arm was as good as useless and her collarbone had splintered down into an artery. She felt a power surge out to her fingertips beyond what the balor inside her was offering. This was different. This was...her.

She threw herself up at Antares in a leap, sinking her fangs into his throat and tearing. All she could taste was blood and it felt so _right_. His heart, pounding fear-infused blood straight out of his body. She could taste the horror, the desperation. It made something more flare. She didn't just want to kill him. She wanted to make him suffer. The flame that wreathed her body seared his flesh until it started to crackle and char. His wailing quickly turned to miserable, choking sobs. As soon as he dropped, clutching his throat and rolling across the sand to put out the flames, she was moving again, straight towards the duergar warriors. It wouldn't matter if he put himself out. He was a dead man.

The drowess flexed her claws, smiling even as blood rolled down her chin. **You should start running, mortals. Or don't. I like it when they struggle,** she purred. Her voice had changed, rolling and growling with the syllables of the Abyss. It wasn't the balor speaking, it was something deep inside of her that was finally free to come to the surface for the first time. She couldn't decide if the agony in her shoulder was painful or pleasurable, only that it made her feel so perfectly alive.

Cessair gagged despite herself at the mess, the smell of charred flesh. She didn't blame the duergar soldiers at all who had been ordered into the arena when they turned and ran in an animal panic. They weren't all fast enough, however. Val conjured up the whip of flame again with her good arm and lashed out, curling it around the ankle of one of the fleeing gray dwarves. She dragged him back towards her even as he screamed, clearly intent on inflicting something equally awful on him.

"Valyne Duskryn! Stop!" Cessair shouted, closing the distance between them. She curled her arms around the demonic drowess, avoiding battered bat wings, and drawing her back. The unholy, flaming aura was burning the rogue, but not nearly as badly as it had Antares. She ignored the pain and the scorching wounds to her flesh, forcing her voice to become soothing. "They've surrendered. Stop, Valyne, stop. This isn't you. Come back. Let it go."

The words clearly touched something inside the drowess, because there was a sudden burst of unholy power and then the demonic traits faded away. The aura evaporated, the wings disappeared, and the claws and fangs started to recede. The wounded arcanist sagged back against her half elf friend as the strength bled out of her limbs. She could barely feel the pain in her shoulder...or anything, really. "Sorry," she said softly.

It reminded Cessair of what had happened in the alley. There was some part of Val that still had a soul, that wanted to be something other than a monster. They would definitely have to talk about this later. After their wounds were treated, which hopefully Durna would see to if she didn't want a knife in the throat. "Eh, no worries. You did save my bacon," Cessair said with a chuckle, moving to brace her shoulder under Val's. She took the lithe drowess's weight without complaint despite her fresh burns.

Val looked over at her and arched an elegant eyebrow despite her exhaustion and the overwhelming feeling of loss. The banter distracted her from the feelings that half of her self had been torn away. "Your pig-meat is safely stored in the packs with the other rations," she said dryly even though she was familiar with the surface idiom.

"Oh, silly me. I thought I had it in my pocket," Cessair said lightly. "Here come the healers. And looks like the laird is in an awful lot of trouble with Durna and the rest of the clan for trying and failing to throw our fight."

"I hope she tears his heart out through his throat," Val muttered, her head lolling against Cessair's. "Ugh, I can't get that nasty taste off my tongue."

"That's what you get for putting things in your mouth when you have no idea where they've been or when they last took a bath," the half elf said. The pair of them staggered into the waiting arms of the healers Durna had provided.

"Mask," Valyne breathed.

Cessair produced the slim mask from inside her small satchel and put it on the drowess since Val was helpless to do anything but cling to one of the many interlocking belts that were part of the rogue's armor. She could barely stand on her own, but refused to let go until that little security had been added. As soon as it was safely in place, Val collapsed completely.

Both of them were ushered back to the room they were sharing at Durna's for medical attention. And, the half elf decided, when Val woke up they should probably talk. Galen had told her not to trust the masked woman, but their guide had almost gotten herself killed in defense of the rogue. Val had proven she was not just a hired expert-she was a friend.

Cessair had never had many friends growing up. Being half elf and half human left her trapped between worlds, never really fitting into either. So the ones she had, she would fight tooth and nail for. There were a lot of secrets that were weighing down on Val. The rogue promised herself that whatever they were, whatever they meant, and whatever happened, she would have the arcanist's back.

* * *

Galen was puzzled by the bustle of activity when he and Storunn returned. His half sister and Valyne were nowhere to be seen, but they were greeted by a very pleased Durna wearing the large and ornate ring that signified who was laird of the Thuldark Clan. "Your companions are resting," the female duergar said pleasantly, apparently in such a good mood that she was willing to acknowledge even Storunn's existence without hostility. "You should be able to find them in Valyne's room."

The paladin nodded and started that way. He was familiar enough with the halls of Durna's home after spending the night there, though if he were to go anywhere but the rooms of his companions he would undoubtedly need help. There was a normal hum of activity through the halls of servants, merchants, and guards alike. He even spotted Thangardt Firehand in animated conversation with a duergar cleric and paused briefly to listen.

"...it was incredible, like nothing I'd ever seen. I will never again discredit the Academy of Sorcere. If the drow truly have that kind of power at their fingertips, Laird Durna made a wise alliance," the priest was saying with a hint of awe in his voice. "Unholy, of course, but still. It was obvious that she was holding back."

Thangardt chuckled. "Power like that is born, not made, Ivar. No amount of time praying or locked in a room with books could emulate it."

Galen decided that he would hear about it later, knocking on the door to Val's room. He heard his sister's barely-there footsteps and Cessair opened the door. She wasn't wearing her armor but did still have a few knives about her person just in case. "Galen, Storunn, nice to see you weren't eaten by the city," she said obligingly, moving out of the way so they could come in.

"Fantastic, the paladin is back," Val said acidly from the bed where she was propped up against the pillows, her mask securely back in place. The clerics had mended the wound as best they could but warned her that her shoulder would be incredibly tender and a mass of bruises for some time. There was nothing they could do for the exhaustion or stress of binding. At least, however briefly, her cravings for blood and mayhem had subsided to minimal levels. That didn't mean she was inclined to be charitable towards the constantly disapproving paladin.

Galen scowled. "Do you have no manners?" he snapped. "We spent a full day running your errands. The least you could do is be grateful."

"Actually, it was my errand," Cessair reminded him. She plopped down on the edge of Val's bed comfortably, as though she'd been sitting there some time. And she had-the healers had tasked her with making absolutely certain that the masked woman didn't strain herself or reopen the wounds on her legs and arms that had been bound with gauze. Most of their attention was focused on the blow to her shoulder, so the lesser wounds were left to time and nature to heal.

Val had been a surprisingly cooperative patient. The rogue was impressed-she expected a lot more of their companion's bitter temper. Instead, Val obeyed every instruction that she'd been given without a hint of grumbling...probably because she was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. It did seem like she wasn't used to other people caring for her, with the way she'd so expertly bound some of her own wounds despite the fog of fatigue. Whatever her story was, she had clearly become accustomed to having to tend her own wounds and protect herself. Cessair felt a twinge of sympathy. No matter how bad her life had gotten, Galen and Storunn had always been there for her. Not having them would make the world a dark and unfriendly place. No wonder their companion could be so bitter.

"None at all. Now, did you find anything or are you just here to spoil a perfectly good evening?" Val said, her sneer covered by the mask. It wasn't really fair to him, of course, but she'd nearly been killed and was still in large amounts of pain. She had refused any pain killers, knowing that the ache and burn of her injuries, while infuriating, was far preferable than slipping into the numbness that always followed binding.

Galen glowered. He hated the way she could give the distinct impression of looking down her nose at him even though she was shorter and lying down. "Yeah, we found maps to another passage through a settlement called Niar'hannenlyn. It used to be held by drow."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Val and she sat up properly, swinging her legs around so she could stand up despite the pleading look Cessair was giving her. There was no way for the half-elf to chastise her without explaining why, exactly, Val was injured. "What do you mean 'used to'?" she demanded, glaring at the paladin. She had fond memories of Niar'hannenlyn. It was a small town on the edge of some massive and ancient crumbling ruins, a way station for many of House Duskryn's patrols. She'd spent more than a few nights in the inn there, relaxing between stints out in the Wilds.

"The duergar we were talking to indicated that the whole town had been taken over lately along with the ruins near it by some kind of evil cult. The locals were either killed outright or taken, probably to sacrifice," Galen said grimly. The story only reinforced to him the evils of the Underdark.

Val let out a hiss of muttered curse words in drow, her hands clenching into fists. "How large of a cult?" she demanded, falling into interrogation mode. "Enough to be a threat to Menzoberranzan? Who do they follow?"

Cessair stood up and gently caught her friend's arm. "Val, I'm pretty certain a city full of armed drow has literally nothing to worry about from a little cult," she said softly.

"Wouldn't be too bad if someone attacked Menzoberranzan," Galen muttered. "It'd keep their raids away from the surface."

That was the wrong thing to say. Val rounded on him in a sudden burst of anger, slamming her fist into his breastplate to hammer home the fact that he'd crossed a line. It didn't hurt him at all, but it did startle him. "What the hell do you know, _rivvil_?" she hissed viciously, ignoring the agony in her shoulder from having torqued it to hit him. "Do you know how many times Menzoberranzan has been attacked? How close it's come to destruction? How many people died?" In the War of the Spider Queen, her own house had taken some of the heaviest casualties. Her mother always looked haunted when she spoke about it, as if she wished she could have protected her soldiers even from the enemy.

"It's full of evil people, Val! Why the hell do you think it keeps getting attacked?" Galen snapped, grabbing her shoulder. He was ignorant of how tender it was.

The drowess flinched despite herself, biting down hard on her lower lip to stop a whimper from escaping. "It's my home!" she snarled, ripping his hand away from her shoulder with her left one. No matter what had been done to her, she would always love Menzoberranzan and her House. They were something beautiful, precious, worthy of being cherished and defended. Her family-her mother-had poured sweat, blood, and tears into making it what it was. The legacy that went with being Siniira Duskryn's daughter was so much greater than a name.

Cessair stepped in before anyone could say another word. "Val, you're supposed to be resting," she said with a gentle authority, pushing the masked drowess back towards the bed. "We'll worry about Niar'hannenlyn in the morning. You're in no condition to go charging off to investigate anything, particularly a violent cult."

Val's gray eyes were still narrowed, but she didn't resist. She knew common sense when she heard it.

The half elf grabbed her brother by his arm and dragged him out into the hall and then down a long ways, trusting that Storunn would follow. She was grateful that the dwarf was always so quiet. Val seemed a little bit fragile right now and the words Galen was spouting weren't helping. "We need to talk," she said forcefully, purposely putting her brother with his back against the wall so he couldn't walk away from this.

"Why the hell are you taking her side? I told you not to trust her!" Galen snapped.

Cessair sighed, glancing over at Storunn. The dwarf was fingering one of the braids in his beard, a clear sign that he was listening curiously. "Val is injured, Galen," she said bluntly. "That shoulder you grabbed? That was crushed earlier today. So was her collarbone. And some of her ribs. And her arm. Because she took a blow that would have killed me, even though she didn't have to. What more do she have to do to prove herself?"

The paladin looked taken aback. He'd always considered the masked woman to be more interested in her own safety and survival than anyone else's. He clenched his jaw, considering this. "I spoke harshly," he said after a long few moments. "I didn't mean it."

"I'm not the person you pissed off," Cessair pointed out. She immediately tightened her grip on her brother's arm before he could start walking. "I'm not saying you should go apologize now, Galen. She's gonna need some time to cool down. It's been a rough day."

They all looked over when someone cleared their throat discreetly. Thangardt Firehand was standing there, his black eyes equal measure curious and cautious. "Pardon my intrusion," the duergar said smoothly. He had very good manners for one of his people, no doubt Durna's influence. "There is a visitor for Lady Valyne who demanded to see her immediately. Is your companion decent?"

"As much as she ever is," Cessair said brightly. "Who's this visitor?"

Thangardt coughed nervously as the guest in question rounded the corner. Cessair felt her blood freeze as she looked at a figure straight out of her nightmares. A high priestess of Lloth in armor bearing the symbol of her terrifying goddess, a mace at one hip and a sacrificial dagger no doubt stained with the blood of thousands on the other. Her face was beautiful, the angles of her face just a touch sharper than a surface elf. Her gray eyes were hard as she stared brutally and unforgivingly at all three, full lips curving into a smile that looked not at all friendly.

When she spoke, her tone and the words chilled the undisguised half elf to the bone. "Her sister."


	7. Family Matters

**Author's Note:** So, this was a tough chapter to write. Hopefully, there was the right balance of sentiment and drow attitude in the sisters' reunion. Feedback would be much appreciated. Also, skywiseskychan, your ability to read my creative mind is both super awesome and slightly terrifying. Thank you so much for your reviews.

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"I think we should probably let them have a private moment," Cessair whispered after the priestess brushed by them, headed for Val's room. Galen was convinced that it was bullshit and something sinister was going on or that the priestess of Lloth was straight out lying to them. But the rogue had seen Val without her mask on and had to admit that the resemblance was uncanny. Combined with the fact that she called Menzoberranzan her home...

Come to think of it, Val had never actually explicitly said that she wasn't a drow. She'd just disguised herself and let them draw their own conclusions. The arcanist was surprisingly good at misleading people without saying anything. Cessair supposed she shouldn't have been surprised, but it did shock her. She'd grown up hearing the stories. Why would a drow agree to help them? Well, maybe to lure them to their deaths. But Val had taken what should have been a killing blow for her, something that would have slain the mage without her strange binding magic. That raised a lot of questions that she definitely wanted answered. She wanted to burst in and confront Val and the new priestess; her gut, however, was telling her not to intrude on this and she hadn't lived this long by ignoring it. Besides, if Val really wasn't on good terms with her family, this could get ugly really, really quickly.

"Leave it alone, lad," Storunn advised sagely even though he didn't like the situation much more than their paladin. "Sisters or no, I've a feelin' they'll be needin' some time."

"You too?" Galen demanded, crossing his arms.

"Call it self-preservation," the dwarf said with a shrug. "I'm gonna get a pint. Meet ye in our room."

On the other side of the door, Lirayne summoned up her nerve. She'd stepped in so quietly that Valyne hadn't heard her and closed out the outside world just as softly. The younger drowess was sitting on the edge of her bed, her mask lying on the bedside table. She could barely believe how much Valyne had changed in just ten years-her exile had done more to her than almost two centuries of simple growing up. There was hardness to her that had been utterly absent before. It made sense...making a way alone in the wilds meant descending to cruelty and violence with abandon. But she could also sense powerful magic radiating from her sister, so dark and corrupted that it felt more like being in the presence of a demon than another drow.

She swallowed hard at that realization and closed her eyes, desperately trying not to think of her last encounter with a demon. Valyne wasn't like that. She had always been the least cruel, the least vindictive, the least evil. Hopefully, that hadn't changed.

When she parted her lips to say her sister's name, no sound came out. She was still terrified, but she knew that if she relied on her anger here that Valyne wouldn't lift a finger to help her. She'd have to show what she really felt, be genuinely vulnerable, and that was even more horrifying and frightening a prospect than the idea of being on the receiving end of her sister's anger. "Valyne," she forced out, voice cracking slightly.

Val's head jerked up and she stared with wide eyes for a moment. Then they narrowed sharply and she was on her feet, hurling a silvery bolt of magic at the wall next to her sister's head. "You!"

"Valyne, please!" Lirayne pleaded, flinching instinctively away from the dangerous magic. "I know you're angry, I do."

"Angry?" Valyne snarled, that vicious black rage surging up from the pit of her stomach. Her sister was fortunate that she was exhausted from binding earlier in the day, otherwise the confrontation would have been far more bloody. "Angry?" Her voice hit a high pitch that had never come out of her throat before. Her whole body was trembling as though it was barely able to contain her emotions. "I was exiled because of you!"

"I had nothing to do with that! It was Zesstra's doing, and I hate her as much if not more than you do," Lirayne said, forcing herself not to explode. Goddess, but did she loathe her older sister. There would be a comeuppance. She held up both hands in a pacifying gesture. "I know I didn't stop her. Maybe I could have, but knowing what I know now, I doubt it."

Val bared her teeth in a vicious grin that had nothing to do with amusement or good humor. "What do you want?" she asked in a lower, controlled voice. She was calming down gradually, knowing that if she and Lirayne got into a fight, the inn that they were standing in could be leveled. She didn't want to give the duergar cause to imprison or kill her. "Here to lord my exile over me? Or maybe you want a new pawn to help you take out Zesstra?"

"Neither," Lirayne said, stepping forward cautiously. Her younger sister didn't move, but she didn't relax either. "I do need your help. But it has nothing to do with Zesstra. Nothing to do with me being Matron-Goddess knows I don't want that." The last part was barely more than a whisper, but the arcanist still caught it.

It surprised her, though she didn't let it show. For her whole life, she'd seen her sisters fight for power. Lirayne had been as ambitious as any proper noble drowess. But now there wasn't a hint of pride or vanity or arrogance in her bearing. She looked smaller, almost fragile despite her armor. And, Valyne noted with confusion, she looked sincere. "Why should I help you?" the demonbinder asked, affecting disinterest to hide her suspicion. Her connection with her sisters had never really been pleasant.

"I'll do anything," Lirayne said quietly. "Anything you want. Leave Menzoberranzan and the House, even. Just please."

Val couldn't help her sharp inhale. She was looking at a very different Lirayne than the one she'd grown up with. Something had happened, something serious. And really, she wasn't as angry as she had initially seemed with her sister. First of all, Lirayne was right: even if the priestess had wanted to intervene and stop Zesstra's little plot, she wouldn't really have had a way to. The only one who could have spoken up was Keldzar. And yes, their relationship had always been broken and colored by a knowledge that they had been born enemies. But Val could recognize the vulnerability in the way Lirayne wasn't meeting her eyes and she didn't want to inflict more damage than had already been done. She could be cruel and vindictive, but not that cruel.

Besides, the Matron had tried to teach her youngest daughter that whatever their rivalry, she and Lirayne were still sisters at the end of the day. That meant protecting each other when faced with an outside enemy whatever their personal feelings.

"What do you need?" Val said quietly, relaxing out of her casting stance. She noticed the way Lirayne's knees seemed to go weak with relief for a second.

"I..." Lirayne felt her throat start to close again and her eyes burned. When her vision started to blur, she looked away from her sister. Every time she started to think about it at all, her mind went immediately back to that horrible temple and the demon that had held her in its thrall. "I...I can't. Just cast a life detection spell."

Val frowned, fingers flicking as she wove the spell silently. The world around her became hazy and indistinct, colored with vague shadows of people who had left the room. Her sister stood out brightly, aura pulsing with life. And wrapped up in her aura was another, a tiny and distinct life. But there was something wrong with it, terribly wrong. Val reached out with her own magic to divine more. The taint was unmistakable: it was the same one that twisted her own soul. Immediately she let the spell drop and looked up at her sister.

Lirayne stood with her shoulders hunched and her arms wrapped around herself as though she was trying to be as small as possible. Her eyes were haunted, looking off to the left in an effort to hide the hints of tears appearing. Valyne didn't know what the story was, but she didn't need the details to put two and two together. After all, she knew demons better than anyone...particularly the things they so loved to do to unwilling captives. This was no blessing of Lloth with how her sister looked.

Whatever animosity she had felt towards her older sister for their years of fighting faded to a bare shadow in that moment. She crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Lirayne's trembling shoulders. "It's going to be alright," she said with a quiet fierceness. Her sister had been dealing with this all by herself for long enough. "I'll do whatever you need me to, Lirayne. I promise. You're not alone."

Fingers dug into her back, holding onto her tightly. She thought she heard a choked sob from the priestess. "I knew you were the best of us," Lirayne whispered thickly. Her tears were a mix of relief, gratitude, pain, and sheer overwhelming emotions she couldn't identify, let alone name. She suffered them in silence, trying not to let Val realize she was crying. After all, it would have been the first time her sister had ever seen her look so weak.

When Lirayne had finally collected herself a little and stepped back, Val looked away so they could both pretend that it wasn't obvious that Lirayne's eyes were red or her cheeks wet. The priestess swiped at the offending tears with her hand, incredibly grateful that Val wasn't looking at her with pity. "It was a balor or something equally powerful," she said, hating how weak her voice sounded. "It and its followers have taken over what used to be Niar'hannenlyn. I don't know how it got across...it would have taken a lot of summoners. I couldn't cast. I couldn't do anything."

Val sat down on the edge of her bed and patted the spot next to her. Lirayne sat down after a brief hesitation, recognizing that her sister was trying to make it easier for her to talk-this way, she could look at the wall instead of into someone's eyes. "If you couldn't cast, that means it wasn't just a rogue balor," she said quietly. "It's in the service of something much more powerful. Only a demon lord's influence could disrupt divine magic like that."

It was some small comfort to the priestess that her goddess hadn't, in fact, abandoned her. "What would a demon lord want with this plane?" Lirayne asked softly.

"Nothing good," Val said grimly. "How many were there?"

"Dozens and dozens of cultists and lesser demons. But when I was under its thrall...deeper in the ruins there's a rift, a tear into the Abyss that demons can pass through. It's building an army," Lirayne said with a shudder. She could still see it in her mind's eye, a bottomless well of darkness spawning forth all kinds of demons from masses of twisted, corrupted flesh and mortal sin. "We'll need to know who we're fighting. And we'll need the House."

"Tomorrow, we'll leave for Menzoberranzan," Val said, her voice firm with conviction. "Goddess willing, this won't continue and the city will be left untouched."

"Do you mean to bring your...companions?" the cleric said as diplomatically as she knew how. It was incredibly jarring to think of her younger sister running round with a half elf, a shield dwarf, and what was clearly a paladin from his aura of good.

"I doubt I could get rid of them if I wanted to." The arcanist sighed, flopping back on the bed. "You know, I had them convinced I wasn't a drow for the longest time. It was kind of sad that they bought it, actually. It'll be nice not to have to pretend."

Lirayne laughed for the first time since she'd stepped into those ruins, grinning almost impishly down at her younger sister. "The Matron's pet anything but a drow? I find that very difficult to believe."

"Then you'll love the fact that I survived on the surface for ten years, still paying homage to Lloth every day," Val said lightly, pushing the thoughts of this new enemy to the back of her mind for the moment. She looked over at her sister. "Do you want to talk about the whole child thing?"

The priestess sobered up, again appreciating the fact that her younger sister was giving her a choice. No one else would have extended her such consideration. Something around Lirayne's eyes softened a little. "I...regret how I used to act," she ventured quietly. "I think I might have liked actually talking to my younger sister."

"Start over?" Val offered, surprising even herself. For so long she'd been so angry. Then again, what was the saying? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Neither of them were very good at showing these weak emotions.

"I can't promise that I'll be very good at it," Lirayne said quietly. "I still have a temper. And you'll probably still drive me absolutely insane. But underneath it...I'll try."

"And I'm certain I'll gleefully act out to annoy you now and again. But I have your back. We both know I don't care about being Matron, so let's just forget about that." It was as close to an apology and reconciliation as they would probably ever get.

"I might like that," the priestess conceded stiffly, pretending to don her normal guard before dropping it again a moment later. "About the...you know...I don't know what to do. I don't feel ready, but maybe I never would be on my own."

"_Vith_, I'm not ready to be an aunt," Valyne said with just a touch of a smile. "It's a girl, you know."

A secret smile crept across Lirayne's face. "I know," she said softly, hand resting on her abdomen. "When I reach out with my magic, I can feel her push back just a little. It makes up for the vomiting my guts out. She's been a part of my life maybe a month and a half, but I can't imagine not having her. That's why I'm afraid."

Val raised an eyebrow and waited patiently for her sister to continue.

Lirayne swallowed hard. "I read the books in your study. I know there aren't more half demons because of how hard the pregnancy is. How often they miscarry. Not to mention the nightmare that's birth," the priestess said. She knew that without the help of powerful healing magic and a lot of luck, usually the mother died in labor and often the infant did too. "That's what I really want your help with. I don't care what happens to me. But I don't want to lose her."

"You're going to make a good mother," Valyne said, Lirayne's words reminding her strongly of their own mother's protective streak. "I promised I would do whatever you need." She smirked a little, adding a touch of teasing humor to lighten the grimness of the conversation. "I think it's sweet that a priestess like you has feelings."

Her older sister growled and gave her a fiery glare. "If you ever tell anyone that I've gone this soft in the head, I don't care how powerful of a mage you are: I will _end_ you."

"That's the Lirayne I remember," Val said with a smile, getting up and donning her mask. Immediately, the aura of corruption was disguised. Now Lirayne could understand how her sister managed to function alongside a paladin without risking death. "Well, since you're traveling with the others, I think introductions are in order. Also, don't be alarmed if you find yourself wanting to beat the paladin's face in. I have that exact urge all the time."

They walked together down the hall to the room Galen and Storunn were sharing, more relaxed in each other's presence than they had been in years. Things were still far from perfect. But, at least for now, they had a truce. Val's knock was answered almost immediately by Cessair, who looked at her with wide blue eyes. "Is everything okay?" the half elf asked with open concern. Drow though she obviously was, Val was still a friend.

"We need to talk," Valyne said softly. "But first, I think introductions were in order." She stepped in and graciously motioned for the priestess to join them. "This is my older sister, Lirayne. Yes, she is a priestess of Lloth. No, she does not plan to sacrifice anyone here. Galen here is a paladin of Torm and Storunn is a competent warrior."

The shield dwarf chuckled. That was as close to a compliment as he'd ever gotten from the masked woman. He was a gruff, quiet sort himself, so he didn't really mind. His personal opinion of Val had risen significantly after Cessair told him more of the details of the fight, of course omitting the reason they were in the fight and the demon channeling.

Cessair watched Lirayne uneasily. She'd learned to deal with Valyne's prickly nature and frigid shoulder pretty quickly, but something told her that the cleric ran hot in her passions rather than cold. The priestess of Lloth's attitude towards her seemed a mixture of bafflement and disdain, which was at least preferable to hatred. "I'm just a troublemaker they keep around for discrete work," she said with a forced cheer, giving the older drowess a little wave.

Lirayne's lip curled slightly, but she said nothing. The teachings of Lloth were very, very specific when it came to surface elves. At least the girl wasn't wearing a symbol of Corellon. Then there would have been blood, no matter how friendly she was with Valyne.

"So you are a drow, then," Galen said roughly, standing up. He was wearing his armor, though he'd set his shield aside. His hand was on his sword and mistrust was etched into every feature. "Why did you agree to help us? Why were you on the surface? A plot of Lloth's?"

"I suggest you move your hand away from that little butter knife and clear cobwebs out of your ears," Lirayne said sharply, cutting in. She wasn't in the greatest mood at the moment and had never accepted insubordination from any male. "The ones between them are obviously beyond hope, but perhaps one of your companions can be persuaded to translate our explanation into whatever language it is that you troglodytes speak."

Val smiled behind her mask. The day Lirayne stopped being a raving bitch to people who annoyed her would be the day Lloth left the Abyss to kiss up to the Seldarine. It was strangely refreshing to have someone on her side.

Galen's face had turned a color that looked almost purple, but he was shattered out of his anger by a laugh from his half sister. "I can definitely see the family resemblance now," Cessair said impishly.

"Aye," Storunn said, stroking his beard to hide his smile. "Give the lass a chance to explain. She did take a hit for Cessair."

Lirayne sat down in a chair to the side despite the glare it earned her from the paladin. She gave him a sweet smile (just a touch gloating) that prompted him to shift uncomfortably. She was as curious as these surface dwellers to hear how her sister had ended up beyond the Night Beneath posing as something other than a drow.

"I was exiled from Menzoberranzan because of my oldest sister. Not Lirayne," Valyne said. She fully intended to keep this as simple and devoid of detail as possible. A lot of things had happened in the Wilds that she wasn't keen on sharing with anyone. "Drow family isn't exactly...close knit. I made it out of the more dangerous areas with the help of my old mentor." She caught the priestess's quizzical look. "No one you know. Anyway, I traveled around for a few years with her in the Underdark until we headed for the surface to escape any divine scrying Zesstra, my oldest sister, might have at her fingertips. I'd perfected my disguise magic, so I created a new persona and made some new friends. The Sword Coast was surprisingly easy to navigate after Menzoberranzan. I had a very profitable business and a comfortable life."

"So why leave it?" Cessair asked. She cleared her throat slightly before continuing. "I mean, I know we had that promise token. But you could have sent someone else with us. I'm sure you have someone at least familiar with Underdark in your employ."

Val paused, considering this. She had a hard enough time sorting through her conflicted feelings about her home and her exile from it. Explaining it to someone else was nigh impossible. "I wanted to return to Menzoberranzan," she said finally. "I had been waiting until I felt strong enough. But when you strode in all but demanding my help...it just felt like it was finally time. That waiting made little difference."

Galen frowned, staring straight at those burnished steel eyes. He hated that he couldn't see her face, but there was sincerity in that gaze. She wasn't telling them everything, but she had told them enough. "And the priestess?" he said, pointedly looking over at Lirayne.

"The Underdark has something of a demon problem," Valyne said quietly. "My sister is the one who discovered it. She came seeking me out to help. The situation is well beyond a few summoners. We could very likely be looking at the activities of a demon lord."

The paladin's eyes widened. "Surely they cannot cross over from the Abyss." For all his flaws, he was well versed in the lore of evil creatures. He knew that demon lords could be as powerful as gods themselves, if not gods in their own right. After all, Lloth was technically a demon lord as well as the goddess of the drow. He looked over at Cessair. "The sword aside, sister, this isn't something we can ignore. If a demon lord could cross over, much more than just Menzoberranzan is at risk."

"Sword?" Lirayne said, raising an eyebrow as she looked at her sister.

Val's expression was mercifully hidden behind her mask. The little quirk of her lips and one eyebrow would have betrayed her amusement at the irony of the situation. "A blade of Corellon lost to the depths during a drow surface raid," she explained. "They came to me to ask for my help reaching Menzoberranzan to reclaim it. Cessair's elven side is connected with it."

Lirayne could read between the lines: these surface dwellers did not know the identity of the raiders and it was better that things remain that way. "I know the blade of which you speak," she said instead, focusing on the three adventurers. "You waste your time if you ever intend to return it to the sunlit realms. It is devoted now to Lloth and bears the touch of the Demonweb. You could not lay a finger on it without being harmed by the magic within it."

Cessair looked stunned and almost betrayed. There were hints of tears gathering in her eyes. Her chance to prove that she was not a stain on the heritage of her elven father, not a mistake...gone, just like that. "Are you certain?" she whispered, voice wavering.

"Absolutely," Lirayne said firmly. "My sister may be far more learned in lore than I am, but I am intimately familiar with divine magic. However, if you still wish to slay the champion who wields it, I have no doubt that Valyne and I would both cheerfully assist. Keldzar is a wretched worm on his best days and those are exceedingly rare."

Valyne's stomach knotted tightly at just the mention of his name and her hands clenched into fists. Duergar were not the only ones who could hold grudges. However, anger would not serve her at this point. She had a more pressing matter in the half elf's current state. They needed the scoundrel to keep the peace and the party working together, something she couldn't do if she was consumed by doubt. The half elf didn't seem to even notice the comforting arm her brother had placed around her shoulders. "Lirayne, play nice with the boys," she said, going over and taking the rogue by the upper arm with a much gentler touch than she had used in the alley. "Cessair and I need to talk."

Galen exchanged a look with Storunn. They both had giant soft spots for his half sister and hated to see her like this, but neither of them really knew what to say. This was probably territory better left to Val, as much as they hated to admit it even in their thoughts. "We'll get acquainted," the paladin said quietly. He definitely didn't trust her still, but he did think she wouldn't hurt Cessair. He looked over at Lirayne, who had relaxed out of bitch mode. "So you'll be joining us in our travels, then? Do you know where we're headed next?"

Lirayne gave him a graceful nod, relaxing back and crossing one leg over the other. The drowess was used to being watched, so she noticed the way Galen's eyes shifted involuntarily. It was reassuring in a way to know that even though he was a paladin and a human, she still could exert some influence with charisma. "We'll be traveling to Menzoberranzan. About two weeks travel-I only arrived here so quickly because of a teleportation circle. This fight will require a much larger force than the five of us, though I have no doubt we'll be the ones tasked with cutting the head off this particular serpent," Lirayne said. The idea made her want to shudder with dread, so instead she diverted herself with humor at the human's expense. The drowess smirked slightly at Galen and lowered her voice half an octave. "See something you like, paladin? You're certainly looking hard enough."

A drow male would have made a pass right back, knowing it was never wise to turn down a priestess. Galen's reaction was far more entertaining. His whole face went completely red and whatever he had planned to say died in a sputter as he tore his eyes away and focused on the ceiling.

Storunn chuckled despite his dislike for drow in general. He'd say this for the dark elven women: they could definitely give better than they got. "Be gentle, drow," he said with gruff humor. "On the surface, they keep their choir boys on a short leash."

Lirayne winked at the paladin, causing him to choke a little bit on air. "Oh, that can be arranged."

Out in the hall, Val stopped with Cessair and faced the half elf. The blue eyes were still glossy with tears that the rogue was doing a fine job of keeping contained. She'd had a lot of practice, her childhood less than ideal. "The relic doesn't matter," Val said. "You need to let it go, Cessair."

The half elf's head snapped up sharply. "Of course it-" she started, an uncharacteristic anger in her voice.

It was a defense mechanism every drow knew and used: hide your feelings of weakness with anger. Val cut her off before she could even get started. "Cessair, if you walked up to a temple of Corellon with Lloth's head on a platter, it wouldn't change a thing," she said firmly. "Oh, they'd beam and pat you on the back and praise you to your face. But behind your back, behind their eyes, you will always be not quite an elf and not quite a human to them. And you don't owe anything to them."

Cessair was quiet for a moment, blinking hard as she absorbed the words. It was strange to hear any kind of reassurance coming from a drow. But here Val was, looking absolutely convinced of everything she was saying. These weren't platitudes meant to make her feel better like her mother had always given her.

"Always own who you are," Val said, her voice taking a slightly stern tone. It was the same one Siniira had used in private when she was lecturing her youngest on what it meant to be a leader. "The world dealt you a bad hand. But you survived. You're stronger for it. Everyone who really knows who you are, who sees past your blood, knows you're more than good enough. The only person who matters who hasn't gotten that message is you."

"You...actually think that?" the half elf asked, stunned.

"I wouldn't waste my time with you if I didn't." It probably wasn't the most inspirational motivator the rogue had ever been given, but Val preferred blunt honesty with the people who were following her. Whether the arcanist liked it or not, she'd ended up in charge of their little group. That meant taking care of the people with her, surface dwellers or not. At least it was Cessair she had to give this talk to and not Galen. That would have been as pleasant as gouging her own eye out with a blunt, red-hot needle.

Cessair took a deep breath and nodded almost to herself. She did feel better. "Right. Let's go kill us a demon."


	8. Visitors in the Night

The inn room was dark and quiet. Cessair was stretched out on her brother's bed, since he'd refused to let her share a room with Val and a priestess of Lloth, no matter how much the half elf protested that things would be fine. Galen lay on the floor in his bedroll, staring at the ceiling. He knew from Storunn's breathing that the dwarf was still awake. It was harder to tell if his sister was or not with how lightly she slept.

"Ye don't like this," Storunn observed quietly, knowing that his friend could hear him perfectly through the silence. The inn was built of stone, so there were no sounds of life from downstairs floating up through the nonexistent floorboards. It made for an almost eerie stillness save for the sounds of soft breathing. "The drow, I mean."

"Nor do you," Galen muttered quietly. "But we don't have a choice. I have a duty to combat true evil wherever it rears its head. A demon lord...that's more of a threat than all of Menzoberranzan. Besides, we'd be dead down here without Valyne and her sister knows the enemy that we're facing."

"Aye," the dwarf agreed. Neither of them were pleased with the situation, but at present they had to accept their unlikely allies. That said, of course, they would both be looking hard for any sign of betrayal. "Still don't trust her, do ye?"

Galen sighed, well aware that his friend meant Val. The masked drowess was at least a familiar evil. He still had no idea how he felt about the priestess traveling with them. "Not really," he admitted. "I hate that she keep secrets from us. The mask included. But on the other hand, I'm glad."

"Glad?" Storunn asked skeptically.

"It's easier to see her like Cessair does if I don't know the details of what she's done or who she was before we met her," Galen admitted. "Willing blindness is still wrong of me, I know, but I would like to believe she could be redeemed even if it's likely impossible."

Storunn rolled onto his side, looking over at the half elf. Cessair's breathing was still deep and even, one arm flung over her eyes and the other resting on her stomach. She looked peacefully asleep. "Yer sister's too soft hearted," the dwarf said quietly. "I think she's seein' good where it ain't."

"Val did protect her, whatever the reason," Galen said quietly. "Like it or not, we owe her at least some trust for that. And we have a common enemy. We can't afford to try and take on a demon lord alone. She is an incredibly powerful mage and I'm positive that she's been mostly holding back in all of our fights so far."

"Going to Menzoberranzan means puttin' us in their hands, lad. I won't see Cess on some altar getting cut up, nor you."

Galen nodded a bit more grimly. He hated the situation, but if it really was as bad as Lirayne had told them, they would need an army. Why the drow would give it to them, he didn't know. Their guide was doing a fine job of keeping them very much in the dark. "I think that if Val really wanted us dead, she would have killed us by now," Galen said. "That doesn't at all mean I'm waving off the idea of some sinister plot. Whatever is going on, she wants us on her side. We should watch her, but I think we can relax a little bit."

On the bed, Cessair almost sighed in relief. Of course she'd been listening. Most of her childhood had been spent perfecting the art of eavesdropping. There had been quite a few moments where she'd had to bite her tongue and not give away that she was awake, granted. If they had seen past the mask and the sharp words, maybe they would understand why she felt like she could trust the arcanist.

The words that Val had said in the hallway earlier were still echoing in her brain. It was hard to accept, but the opinion didn't feel like a lie. The half elf was used to just bounding around expressing whatever emotion she happened to feel, even if she was terrible at explaining what was going on in her head. She had no problem believing that they were safe, at least from Val. The potential demon infestation and other drow? Maybe not.

Even the priestess didn't seem dangerous. Defensive, maybe a little hostile and suspicious, but not actively out to do them harm. Cessair had noted that she clearly omitted details about her encounter with the demons, whatever it was, when they were treated to a fuller explanation of the threat. But she hadn't felt a need to press for details, because whatever it was looked intensely personal and incredibly painful. Val had put a hand on Lirayne's elbow when the cleric started describing the temple with the balor. It was a vaguely reassuring and somewhat protective gesture that reminded Cessair of something Galen might do for her. It was...sweet. She hadn't at all expected it. Neither drow had seemed to realize that it had happened, or if they had, they were pretending that it hadn't. Apparently dark elves didn't go in for displays of familial affection.

Or really affection at all. Or gratitude. Or anything that might look weak. Cessair was beginning to understand little bits and pieces of the drow worldview. It was a little disturbing, but it explained a lot about their new companions.

She let her thoughts wander for a while longer, unable to sleep so close to the familiar raucous snoring of Storunn and her brother's own barely more quiet version. The damn stone room was like an echo chamber. She sighed and rolled out of bed, bare feet silent on the cold floor. She grabbed her things and slipped out, going down the hall to Val's room. She could hear a soft voice on the other side and knocked hesitantly.

The door opened under the power of a mage hand spell to reveal Val perched on the edge of her sister's bed, lips pursed as she wove a spell over the fitfully sleeping priestess. She finished whatever she was doing with a few more mumbled words and Lirayne's form stilled. "Your brother would be infuriated if he knew you were in here," the arcanist said with preamble, turning around. She wasn't wearing her mask here in private, which suited Cessair perfectly. She liked seeing the drowess's face and the little flashes of expression that cut through her constant air of indifference. Cessair's favorite was amused exasperation, possibly because it was a look that seemed solely reserved for her.

"It's his damn fault. Their snoring would put a storm giant to shame," Cessair said, flopping down on Val's bed without needing an invitation.

The female drow's eyebrow twitched upwards slightly, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "Comfortable?" she said irritably.

"Mmm. Very," Cessair said with an exaggerated air of contentment. "How's your sister?"

"Nightmares," Val said quietly. She could understand why and in a moment of rare mercy, cast an enchantment on her sister that would keep the images at bay. She knew that the drow thing to do would have been to take vicarious pleasure in the suffering of someone who had treated her so poorly in the past, but they were trying to make things right. Besides, as often as she had wished harm on Lirayne in her youth, it had never been something like this.

"She seems...nice. A little intense and temperamental," the half elf commented, rolling onto her side. "But I'm pretty sure she's toning herself down a lot for our benefit."

Valyne nodded. She had been impressed, personally. Lirayne had never been one to watch her tongue or rein in her often violent temper unless she was forced to by someone more powerful, generally the Matron. The fact that she was doing it of her own volition meant that she was actually serious about changing her behavior, at least a little. After a few days, they'd probably be back to fighting, but without the same vitriol. .

"What's your family like other than Lirayne?" Cessair asked curiously. "I mean, it's just Galen and I now for me. And I guess Storunn is like a grumpy adopted uncle."

"Well, there's my mother. Stern, focused, accomplished, protective. She's the head of our family-drow are very matriarchal, if you hadn't figured that out already. Her consort, Zekatar, is a veteran commander and warrior who likes inflicting pain on anyone for any reason. He hates mages and isn't shy about showing it. My older brother, Mourndar, is a wizard who only survived to adulthood because Zekatar doesn't kill his own children. Mourndar is also complete weasel. He's under the thumb of our oldest sister, Zesstra." Val paused, inhaling sharply at the flood of anger that came with just the thought of her sister. Malcanthet was right: she did want to tear out the eldest girl's heart. "Zesstra is a scheming bitch who cares about two things in the world: power and herself. Become a danger and she'll stoop to anything to get rid of you."

"Sounds...dysfunctional," Cessair admitted. "So were you and Lirayne close?"

Val laughed and shook her head, allowing her long hair to fall into her face for a moment before sweeping it back. "Sisterly dynamics are a little different in our family. Imagine three people on a ladder: Zesstra at the top, Lirayne in the middle, me at the bottom. Zesstra spent most of her time stomping on Lirayne's fingers and trying to make us both fall. Lirayne had to fight off Zesstra while simultaneously attacking me so I couldn't get her from below. And I just tried to hold on to the ladder and not fall to my death. Things are different now, of course, but it will take a lot of getting used to. Both Lirayne and I have changed a lot since we last saw each other."

"And your parents allowed it?" the rogue asked, doing her best not to show how horrified she was. A hint must have slipped through, because there was a hint of confusion in the drowess's expression for a moment.

"It was encouraged, expected. Only the strongest, the best, can survive. If you're weak, you're flung to the bottom and the whole world is willing to tread on you to get to where they want to be," Valyne said with a small shrug. "The Underdark isn't a soft, easy place to live like the surface. If you want to survive, you have to bite and claw your way through life to do it. The only person you can really trust and rely on is yourself."

Cessair closed her blue eyes, considering this. "That sounds very lonely," she said finally. "What about love?"

"Drow don't love." Val's voice was laced with a sharp bitterness that spoke of personal experience. "Not if they know what's good for them. Now are you finished playing twenty questions?"

The rogue felt her heart tighten in sympathy. She knew an old wound when she heard it. Hopefully someday the drowess would at least talk about it. "Just one more. Can I sleep in here? You know I don't snore."

"Your brother," the arcanist said pointedly. But she was already standing up and unpacking her bedroll, spreading it out on the floor.

"Val, I'm not stealing your bed," Cessair said, laughing quietly at the display. For someone so quick to deliver harsh, biting sarcasm and verbal abuse, the drowess could be terribly considerate. And, probably even under threat of torture, she would deny any altruistic motives.

"If I have to endure him raging at me because I somehow kidnapped you and made you sleep in our room, I'm not going to give him any more ammunition by forcing you to sleep on the floor. Now for the sake of your own health, shut up and go to sleep," Val muttered darkly by way of explanation, lying down. She didn't wait for an answer, closing her eyes and slipping into meditation. The half elf would probably have to giggle to herself for another minute or two before trying to sleep and she wasn't going to dignify it with even a glare in response.

* * *

"I'd say you're not welcome in my quarters, but stating the obvious would be such a waste of breath. What do you want, demon?" Siniira said harshly, crossing her arms. She had just come back from the temple and still smelled of exotic incense with just a touch of coppery blood from some sacrificial victim. There were a few spatters on her sleeve that she'd missed with her cleaning cantrip.

And, lounging in her favorite chair was a succubus, her long legs draped over one arm. The demon looked almost like a human with red hair that tumbled down into her face past her curved horns and flawless alabaster skin, her black tail twitching lazily like a cat's. Her wings were furled and her white eyes half closed as if she was about ready to doze off. Her clothing, if it could be called that since it was just a wide wrap of cloth over her breasts and another across her hips, revealed most of her body with a few bare concessions to mortal notions of modesty. "Siniira, how wonderful to finally meet you face to face," the demon said with a broad smile. "Watching from the Abyss is informative, but it's not really the same as being here in the flesh."

Siniira narrowed her eyes. A normal succubus couldn't scry across planes. She was talking to something much, much more dangerous. The true aura of power that this creature exuded was carefully disguised as a run of the mill succubi's unholy thrall. "I suppose I should be flattered that Abyssal denizens know who I am, but I find it more disturbing than anything else."

"You know, your daughter has exactly the same look for when she's defensive," the demon said smoothly. "My name is Malcanthet, incidentally. Since I know your name, it would only be polite to share. Normally I don't bother to remember mortal names. You're only here for a moment or two, after all, but for you and my sweet thing, I gladly make an exception."

Siniira had to fight desperately to keep from showing any hint of discomfort. She could feel the creature sizing her up like little more than a piece of meat. "You know one of my daughters?" she said instead, fighting a growing sense of unease. Lirayne had encountered a powerful demon, and now here was another one. She was confident in her own powers, of course, but she was more comfortable with guards around. With the wards of silence surrounding her room it was unlikely that anyone would know she was in danger unless she triggered the silent alarms.

"Yes," Malcanthet said with a wolfish smile. She enjoyed the stiffness in Siniira's posture. It was apprehension, not fear, but it was still delightful in its own way. She reveled in mortal emotions, though lust and terror were unquestionably her favorites. "In fact, Valyne is part of the reason I'm extending you this little courtesy visit."

If she had been off balance before, now Siniira was downright disoriented. She knew her daughter was a talented arcanist, even with what the more noble-minded would consider dark magic, but a demon doing her courtesies? That suggested a relationship that was highly disturbing. Hells, the yochlol made Siniira's skin crawl and they were devoted to Lloth. "And your purpose?" she said, forcing all of that down. If even what half of she knew about demons was true, this Malcanthet would not divulge anything more than she wanted to and most of that would be either blatant lies or hopelessly cryptic.

"I'm here to warn you. You see, whether you know it or not, we have a mutual enemy. Her name is Shami-Amourae, a demon lord. She was imprisoned in the Wells of Darkness a very long time ago for a reason that's not terribly important at the moment. However, she's found a way out and into this plane. You've already run across a general of hers, one of the demons still loyal to her despite her unfortunate status," Malcanthet said smoothly, studying her claws and pausing to buff them on the cloth over her thighs.

"This sounds more like an Abyssal problem to me, if she had some spat with other demons," Siniira said confidently. "Menzoberranzan is more than prepared to repel an army, presuming she even stays in this plane long enough to cause us trouble."

"Yes, well, the poor dear does have a substantial axe to grind with Lloth. And you...well, your daughter. And don't worry your lovely head, Siniira, it's nothing either of you have done wittingly. It's just who, or more particularly, what Valyne is that has Shami-Amourae so bent out of shape," the succubus said. She was still perfectly casual.

Siniira felt her composure slip. "What in the Demonweb are you talking about?" the drowess demanded, divine power crackling at her fingertips. Few things could rile her like a threat to her youngest daughter despite their estrangement.

"She's not just your little girl, Siniira, no matter which way the drow trace lineage. Trust me, she's also her father's daughter," Malcanthet said. She didn't bat an eye at the obvious display of readied power, secure in the knowledge that she would be easily able to dispatch the Matron if it came to that. Which it wouldn't. She had millennia of practice manipulating mortals.

"Her father was drow. That's nothing that would draw this Shami-Amourae's attention," the cleric said, struggling to stay calm.

"Oh, he looked like one. But how aware were you really with all that drugging incense in your system, Siniira? The Abyss is in her blood. She hid it, even from you, but it won't be hidden much longer," Malcanthet said, rising to her feet in one smooth motion. "You want your sweet, precious little child to grow up to be a Matron Mother, but she's destined to be so much more than that. Look at her already, bending powerful demons to her will with a thought, a word, a crook of her finger. Or did she not mention to you what she was really capable of before you threw her out?"

"You're lying," Siniira hissed.

"Am I?" the succubus taunted softy, lips curving into a delighted smile. "And what, precisely, would I stand to gain? Didn't you wonder what was happening when she came back from Sorcere so different from when she left? Why she was keeping secrets from you?"

The drowess was silent, those words striking frighteningly close to home. She'd realized that something was happening with Valyne even though she couldn't understand what it was. Most of the time she had written it off as her daughter just growing up and experiencing more of life. But maybe there had been more to it. And Malcanthet was right-she remembered almost nothing from the rite when she was fairly certain that her youngest had been conceived. She had never bothered to give it any thought. The father didn't really matter to drow, at least for the purposes of bloodline.

"When mages and historians write about her, they won't call her yours. They'll scribble down in their musty books who she really is: the daughter of Demogorgon."

The name hit Siniira like a blow to the gut. It was a name she knew and knew well-any cleric, any mage, anyone with even the most basic of knowledge about cosmology knew it. The Prince of Demons, the Maw of Madness, the Lord of All That Swims in Darkness. That...that thing...was her daughter's father?

"The Spider Queen wouldn't allow it," she whispered, well aware that the demon lord in question had countless cults devoted to him that operated in secret. But for Lloth to allow another being so powerful to touch anything that belonged to her...

"What better way to cement an alliance than with blood? Think, a child of Demogorgon bound to Lloth by faith," Malcanthet said. She clucked her tongue softly. "Really, Siniira, I would have expected you of all the miserable little creatures in this city to understand political motivations, even Abyssal ones."

Siniira sank into an empty chair, not trusting her legs to support her. "If this was true, she should have been monstrous. Corrupted, hideous, twisted, like a draegloth."

The succubus laughed, sweeping her crimson hair out of her face. "Draegloths are sired by lesser demons. Valyne is special, different. When she finally comes into her own..." Malcanthet trailed off wistfully, clearly relishing the thought of the havoc her pupil would wreak on both the Material Plane and the Abyss. "Well, I suppose you'll see soon enough. There is something else you need to know about Shami-Amourae. To cross over into this plane, she needs a vessel until she's strong enough to manifest. Imprisonment has left her greatly weakened. The specifics are quite particular: a half demon conceived in a special ritual, one that her balor general knows how to perform. From what I've gathered, she finally has that though the child in question is yet unborn. I would suggest you apply one of those sacrificial daggers you priestesses love to it as soon as it pops out. Unless, of course, you want to do things the hard way and confront Shami-Amourae on her own territory."

Siniira knew only one thing: if it meant protecting her family and her people, she would do whatever was necessary. "Where is this child?" she demanded harshly.

"Beyond your reach at the moment, but that will change very shortly," Malcanthet said. She shrugged slightly. "That was all I could determine with my scrying. Shami-Amourae may be imprisoned, but she can still be an aggravation when she wishes to be. Obviously she has a vested interest in me not knowing, otherwise I'd kill it myself."

"And why don't you just kill her?" Siniira asked, mulling this over. It would be a long time before she had all of this fully processed. "Clearly you're very powerful for a demon, even though you hide it well."

Malcanthet gave the Matron Mother her trademark inscrutable smile. "I have my reasons."


	9. A Heart's Desire

Never in her life did Lirayne think she would find herself doubled over the edge of a small ravine, vomiting up what had been her breakfast with paladin of Torm rubbing her back awkwardly in an attempt to be soothing and holding her hair out of her face. In fact, even though it was happening, she wasn't quite certain she believed it. "I want to die," she croaked out, closing her eyes. She spit again to try and get the taste out of her mouth.

Galen wisely said nothing, moving his hands away from her and passing her a waterskin. They had been traveling together for about a week and a half now-and every day one where they were in combat more often than out of it. Demons and their minions seemed to come out from the stone itself on a regular basis, making the road to Menzoberranzan nearly impassable. The constant strain was taking its toll on the whole group, but it had also forced them together. He and the priestess in particular had bonded in their own strange way, watching each other's backs in combat more often than not. Lirayne seemed better when she was in the thick of it, even allowing a rare smile to slip free.

The fact that Lirayne was pregnant had come out the first morning on the road when she smelled breakfast and almost immediately found herself throwing up. The only way to console Storunn about his attempt at cooking had been to reveal the actual reason, though Valyne seemed a bit irritated that they hadn't just let him think it was the food. She wasn't a fan of the dwarf's culinary skills and had muttered something about keeping a couple of his biscuits as weapons to hunt real food with.

As soon as he'd heard, the paladin felt it was his duty to protect Lirayne and her child, whatever his feelings about Lloth. It was just the right thing to do. The priestess could still be absolutely vicious, particularly whenever she felt like he was treating her as though she was made of glass, but there was a definite sort of puzzled gratitude beneath it that occasionally slipped out when she was positive no one else was watching. It was a welcome break from the teasing-apparently priestesses of Lloth were incredibly sexual creatures and had no problem expressing it. Half the time he felt like his face was going to burst into flame.

"Better?" he asked quietly after she'd finished rinsing her mouth out and started chewing the piece of root that Valyne had provided. It was an Underdark plant, something that erased the taste and the smell of her stomach's distress.

"Not really," she admitted with a grimace. "But the others will have missed us by now, even if they are supposedly sleeping in. We should get back."

It had taken both Storunn and Cessair to convince her sister to stop an extra day in the small trade town of Rockhollow. It was mostly a svirfneblin settlement, but enough traders of numerous races passed along the road between Gracklstugh and Menzoberranzan that there weren't too many eyebrows raised by their little group. They needed the rest desperately between Lirayne's constant exhaustion and the tender, healing wounds of their stalwart dwarven defender.

"I think I can help, if you don't mind me touching you," the paladin offered, his stubble-covered cheeks coloring slightly at the anticipation of teasing. Honestly, he was a grown man and he knew it was ridiculous, but Storunn was right. The church had kept him on a tight rein throughout his training and even afterwards. Duty was more important.

Thankfully, Lirayne was too distracted by how miserable she felt to comment. "Be my guest," she murmured. She hated asking for help, but she would take it if it was freely offered. After all, she was tired of being dead on her feet by the time they stopped to make camp. And with her pride what it was, she always insisted on taking watch anyway even though she fell asleep halfway through against her sister's shoulder.

Galen laid his hand over her stomach and whispered a brief prayer to Torm. Apparently his god didn't mind that he was healing a cleric of a diametrically opposed faith, because Lirayne felt warmth spread through her stomach and then her limbs even as a faint glow of golden light surrounded the paladin's hand. The exhaustion and nausea faded away almost instantaneously. "Much, much better," Lirayne said with a sigh of relief. She put her hand over the paladin's and gave it a slight squeeze in silent thanks before standing up as though nothing had happened. He had learned that drow apparently actually expressed their gratitude out loud only when it was forced out of them and behaved as though admitting they were glad of the service was absolute torture. "Let's get back."

Originally, their plan had been to survey the area directly around the settlement for any sign of demonic activity. Val was convinced, probably rightfully so, that they were nowhere near as safe as they seemed. But Lirayne had spent most of the time being sick and Galen, their normal dowsing rod for evil, had turned up nothing.

"So, do you have a...consort?" Galen asked despite himself, trying out the term tentatively. He had made more of an effort to learn about drow culture since the priestess joined them, occasionally asking her questions. For the most part, though, he let his sister ask and simply listened.

Lirayne shook her head. "No. I was too busy with other things," she said. Normally she would have turned that into some sort of tease, but her head was in other places this morning. Namely, with Val's instincts. She was on the same page as her sister. There was a subtle air of wrongness to Rockhollow that passed completely beneath the notice of their other companions, probably because they were less familiar with the Underdark and its normal nuances. And yet, nothing.

"You've never been in love?" Galen said, startled. Even he'd felt romantic stirrings in his sheltered life, though the infatuation was always just that and faded over time.

The cleric paused, raising an eyebrow at him. "What in the Demonweb does 'love' have to do with anything?" she said. The human word came out dripping with all the scorn she had learned to treat it with. "Love is a fairy's tale, a fever dream, something that only the mad or stupid chased in their blind way. Weakness and pain are the only two things that come of it. Taking a consort is about ownership. Saying, 'This is mine and no one else's, so back off'. Don't confuse it with whatever you surface dwellers moan on and on about in their songs and stories."

Galen almost flinched back slightly from the venom. That was the harshest reality check he had ever gotten. For a few days, he had forgotten he was speaking to a priestess of Lloth and started to see her as a lovely woman who happened to be a dark elf cleric. But now the illusion evaporated. "Is that what your goddess teaches?" he said, tone coming out cool even to his own ears.

"No, Galen, that's what life teaches," Lirayne said bluntly, doing her best to be forthright without resorting to hostility. She wasn't interested in hearing platitudes from him despite all of his generosity. And if he was really even thinking about trying to start anything vaguely related to 'love' with her, it was in everyone's best interest to crush his hopes as quickly as possible. Particularly his best interest. She had demonstrated clearly in the balor's clutches that she lacked the power to defend anyone who placed trust in her. "The Spider Queen doesn't trouble herself with stating the obvious. I suggest you focus your attentions on some surface girl with sunshine and air between her ears if you're looking for romance. Or maybe a dwarf. Storunn seems lonely."

"I can see why your lover didn't stick around for the child," Galen shot back hotly, his face burning. The instant he said the words, he regretted them. For a moment, the pain was crystal clear in her eyes. Then the drowess shut down in an instant, locking all of her thoughts and feelings back away behind the defense mechanisms she had already started using. "Lirayne, I didn't-"

Her lip curled as the tide of anger rose. Anger was safe. Anger was easy. And really, wasn't this what she wanted? It was so much easier to deal with disgust and hatred. She understood those emotions. They came without expectations, without a need that she couldn't fill. It turned the pain into something that wasn't quite so helpless. Her hand tightened into a fist, but she forced it down at her side. She was not going to hit their traveling companion. Not when she had promised Val that she would try. "_Vith dos._"

And then she left him standing in the darkness on the outskirts of town, stalking back to the inn where they were staying. He was stuck in one place for a minute, maybe two, before following her. Valyne was waiting for him when he returned, and the gray eyes behind her mask looked like iron. As soon as he opened his mouth, the mage stepped into his personal space in a way that forced him back against the inn's door. All of the other patrons in the tavern were making a great show of looking somewhere else.

"I do not want to hear a word out of you," Val said, enunciating every syllable with the perfection only a mage could muster after a lifetime of relying on incantations and rituals. She didn't know what he'd said. She didn't need to know. "If you ever, ever do this again, not even your god will be able to save you from me. The first step to fixing this, incidentally, is leaving her the hell alone for a while. So back off."

Cessair's expression was only slightly more sympathetic. "Way to stick your head up your own ass, brother," she mumbled under her breath, delicately pulling the mage away from him. "View must be great there or you wouldn't keep visiting." _Now I'm going to have to fix this bullshit. Honestly, I deserve a bonus share for this_. The half elf followed Val back to the room the three were sharing to see what she could do.

Storunn stood up and handed Galen a tankard. "Drink up, lad."

Galen accepted the drink without a second thought. The blissful oblivion of being black out drunk was actually sounding incredibly appealing. And if demons attacked, well, the others would come up with something. Storunn quickly returned to the svirfneblin merchants he had started talking to earlier when it became apparent that the paladin was intent upon brooding.

It was a fair while later, after four or five drinks when he was finally starting to get properly drunk, that Galen was interrupted. A slender, dark hand suddenly rested on his own, thumb brushing across the back of his hand in a way that sent jolts of electricity through his alcohol-slowed body. "All this over me?" Lirayne said softly, giving him a half smile when he turned to look at her.

"I'm so sorry," Galen blurted out, his words starting to get away from him a little. "I know it's not fair and...but...I didn't mean it, really...so sorry..."

"Shh, it's fine," the drowess murmured. She was sitting closer to him than she ever had before, practically flush against his side. He felt his face start to burn when he realized that.

"Is it hot in here?" the human muttered, shifting for a moment while he pulled in a deep breath. "Lirayne, I really want to tell you that I like you...I mean, how much I do. And if you don't like me after earlier, I understand."

"And if I do?" she said with a full smile, one of the rare pleased ones he'd glimpsed only once or twice the whole time they'd traveled together. "Why don't we take this somewhere else? Just the two of us, alone, no siblings to stumble in..."

Galen felt his face go a deeper red. "I don't want to take advantage of you," he said, embarrassed by how much he wanted to lean in and kiss her. She looked so happy, so carefree. It was kind of strange, actually, but he wasn't going to rain on her parade. Maybe she had reconsidered the whole thing about love earlier? His head felt so foggy. Probably from the drinking.

"It's not taking advantage if I'm asking you to, Galen. Come on," Lirayne said with a low voice full of promise, standing up and leading him off by the hand. His whole body felt like it was on fire now and he followed her willingly. Storunn didn't even notice them go.

* * *

"Well, you know what they say," Cessair said diplomatically, giving Valyne a wry smile. "Never attribute to malice what can be explained by incompetence. Honestly, I should tattoo that across the front of his chest as a warning to everyone he encounters."

For the past few hours, she and Val had just sat down and talked with Lirayne. About Menzoberranzan, about how they were going to handle the demons, about the strange feeling the pair got from the town. Anything but what had happened between the two while they were out hunting for clues. The priestess was more than happy to let them chat in elvish without her, praying quietly to a small icon of Lloth from her bag.

"I will still rip his spleen out through his throat if he ever does it again," Val said darkly.

"And you say you're a terrible sister," Cessair teased in an effort to lighten the mood a little. She could see Val's eyes starting to do strange things and knew that everyone would be better off if the mage slipped back out of protective mode, no matter how endearing it was. She switched effortlessly back into Undercommon, far more accustomed than her brother to transitioning between languages. "So, what do you think the deal with town is? Maybe a more subtle demon than the type we've been running into. A succubus or something."

Val pursed her lips thoughtfully, distracted from her fuming. "That...would actually make a great deal of sense."

"What would you do if you were a succubi dumped in Rockhollow assigned to kill us? Because clearly the demons know who we are and really don't like us. You kind of get how they think as far as I can tell," the rogue said as she resumed sharpening her dagger.

"First, find a safe hideout. Somewhere with easy access to people where a new face wouldn't stand out. Then, start collecting thralls. Maybe summon a few lesser demons to serve as messengers and spies, probably quasits. Once my appointed targets arrived, I would hold back and watch them to look for the weak link of the group. Someone who would know what the group was planning and also strong enough to pose a real threat if turned against the others, but with enough desire of any kind in their heart to be easily manipulated. Succubi are excellent at getting their claws into people," Val said almost without thinking. Unquestionably, succubi were one of the varieties of demon that she was most familiar with thanks to Malcanthet's influence.

Cessair paused for a moment, reflecting on this. Then she started suddenly, the blade slipping on the whetstone and nearly cutting open her thumb. "Oh, shit!"

"Mm?"

"Val, you just described the inn and my brother. We need to find him. Now," Cessair said as she sprang to her feet and headed for the door. She was confident that both drow would be on her heels in a moment. Even if Lirayne was still pissed about earlier, she wouldn't abandon Galen to a demon.

Their rapid approach immediately drew Storunn's attention. The dwarf waved pleasantly. "Off somewhere, lass?" he asked Cessair.

"Where in the nine hells is Galen?" the rogue demanded, slipping her knife back into its sheathe. No sense in troubling the svirfneblin, who seemed pleasant if terrified of the drow with her.

"Last I saw, he was chatting with Lirayne at the bar. They looked cozy," Storunn said with a shrug. His brow furrowed slightly when the drow priestess came down the stairs after the rogue and her sister. "Did she lose him?"

"Idiot paladin," Val hissed, looking over at the empty tankard. Of course he'd been inebriated. Sober, Galen would have probably caught on to the succubus's act. It wouldn't be perfect without at least a week or two to make a proper study of her sister. But with his senses dulled by alcohol he was far easier prey. Their enemy really had timed things well. "She should have a sanctum of sorts somewhere in town, far less public than the inn. Dwarf, you can bring your beer with you. We have a demon problem."


	10. Unmasked

Cessair cursed in frustration and slammed her fists against the unmoving section of false stone wall that served as a doorway to the succubus's sanctum. Storunn had intimidated a gnome merchant into revealing that he had seen where the disguised demon and her newest thrall had gone. "I've tried everything. It has to be bound by magic," she said. Despite the fact that she had found the lock, all of her attempts to pick it had broken her tools.

"Sister, do something," Lirayne said harshly, rounding on Valyne who had been standing quietly off to the side. It was hard not to blame herself for their present situation. Perhaps if she had simply bitten her tongue, the paladin would not have had cause to drink.

"The magic here is powerful," Valyne admitted, resting her palm flat against the stone. "Clearly our foe has been granted special strength by her patron. It is beyond simple dispelling."

"We can't just leave him," Cessair said pleadingly. "Please, Val. I know you hate him, but he's my brother." She was surprised to see a hint of her own desperation written across Lirayne's face. Perhaps the drowess had been flirting out of more than just habit.

Val searched her memory for anything that could work. Maybe...yes. Malcanthet had told her of the Black Speech, the language from which both Abyssal and Infernal took their roots. Every syllable contained the raw power of the evil that had existed before creation itself. She had learned a smattering of it in her dealings with Malcanthet, one of the few demons she'd spoken to who even knew it existed, though the young drowess had never dared to speak the words aloud herself. To utter them was to leave an indelible impression upon your own soul. However, it was the only thing she could think of strong enough to break through a spell of a demon lord's devising.

The drowess stepped so she was almost pressed against the wall, palms flat against the stone. She closed her eyes and started to whisper the secret words of corruption, decay, and weakness to the wall itself and the magical words that surrounded it. As soon as she spoke, the Abyssal taint in her blood burned white-hot. Her jaw cracked painfully, fangs forming. The fingernails that she was digging instinctively into fissures in the rock face suddenly started to twist and change into lethal claws. She wasn't binding. She was...changing.

Lirayne, the closest, couldn't hear what was being said, but she still felt her blood run cold with dread at the sibilant syllables rolling off her sister's tongue. The stone was beginning to crack and crumble along with the wards, the mechanism concealed by decorative work rusting away into dust. The statues on either side of the hidden doors seemed to erode away before their very eyes, the faces losing their features as though thousands of years of water and wear had stripped them away.

Once it was weak enough, Val slammed her fist into the wall. The rock cracked in spiderweb patterns that spread rapidly. She hit it again, punching through and causing the whole segment to collapse into rubble. One of the statues lost an arm and the stone sword it had been holding.

"That was...creepy," Cessair said, shifting uncomfortably. The air had seemed to grow a lot colder and heavier when the drowess was doing whatever the hell that was to the wall. It was like no magic she had ever seen before. When their mage turned around, her eyes were white from corner to corner. "Val..."

"What manner of sorcery is this?" Lirayne hissed out between clenched teeth, fighting hard not to take a step back. Her sister had gone from showing nothing, thanks to her mask, to exuding an aura of unholy and ancient evil that overpowered even the spells designed to hide her from detection. She had heard the rumors, of course, from Sorcere about what magics Valyne had dabbled in. She had even seen a hint of it when Valyne seized her by the throat so long ago in the tunnels on their surface raid against Corellon's forces. But this was on an entirely different level.

Val closed her eyes, forcing the darkness back down. Every day it seemed harder and harder to keep in check, bleeding closer to the surface. "I'm alright," she said roughly, her voice a bit lower and more growling than normal. The claws receded slowly and her eyes were back to normal when she looked up at them again. The tainted aura faded in a far more gradual way, still clinging to the rocks themselves. "That was easier than I thought it would be, actually."

Malcanthet had related stories of mortal cultists seeking to use the Black Speech and driving themselves into gibbering insanity. But when she started to speak, the words felt so...right. They formed to her mouth and rolled off her tongue as though she was speaking her native language, just as she had always felt with Abyssal. It was not what she had expected at all.

Lirayne relaxed, but just barely. "When this is over, sister, we need to talk," she said quietly before moving forward to step over the rubble. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax, pretending everything was normal and fine. She didn't want to think about what her sister had just done more than absolutely necessary. "Well, the bitch might have stolen my face, but I can't fault her aesthetic tastes."

The hallway revealed was decorated lavishly in an almost drow fashion, probably because that was simply the style of material available in this plane that came closest to what succubi liked. However, as they went deeper, there were more reflective surfaces and mirrors than even most drow would permit. "Are all succubi in love with their own appearance?" Cessair asked, looking around.

Lirayne wanted more than anything to be able to joke back, but now that they had moved a ways into the demon's lair, her chest started to tighten unpleasantly and her hands felt numb. A sudden faintness, like the terror of a completely unseasoned fighter walking into their first battle, crept over her slowly. In her mind, she was once again walking into that crumbling ruin no longer abandoned with a balor waiting for her in the depths. And this time it would torment her with new faces.

"Even demons have distinct personalities, though they tend to be a little extreme in their idiosyncracies when compared to mortals. This one is likely just particularly vain," Valyne answered. She glanced over at her sister and caught distress behind the stony face the cleric had affected. "She will have guards, probably fellow demons. Her thralls besides Galen are probably out attending to business that she won't risk touching herself."

"Did yer trick tell 'em that we're here?" Storunn asked, gripping his axe tightly.

Lirayne narrowed her eyes as she glared down the hall ahead of them. "Always assume your enemy knows you're coming, dwarf. Either you're right or you're pleasantly surprised. Val, plan?"

"I will take the succubus," their arcanist said after she'd stopped and turned to face them. "Lirayne, I need you to either break the compulsion on Galen or incapacitate him. Cessair, Storunn, you need to handle the guards or at least keep them distracted until Lirayne and I can banish them. This is going to be unpleasant at best."

"Your words are as comforting as always," Cessair said with a mock sigh of relief, slapping her hand over her heart. "I treasure your confidence in us."

"Stop stalling, lass. Ye not eager for the fight?" Storunn said. The dwarf's grin was wide and confident as he and Cessair moved to take the lead. At least someone wasn't apprehensive about this.

Val wrapped her fingers around her sister's wrist as they started down the hall, delaying them both for just a moment. "Lirayne, trust me, this will be alright," she said softly in drow, choosing her words very carefully. The last thing she wanted was her sister charging in to prove anything when she wasn't certain of herself. "You aren't alone. If you won't do this, I understand."

"Just keep the succubus away from me, Valyne," Lirayne said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She was afraid of what could happen, but she was absolutely confident in her sister's abilities. "I can't...Goddess...I don't want to be under a demon's sway. Not again."

"Never again," Val promised. "We can do this together, sister."

Reassured a little, Lirayne nodded and they caught up with the others. It was a short walk down the hall to a large open room that served as the succubus's main living area. Her bedroom and baths were off through a pair of closed doors. It was a fine hideout, furnished with the same tastes. A summoning circle had been chalked onto the floor in one corner, still surrounded by guttering candles that illuminated the darkness.

Their foe was waiting for them, curled against Galen's side on a silk covered divan. She had discarded Lirayne's form now that she had her thrall firmly under her thumb in favor of her undisguised, winged self with fair skin and golden hair. She was lovely enough to pass for some celestial being, save for the demonic features and self-satisfied smirk. The paladin didn't look good-clearly she had drained at least some of his energy to make him easier to handle. He seemed completely enamored with the disguised demon. Her bodyguards were on either side: massive, toad faced demons leering out of auras of flame and smoke with an overpoweringly foul stench that pervaded the whole room. Cessair felt like she was going to gag.

"I thought this might get your attention," the demon purred softly. "Really, I feel like we almost know each other. Dear Galen told me all about the four of you."

"Give us back my brother," Cessair said with a sharpness that she rarely showed, drawing both knives.

"I didn't take him, little girl, not really. He followed me quite willingly. I fear he's been feeling quite neglected lately," the succubus said pleasantly. "But I could be persuaded to give him back unharmed, for a price."

"Lass, good girls don't deal with demons," Storunn said warningly as he saw Cessair's resolve waver. He knew the only reason that Val hadn't stepped in or attacked was because she was busy figuring out how to get Galen away from the succubus before hurling spells around. "Ye know better."

Cessair did not like her odds, between the two massive hulking demons and the succubus herself. Maybe if there was some other way to get Galen away from her, even if they didn't follow through. "What do you want?" she said, ignoring the dwarf's comment.

"You have something that belongs to my mistress. She wants it back. Give it to me. Then you and your little group can scurry back off to the surface and crusade around in the name of good all you want," the succubus said pleasantly. She patted Galen's cheek with a clawed hand when his expression sank. "Don't pout, darling. A fair trade means things of roughly equal value, and your sister really does adore you. Just like Valyne adores Lirayne."

The half elf could connect dots a lot faster than Storunn. She tensed, more unnerved by the sudden silence behind her than any growling threat Val might have come up with. "We are not giving you Lirayne, sorry. Now hand over Galen and we'll let you walk away."

The succubus smiled sweetly. "Now I really have seen it all, the little elfling protecting a priestess of Lloth. Half elf, I know, but still. Your father is turning over in his grave. Particularly since she's the bitch that put him there."

Cessair rounded on the priestess. "Is...is that true?" she asked, faltering.

"Cessair, that's a _demon_ talking," Storunn said incredulously. It wasn't like the half elf to doubt her companions. But then again, this one had pumped Galen for all kinds of information: she knew where to hit the half elf for full effect. "Val, kill her for me."

"No, I want to know what happened." The rogue moved between the advancing arcanist and the succubus, oblivious to the fact that their enemy was taking the time to issue orders to her bodyguards and Galen telepathically.

Val grabbed Cessair by the arm and wrenched her aside. "The succubus is playing you like a harp," she said harshly in the half elf's ear before shoving her away from Lirayne and towards Storunn. The dwarf caught the rogue mid-stumble. "Get it together."

"Not interested in talking, drow?" the succubus said with pleasure as Val approached. "Galen really is right not to trust you, isn't he? People who wear masks are always hiding something. I wonder what would happen if your friends saw what was behind yours."

The demon moved with the speed of a pouncing feline, hurling bolt of crackling dark energy straight at Valyne's face. The drowess through up a ward, but not quickly enough: the assault punched through and shattered the mask she was wearing. Instantly, the concealment spells dissipated. Val snarled, not even bothering to put a hand to the lacerations across her face.

The succubus was clearly not prepared for what was revealed, her eyes going wide. She stumbled back away from the drowess. "Galen, smite her!" she ordered the paladin.

Immediately the human jumped up and charged, his weapon bursting into radiant holy flame. The mage had been prepared for this, however: she hit him with a powerful force spell, sending him flying against one of the side walls. He would be nursing some bruised, if not broken ribs, but he would be alive. That was more than she would say for the succubus's future.

Lirayne immediately moved towards him, weaving a spell to shatter the succubus's hold and restore the energy that had been drained away. She bent over him, only to see his eyes suddenly clear and focus on her. "Better?" she said, offering her hand.

Galen just nodded, letting her help him up. "Ribs hurt," he grunted out. Cessair and Storunn were locked in battle with the two hezrou, but they clearly needed help. He immediately charged into battle to their aid with Lirayne right behind them, sword still aflame with holy power.

Meanwhile, Val allowed the monster inside of her out. She wasn't binding, not really, just channeling the raw power of the Abyss. She had no idea why the demonic features manifested, but the claws and teeth were handy considering she was throwing herself at a succubus. After all, succubi were not at their best in physical combat and she wasn't thinking very clearly through the unrestrained rage and bloodlust. It had been days since she'd ripped anything apart with her claws, heard a victim beg vainly for mercy. Her foe dodged and evaded, sprinting for one of the side rooms. Val grinned with a wolfish satisfaction and chased after the demon.

Lirayne found herself bolstering her allies more than wading into combat directly, but it was a role she had filled more than once before. Her offensive divine spells were still quite useful against the demons, but she didn't like getting at all close to them. The battle was exhausting and drawn out, but they were swiftly gaining the upper hand with Galen's help. She could only hope that Valyne was doing as well.

The hezrou were incredibly strong, unnaturally fast, and getting close enough to strike them meant risking unpleasant burns. Lirayne did her best to heal and shield her companions, but there was only so much she could do. Cessair's hands were badly damaged by the flame and she was nauseated by the creatures' stench, but she could still keep fighting. The first fell only under the combined onslaught of all four of them. The second was a far longer battle, but Galen's blade eventually buried itself in the toad-like face, ending it.

Lirayne felt a surge of confidence. She had done it. She had fought powerful demons on their own territory and won. No faltering, no failing spells, no succumbing to mind powers. But her bubble burst rapidly when she realized they had lost Valyne and the succubus. "Where's my sister?" she called out to the others.

"That way!" Cessair said, pointing at a doorway scarred by claws, the door hanging half off its hinges. There was screaming coming from beyond. Without waiting for the others, the rogue started sprinting that way.

Meanwhile, Valyne twisted her body out of the way, letting the succubus slam her clawed hand into the ground. The demon howled in pain but didn't loosen its grapple. The pair were tangled together on the floor, clawing and tearing at each other. The fight had started to go badly when she tried to use her draining kiss on Val and it failed completely. The drowess shifted her weight and shoved, reversing their positions. She pinned the succubus to the ground by her wrists, legs still tangled with the creature's to prevent her from kicking out.

"If you wanted me this way, you could have just said so," the succubus tried to purr. The waver of fear in the demon's voice ruined the effect. She wasn't fighting a mage any more. This felt more like she had challenged a much more powerful specimen of her own kind.

"Who sent you?" Val hissed in Abyssal, her claws digging into the soft flesh of the creature's wrists. They were both clawed up and bloody, burned from magic and battered from blows, but it was the succubus who was suffering more and that was all that mattered.

"I don't have to answer you, you half-breed bitch," the succubus snarled in Common. It was an educated guess, something she hoped would stir the paladin and his fellow companions to act against her captor. Unfortunately, all it seemed to do was make the arcanist completely lose her temper.

**Wrong answer**, Valyne growled out. _**Obey**_. The order came not in Common or Abyssal, but in the Black Speech. Malcanthet had taught it to her to control unruly demons. Before today, she had never even thought she was strong enough to use it.

The succubus shrieked and writhed vainly to free herself of the sudden agony that wracked her being. Suddenly seconds became aeons and every fiber in her being felt as though it was being ripped asunder. There was no escape, no relief except submission."No more! No more!" the demon pleaded. In her millennia of life, she had only felt this kind of pain once before: at the displeasure of a much more powerful demon, Malcanthet. The usurper had always been more learned in the ways ancient even to the Abyss's denizens than her mistress, part of the reason she had risen to the top.

**Tell me**. Valyne grinned at the pain in the miserable creature she was holding down. It fueled the fires of power in blood and went a little ways towards sating the gnawing hunger for destruction and discord that was almost overpowering her.

"Shami-Amourae!" the succubus cried. Instantly, the effects of the command word were gone and she sobbed in relief.

**Most helpful**, Valyne purred in a softer voice, one straight out of the lower layers her captive's native plane. **So helpful, in fact, that I might just let you live. You will not harm or attempt to influence the mortals with me. You will not attempt to flee. You will not summon aid. You will not contact your mistress or her servants.**

The succubus whimpered in agreement, knowing she was still under the power of the drowess. If she were to try and disobey, her torment would resume.

"Val?" Lirayne whispered quietly, gripping the doorframe for support. When Valyne had spoken that word, she'd felt her entire body freeze with dread. The voice wasn't helping. It reminded her too much of the balor in the ruined temple. This was not simple demonic corruption. She was looking at something much more sinister. The others had all flinched back, allowing Lirayne to be the closest to her sister. Now, looking at this monster, it was hard for the priestess to believe she was even seeing her younger sibling. For the Goddess's sake, she had held Valyne in her arms as a cooing infant.

Valyne got to her feet and immediately the demonic features receded. She was exhausted. Fighting the succubus like that had taken a lot out of her. Whatever this new power was, she hadn't gotten nearly enough practice with it to be comfortable or confident in its use. "Is everyone alright?" she asked Lirayne in her normal voice, covering the open wounds deep into her side with one hand.

"We're hurting, but the enemy took the worst of it," the priestess said, moving forward. She used her last healing spell on her sister to treat at least some of the damage. "Why spare her?"

"I'm not, exactly," Val said. She prodded the succubus one foot, aiming for an open wound on the demon's thigh out of spite. "Get up and follow."

Val moved past the others without a word, knowing that Galen could sense the evil that permeated every fiber of her being perfectly now without her mask to hide behind. There was no sense in hiding any more. Not from her connections to the Abyss, anyway. She wasn't about to bare her soul completely to any of them. Her destination was the summoning circle in the corner. Val concentrated, her task made far easier by the fact that she wasn't reaching across planes this time. Her incantation was whispered, her motions small and practiced.

There was a thunderous crack and Malcanthet appeared in the circle, a lazy grin spreading across her face. "Well, well, this looks like the remains of quite the cat fight," the demon said lazily. She saw the rest of the group staring at her with distrust and blew them a kiss. "Care to let me out, sweet thing? You look like you could use a hand."

Val scuffed away part of the chalk with her boot so Malcanthet could step across the line. "I have a present for you. Recognize her?" the drowess said, jerking a thumb at her succubus captive.

The red-haired demon grinned in an entirely unwholesome way. "Eisheth, didn't I warn you that clinging to Shami-Amourae's deluded promises would get you into all kinds of unpleasantness? Now here we are again, my friendly advice clearly forgotten entirely."

Eisheth started to tremble like a leaf. She was in no position to try defiance without the protection of her mistress. And even then, she doubted she would be safe from this particular demon's cruelty. "Malcanthet, I-"

"Hush," the older succubus said gently. She ran her claws through the blond demon's hair almost soothingly before suddenly gripping hair and yanking Eisheth's hair back. "Do you think I care what you have to say? My displeasure is infinitely greater than your ability to beg." She barked a word of banishment. It sent the lesser demon hurtling straight to Shendilavri, Malcanthet's own layer of the Abyss.

"I thought you might know her," Val said dryly, sitting down gingerly. Her whole body ached and burned, the feeling intensifying near her wounds. "I would introduce the others to you, but I don't think you actually care what peoples' names are. Everyone, this is Malcanthet. She isn't an enemy."

Malcanthet waved pleasantly in the direction of Galen's glower. "Someone just got out of a thrall, I see. Best of luck with your recovery, choir boy," she said before surveying the rest of the group. Her eyes lingered on Lirayne in particular, clearly eliciting discomfort from the priestess. "Don't worry about little old me, priestess. Your goddess and I are on the same side for the moment."

Galen gripped his sword tightly. The holy flames had dissipated, but he was still ready to use it. He just wasn't certain whether to apply it to Val or Malcanthet first. Lirayne put a hand on his arm. "Don't," she said quietly. "I trust Val, and that is not a normal succubus."

"Smart _and_ lovely. Must run in the family," Malcanthet said with a wink. "She's right, choir boy, I eat paladins like you for breakfast...when I run out of toast. Now, Val, I'm certain you didn't call me up just to hand me a present. Something on your mind?"

"Shami-Amourae is behind the demon activity in the Underdark, I assume. Why does she want Lirayne so badly?" Val said. She actually found her mentor's behavior reassuring. It was a familiar constant, like gravity. Even with all the turmoil, the universe could count on her personality to remain unchanged.

"She doesn't precisely want your delightful sister. From what I gather, she's far more interested in the 'plus one' element. Suffice to say that she needs the child and you really don't want her to get what she needs. I'd tell you the whole sordid tale, but in your condition you'd probably sleep right through most of it." The demon examined her claws, brushing off a strand of blond hair from her earlier victim. It reminded her that she was really going to have to spend some quality time with Eisheth. Perhaps a millennium of torment would finally correct her poor judgment.

"Speaking of conditions, what's happening to Val?" Lirayne asked, stepping forward to touch her sister's shoulder. She was still processing the news that some powerful demon wanted her child. It would probably be a good two or three hours before she started to panic or throw things. "It's clearly Abyssal and you seem to know what's going on."

"Oh, that? Valyne is just going through some growing pains at the minute. It could take centuries or just days for her to get where she's going," Malcanthet said. Val's head jerked up, confusion written plainly across her features. "Oh, sweet thing, don't tell me you thought this was just a little run of the mill corruption from demonbinding. There's that too, but it just sped up the inevitable. I needed you to be an early bloomer so Shami-Amourae couldn't simply waltz out of the Wells of Darkness without opposition."

"You've been binding demons?" Lirayne said, looking at Valyne. She wasn't really horrified, not as a priestess of the Demon Queen of Spiders. She was definitely shocked, however. That was magic that maybe one drow every hundred years could even attempt. Dark, powerful, and ancient. It did explain at least some of the corruption. Stains to a soul like that were not the kind to simply wash off.

Valyne just nodded at the inquiry, gathering together her courage. It didn't surprise her that there was some other reason Malcanthet had introduced her to demonbinding or that she had known something like this might happen. The succubus thought of time in a way mortal beings couldn't even begin to comprehend and always, always played a long game. Even now she was likely keeping secrets that were to her advantage. "What, precisely, am I growing into?"

Malcanthet stepped over, brushing Val's white hair out of her face and tucking it behind one ear. It was almost a fond gesture, or would have been if demons could actually experience emotions like that. Succubi were frighteningly good actors. "You're your father's daughter, sweet thing. It hasn't always been obvious, but it wasn't going to stay hidden forever. You know what's in your blood. Be a smart girl and figure it out. Now, if you would do me the courtesy of sending me back to the Abyss? I have a miserable little worm to torture."

Val knew that was as much of an answer as she would get and she was too exhausted to fight for a few dozen more deflections. "Enjoy," she murmured before banishing the demon with a few soft words and a gesture.

This evening was going to be, well, awkward.


	11. Behind the Scenes

Siniira stepped into the neat, quiet quarters that stood at the end of one of the silent halls of the Yath'Abban. As a Matron Mother, she possessed the authority to move virtually freely through the domain of Lloth's most devoted agents, but it was rare for her to ever pass through those fortified doors. She was a cleric of the Spider Queen and certainly a devout one. Yet behind these walls lurked zealots who would make even the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith shudder in apprehension. The chaotic nature of the drow should have long ago destroyed any hope for an organized and proper society. The answer to that conflicting image was here.

Here, in the Yath'Abban, drow from all walks of life worked in perfect synchrony to orchestrate the will of the Goddess. They formed the backbone of the Church, the eyes and hands of the Demon Queen of Spiders. Warriors took to the field in open combat against the enemies of the drow, rogues and assassins handled the elimination of anyone deemed a threat within the city or beyond, arcanists of all types and natures pursued their art, inquisitors rooted out heresy wherever it might be found, and a select group of clerics guided the entire operation. Most of those priestesses were living complete double lives among the Houses or in the lower ranks of the Church, everyone they knew completely unaware of their true identity besides their fellows. Not one of them would ever reveal their identity even under the vilest of tortures, save for the Revered Daughter who acted as the face of the Yath'Abban.

And now Siniira was standing in that particular woman's quarters, raising an eyebrow slightly. Yvonnel was lying on a divan near her desk in a way that suggested she had fallen asleep unintentionally, a book face down on the floor where it had tumbled from her limp fingers. No one was ever allowed to see the normally elegant priestess like this, expression softened by sleep and vulnerable in its serenity. At least, no one else. Both of them had allowed their defenses much lower with each other than either would dare with anyone else. It confused the Matron sometimes. What had she done to earn Yvonnel's trust? Certainly, she had made the Revered Daughter work quite hard for a long time before even considering amicability.

Fortune had been fickle to them both. Yvonnel had begun her life as a powerful noble only to have it stripped away, while Siniira had begun in obscurity and risen to prominence. They had both changed their futures for the better, certainly: she ruled the city's eighth house and Yvonnel tended to the Church. Perhaps they could set aside their past conflicts so easily because they both knew how fragile everything they had created truly was.

Siniira picked up the book, carefully holding it open as it had fallen to see what the relevant page was. The slender volume was a treatise on demon lords, no doubt courtesy of Sorcere, and the section that the other cleric had been reading pertained to Shami-Amourae. The Matron smiled to herself. Only Yvonnel would look at a cryptic note from House Duskryn's matriarch and immediately throw herself relentlessly into research on the subject.

"Most people would knock."

The dry comment pulled Siniira's attention immediately away from the book. Yvonnel's eyes were hooded but open and aware. "I did," the Matron said with the barest hint of a smile, snapping the volume shut. "And then, assuming you were absent, I decided that I would prefer not to wait out in the hall for a few hours. You have such fascinating reading, after all."

Yvonnel rolled her eyes. "And here I thought you indulged me for the sake of my charms and not my books'," the priestess murmured. She didn't sit up, but she did prop herself up on her elbows. "Shall I go back to sleep and leave the two of you alone, then?"

Siniira couldn't help a laugh, shaking her head. Goddess, these little conversations were the only time she let go enough to indulge in humor. And to think, no one would ever believe her if she told the world that Yvonnel X'larrez'et'soj was a consummate teaser. "That's hardly necessary. I have a feeling your conversational skills are more impressive than a book's."

"Better than an inanimate object? A hit, a very palpable hit," the cleric said, affecting a wounded look. She sat up properly now, sighing as she stretched and tried to work a kink out of her neck. "And all this after you dumped news of a demon lord in my lap. Honestly, Siniira."

"You should have known what you were getting yourself into. I warned you that nothing good would come of associating with me, in private or in public," the Matron said with a shrug, sitting down at Yvonnel's side. "Speaking of demon lords, dare I ask what you've learned?"

"Shami-Amourae is better known as the Lady of Delights, goddess of debased eros. She was consort to the Prince of Demons and the Queen of Succubi. However, there were other contenders for the title. She tried to deceive Demogorgon into attacking the chief of her rivals. That little scheme ended...poorly."

Siniira's full lips twitched into a frown. She had read much the same story during her own search: the succubus had quickly seen her scheme unravel when her rival revealed the deception to Demogorgon, resulting in her imprisonment. If even Yvonnel had no luck gathering more than that, there was little hope to do better. "And her animosity towards the Spider Queen?"

"There's no mention of it in any literature regarding the planes," the priestess said. She smiled when she saw her not-quite-rival's disappointment. "I didn't say I knew nothing, Siniira. Have a little faith. The yochlol were helpful in filling in gaps. It seems the Goddess made a tentative alliance with the new Queen of Succubi, and by proxy Demogorgon, for some purpose. Shami-Amourae had been courting Lloth's favor previously, likely in the hopes that a greater deity could pull her out of her prison. I doubt she appreciated being rejected in favor of her two worst enemies."

The Matron Mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "How gratifying to know that this particular mess is not, in fact, solely mortal doing," she murmured. It was strangely reassuring to know that at least Lloth was directly invested in the outcome of this situation. Perhaps the Demon Queen of Spiders would take a more active role in the conflict ahead, ideally for the better. "Thank you, Yvonnel."

"You know gratitude is wasted on me," the priestess said, waving her hand. She paused for a moment, studying those familiar soft features. There was something else there, something that she would have to go very carefully to learn about. Yvonnel reached out, brushing her fingertips over the scars on the inside of the other cleric's forearms. Each one was from a different blood offering to Lloth on the eve of a particularly important victory. "Siniira, where has your mind gone?"

"The Abyss," the Matron said, allowing the ghost of a touch across her arm. Anyone else she probably would have slapped away. At the moment her thoughts were too busy racing at a thousand miles a second. She struggled with the situation and the knowledge that her own carefully laid plans were crumbling courtesy of reality. Now she was just being drug along by fate for the ride. "We know so little, and yet we're caught in the middle of this...whatever this is. Something thousands of years in the making. Things are changing so quickly now, pushing us towards the inevitable plunge into chaos. I'm beginning to wonder if there will be enough even left as pieces at the end of this for us to pick up and start anew."

"Do you trust me, Siniira?"

Gray eyes snapped over to study the priestess's expression with a measuring gaze. There was a long silence as she evaluated the casual expression on Yvonnel's face. "To an extent," Siniira said begrudgingly. She hated to admit it, but she had made it a habit of only lying to the priestess about unimportant matters. "But if you tell anyone that, I will finish what House Baenre started. And you know how singleminded I can be."

"Maddeningly so," Yvonnel said with a hint of a smirk. The threat was probably not an empty one, but she wasn't about to give Siniira cause to follow it up either way. "To an extent, then, trust me that Menzoberranzan can weather this storm. I have no doubt it will be difficult and unpleasant, but so is every tempest."

"Mmm. We'll see, won't we?"

* * *

The Argent Palace was visible from every part of the sprawling city of Zelatar, a massive fortress of sixty-six ivory towers and a hundred mirrored halls. It was through this vast, echoing, and sterile space that the latest guest of the Dark Prince wound her way. The bodaks and demons that prowled the halls were careful to steer out of her path, watching with curious eyes. This was a presence many of them had never even seen. But there were rumors of course. Perhaps the most formidable of the Dark Prince's enemies, certainly the most subtle, and the only woman ever to have spurned his advances. Not that anyone would dare whisper that last part anywhere their master might hear them. And yet here she was in his lands, his stronghold, and certainly not as a petitioner.

The main hall was far larger and more lavish in its decorations than any other part of the palace. Seated in the throne was a lithe, muscular humanoid male of roughly nine feet in height dressed in beautiful finery. His skin looked like polished obsidian and his eyes gleamed with a wicked green light, a lazy smile exposing a few yellowed fangs. Both of his hands ended in six fingers and were adorned in many rings. Six short, black horns stood out, half-hidden by his thick dark hair. No one would ever dispute the fact that the Ebon Prince was probably the most handsome demon in the Abyss. Even angels might weep at the sight of his dark face, and not solely out of fear.

His courtiers paused at the sudden intrusion, many of them freezing with fear when they realized just who this visitor was. The two mariliths that served as his bodyguards simply readied their weapons as countless attractive demons kept around to take the edge off their master's insatiable desires scattered. Even the lamia in his retinue had backed up slowly. There was no question that their lord could handle himself in combat. Even now, his hand rested on the hilt of his wave-bladed greatsword. However, the Ebon Prince made no move to attack.

"Unhath, Reluhantis, be calm," he said smoothly, tone cultured and as smooth as silk. He did not bellow monstrously and display his lower nature like his chief rivals so loved to. "To what do I owe this...unexpected visit, Malcanthet? Has the beast tired of you?"

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" the succubus said with a laugh, running her fingers through her red hair. Her posture changed subtly as though she was displaying herself for him.

It was a taunt, a reminder of something he couldn't have. The Dark Prince growled even as he looked with no small amount of interest. "I'll take that as a no, then. What do you want?"

"Something only you can give me, Graz'zt. Surely you wouldn't refuse me that." Malcanthet's voice was rich and low, adding that extra something to the innuendo that other succubi could never master the way she had.

The demon lord waved away his bodyguards, grinning hungrily at her even though he was feeling quite cautious. After all, Malcanthet was the only demon lord who could claim to keep even with the Dark Prince in the number and magnitude of her plots. He suspected that the only reason she had not claimed more than one layer of the Abyss was because she preferred ruling from the shadows behind others. It made her a very dangerous adversary and a very potent ally. "You know that you always have my attention, Malcanthet," Graz'zt said, watching her approach. They were both incredibly powerful creatures, confident enough in their own abilities to go without bodyguards.

She stopped less than a foot from him, leaning forward ever so slightly and trailing a hand down the side of his face. "Help me get a champion into the Wells of Darkness?" she purred in his ear.

Graz'zt struggled for a moment to avoid indulging his desires. Debauchery was all and well, but it was better not to risk it here and now. And the succubus clearly knew that, damn her. "Checking up on your sister dearest?" he growled out, baring his teeth.

"Something like that."

"And what does the beast get out of this?" he snarled. Hatred distracted him slightly from his overwhelming lust, though it was beginning to feel like not enough.

"Graz'zt, really," she said with a wide-eyed air of disbelief, the very picture of innocence. It made him want to do all kinds of not-at-all innocent things. "Do you honestly think I'm here on his behalf? No, in this case, your interests and mine are far more...compatible."

He raised an eyebrow despite himself. Now this was new. Of course, Malcanthet wasn't particularly attached to Demogorgon. Who could be? But he hadn't expected her to even consider challenging someone as powerful as her current ally. If she was making that kind of move, Malcanthet had accrued far more influence and resources than his spies had claimed. That was a disturbing thought. "A fascinating little change of heart. So you have Shami-Amourae killed...and I get what, precisely?"

"You get to see your enemy weakened and you move one step closer to being the Prince of Demons. I know how you covet that title," Malcanthet said. She could tell from the glitter in his eyes that she had his attention. Obviously, he would spend quite a lot of time attempting to figure out what she was up to, of course in vain. She hadn't come this far by being obvious.

"Throw in yourself, in my bed, and we have a deal," Graz'zt said, knowing that if she was lying, it was by omission. Whatever she was planning would certainly tip the scales of power in the Abyss away from Demogorgon. However slightly things might change, he was still interested. As it was, the Prince of Demons was crushing his army whenever his ally of convenience didn't turn on him first.

"Does the rejection still sting? It must, if you want me to kiss it better," the demoness teased. She was close enough that he could feel her breath on his neck and against his ear. He had to grip the arms of his throne to stop his hands from moving, knowing that chasing this particular demon without her consent was a recipe for disaster. "I can always take this deal to Orcus, who despite what I said, can give me what I want as well. He'll accept in a heartbeat."

Graz'zt snarled in frustration, infuriated by the idea of his hated foe capitalizing on the succubus's offer. And of course she would lead him on, only to refuse his advances again. Malcanthet was nothing if not consistent. "Fine! You will have my assistance whenever you are prepared. Now leave!"

She clucked her tongue. "No offer to see me out? How inconsiderate, Graz'zt. Still, I do so appreciate your help." Malcanthet pressed a kiss to his cheek that left him feeling like she'd set him aflame, then conjured a portal with a flick of her wrist before stepping back through it.

The roar of the Ebon Prince was deafening, causing even his marilith bodyguards to flinch. "The bitch!" He hurled the goblet in his off hand at the table and cursed Malcanthet in every language that had ever existed under the sun, not one sufficiently vile to vent his temper. No one would be safe from him for quite a while in this state.

In Shendilavri, surrounded by verdant garden and her palatial estate, Malcanthet just smiled to herself. That had gone as well as she had hoped. Pleased or not, Graz'zt would aid her for fear that she would offer her deal to Orcus. And, of course, there was the matter of his spies that would be tended to in this plane by her servants and in the Material Plane by Lloth's. It had only taken her a few thousand years to achieve. Now she just had to make certain that the instrumental piece in her plans would continue soldiering along, trying to do the right thing.


	12. Regrouping

It had been a long time coming. Honestly, Cessair had known it was time to run for cover as soon as Galen said he was going to talk to Val. They were almost a full day from Rockhollow with wounds that were still healing. No one had wanted to stay in town lest the succubus's superiors decide to come find out what had happened when the demon failed to check in. Besides, as Lirayne had put it, the sooner they were to Menzoberranzan, the better. They were close now: the tunnels were wider and well maintained with signs of frequent travel.

She cringed slightly as soon as she heard raised voices from the edge of their small camp in a moderate-sized cavern with a stream coursing through it along the path. "We should probably do something about that," she said with a forced levity. "Before someone loses an eye." Granted, Cessair didn't really think that Val would seriously harm her brother. The spirit might have been willing, but with only an hour or two of sleep after that battle and the rush to this new camp, the flesh was undoubtedly weak.

Lirayne's lips pressed into a thin line. She tolerated Galen surprisingly well despite everything, though he did have the unfortunate habit of sticking his foot straight in his mouth and possessed a bizarre tunnel vision when it came to what he perceived as evil. She supposed she could understand, since the average paladin or inquisitor of any faith was trained to be a zealot. She wasn't exactly the most accepting person herself, though she might have tried harder if other faiths were less...inferior. "Your brother needs to get his head on straight, and no one can force him to do that. Maybe if Val finally stops tiptoeing around him he'll take a hint. And if not, well, the repeated blows to the head will probably be arranged for him."

"Lass is half demon," Storunn grunted. "I ain't happy about it meself."

The priestess of Lloth rolled her eyes. "Yes, and Cessair is half elf. How much control does she have over that, precisely?" she said sharply. "If you want to lay blame at anyone's feet, throw it at my mother's. Though I wouldn't, personally. She has a notoriously low tolerance for people who waste her time."

They all paused when the voices grew louder. "When, exactly, should I have brought my abyssal heritage? When I found out? You were there at the time!" Val's voice was clear as a bell, raised but still a good deal softer than Galen's bellow.

"You could've told us you were cozy with demons, or that you actually bound them to your flesh to the point it started eating away at your soul! Did you even think about what would happen? Desperation isn't an excuse for depravity!" Galen shouted back.

Lirayne pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She knew that her sister was probably too tired to care what came out of her mouth, which while probably illuminating, would undoubtedly limit her ability to respond rationally. However, she didn't move to intervene yet. She still hadn't forgiven Galen for their own fight just yet, so she supposed it wouldn't be such a bad thing if Val slapped him a few times. Preferably hard.

"Desperation? What would you know about desperation, paladin? I was a child! Everyone around me either hated me or stood by indifferently. Most of them actively set me up to fail. They wanted me to die. Malcanthet may be a demon, but she was at least _there_. She offered me a chance to advance myself and I took it to survive."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Because being seduced by power is so much more noble than stumbling into it," Galen spat, his voice weighted with sarcasm.

"What would you have done if you had nothing? If your whole world turned its back on you? The only reason you can stand here being holier than thou is because you have never ever had to make a choice like mine. You want to think that I'm evil, fine. But you're a long way from perfect yourself. Eisheth chose you because she could sense that you were weak, that you would succumb to temptation even without compulsion." Val's tone carried a hint of mockery in it. Her voice had also lowered in register and sounded slightly rough around the edges. Her accent was growing thicker, forcing her to pronounce every word perfectly to be understood.

"Alright, now we step in," Lirayne said, standing up. Valyne had their mother's temper: it was when she started to get cool and collected that it was time to worry about being at a minimum safe distance. And those words definitely sounded calculated. "Blondie, grab your brother. I'll handle Valyne."

Cessair looked surprised by the nickname, though she wagered that Lirayne had only started using it because someone told her about the stereotype for blonds. It was a little more lighthearted than she ever expected to hear from anyone who cut peoples' hearts out on an altar in the name of an insane goddess. But then again, the rogue figured her life had gotten very strange recently. "You certain?"

"I know what to say to her," the cleric explained with a little shrug. "And you know enough about the situation to explain things to your brother in a less...confrontational manner." The pair of them closed the distance on their arguing companions. The human looked like he was about to pop a vein in rage at the insinuation that he was easy to manipulate.

"Galen, enough. Unless you want to solidify your reputation as a complete ass?" Cessair said pointedly, resting her hands on her hips in the universal expression of female displeasure.

The paladin's head snapped around so he could glare at her, but the look softened almost instantly and he didn't say anything stupid. He still felt guilty about what he had said to Lirayne in one moment of anger. No need to fan the flames by angering his sister as well "Cess..."

"Val saved you," she said, grabbing his arm and steering him away from the two drow. "Without her, we never could have reached you to free you from that thrall. There are fates worse than death, and that for the rest of your life and maybe beyond definitely counts as one. And even though you two mix like oil and water, she risked herself for your sake. Val's choices are her own. I know you don't agree with them, but honor that she made them with the best of intentions. Just like you honored my choice to join the thieves' guild."

"Consorting with demons?" Galen said, his voice losing its harshness when he looked at her. Even though Cessair was older, he had grown much larger much faster and fallen into a role as his sister's protector. At least, from some things. He still found himself often reminded that she was more worldly than he is.

"Malcanthet offered her something no one else ever did, and it wasn't power," Cessair said. She had pieced together little bits and pieces of the story from what both Lirayne and Val could be coaxed into telling her. Most of it came from offhand remarks and the interactions between sisters, allowing her little glimpses into the past. "Galen, do you think we're proud of you? Ma, Da, and I, I mean."

"Yes," he said, confused about the direction she was going.

"Did we spend time with you? Treat you like you were something special? Teach you little things and praise you when you managed to do them?"

"Yes." He couldn't help a faint smile at those pleasant memories.

"Malcanthet was the only one who ever did those things with Valyne when she was young. Drow don't really do affection in any real way. Functional families are about as common in the Underdark as unicorns are in the middle of Waterdeep. So without that demon she was 'consorting' with, she would have been completely alone," Cessair explained a bit less than gently. Although the demon undoubtedly had ulterior motives and left corruption in her wake, the rogue had to admit that the creature had probably done more than anyone else. Which was admittedly disturbing.

Galen was quiet now, digesting this information with a thoughtful expression. "I..."

"Think of it this way. You meet a dog that's been beaten and mistreated its entire life, but one day a murderer shows up and feeds it. He pets the dog and cleans it up and plays with it. Would you call it a bad dog for following the murderer and defending him?" The half elf made a mental note to never, ever bring up this conversation again within earshot of Valyne. She doubted the drowess would find it a flattering comparison.

"No, but a dog doesn't understand what evil is," the human said, looking increasingly uncomfortable. He was starting to understand.

"Neither does a child, Galen, even if you try and teach them," Cessair said, sitting him down on a low ledge that was near the fire. She offered a silent prayer to any god that happened to be listening in the hopes that it would help Lirayne with her probably furious sister. The last thing they needed was a personal vendetta splitting the party. "Has Valyne, as long as we've known her, attacked an innocent person? Has she betrayed any of us?"

"No," Galen said, letting out all of his breath in one loud exhale. "No, she hasn't."

"You're letting doctrine blind you. The real world is more complicated than people think. Some do good acts for the wrong reasons. Others do evil with good intentions. Val may be corrupted and damaged, but she forgave her sister and offered her help with no strings attached. She's protected us even when it was probably smarter for her to drop us like a hot rock," the rogue said. She had no idea when she became the party's voice of reason or moral compass, but she'd always been good at leaning into the weird. Besides, she would rather have Galen trying to show Valyne that sunshine and rainbows were the answer than nearly coming to blows with her over every little thing.

He sighed. "I see your point," the paladin admitted, lowering his head. His brow creased and he huffed slightly. "With the order, things were simple. Black and white. The Underdark is a...complicated place."

"So is the surface, Galen. Not to belabor the point, but hello? Unrepentant criminal standing right here? You know I'm not evil, otherwise your paladin sense would be tingling by now."

The human chuckled before growing more serious. "I need to make things right with Val," Galen said, moving to stand up. He was stopped by his sister's hand on his arm.

"Drow don't really get apologies. They lie pretty much constantly to each other, after all. Just try and treat her a little less like the enemy. For now, get some sleep. I'll go see how it's going."

Lirayne and Valyne were on the other side of camp, concealed by an outcropping of stone. Cessair padded over without a sound, not intentionally trying to stealth. It was just how she walked. The younger drowess had nearly collapsed with exhaustion almost as soon as Galen was distracted and a distance away. "You didn't have to point out the fact that he's easy prey, you know," Lirayne said dryly, though she didn't really mean her reproach. She knew that if she had been in Valyne's position, her own comments would have been far less generous.

Cessair chose that moment to drop right down on the other side of Lirayne, earning a completely undignified sound and startle response from the cleric. The priestess of Lloth recovered almost as quickly as she'd flinched, leveling the half elf with a lethal glare as she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her dagger. "So help me, blondie, I will put a bell on you."

"Oops." The rogue tried to look apologetic, but she couldn't help the grin that crept onto her lips. "Who knew drow squeak?"

"..."

"Lirayne, murder is not an acceptable response to Cessair's sense of humor," Valyne murmured, taking advantage of her sister's back facing her to smirk. Whether they knew it or not, the interaction between her traveling companions was helping her calm down even more. It felt strangely normal despite a decade spent largely on her own.

"How do you feel about a light beating?" Lirayne's expression was still homicidal, but she wasn't really contemplating too much harm. Besides, thoughts of vengeance in the morning would distract her from how relentlessly awful she was feeling.

"Too tired to care," Val murmured sleepily. "Wake me for watch."

"Like hell we are," Cessair said, rolling her eyes. She affected an appropriately intimidated look that seemed to satisfy Lirayne for the moment. "You earned some rest. By the way, your sister called me 'blondie'. Did you teach her that word?"

"No, Storunn. I just told her to find something more creative than 'elf bitch'." Val would have elaborated, but she couldn't keep her eyes open any more. She drifted off, too exhausted and comfortable for even the nightmarish images of that dark, submerged city to disturb her.

Cessair looked over at Lirayne, toying with the earring in her left ear. As a half elf, her ears weren't quite as pointed as a full elf's, but it was still a marked difference from a human's. "Elf bitch, huh? Never heard that one before."

"It sounds better in drow," the priestess said, unruffled. Something about her expression was just a touch smug, but underneath the comments lay an air of wary respect and something almost approaching camaraderie. "_Darthiir elg'caress_."

"I...you know, actually, you're right. But you know what sounded even better? Not knowing what that particular pet name you have for me meant. What's Galen?"

"_Vith'ez mal'ai_."

"He is, isn't he?" Cessair said with a grin. She learned that particular phrase from one or two of Val's frustrated moments. Hell, she'd accused him of being just that in more than one language on many occasions. "Just give it another few weeks and he'll really grow on you. He's like a rash."

"So are you, blondie."

* * *

"Val, what's the hold up?" Lirayne called over her shoulder before turning to face her sister. The arcanist was normally in the lead, but now she had stopped next to a crumbling statue that overlooked this back path to Menzoberranzan. They were in tunnels very familiar to both drow, barely a half day's travel from the City of Spiders itself.

"Just...give me a minute." Valyne ran her hand over the base of the statue. The smoothly cut rock had long ago become rough and uneven as dripping water carved new paths and left deposits of mineral. The statue itself had fared somewhat better than its inscription, set back under an arch carved into the tunnel wall. A drow woman in armor, arms crossed over her chest with a dagger in one hand and a symbol of Lloth in the other.

"There are demons chasing us and you want to stop to stare at the stonework?" the priestess snapped, even as she searched the darkness for any sign of approaching demons. They had traveled for nearly three days without an attack and it was making everyone paranoid. After all, how long could good luck really last? "Fine."

"It looks old," Cessair said quietly, looking up at the statue with fascination. Perhaps it was her inner looter speaking, but history had always attracted her even if she didn't have the learning to appreciate the significance. "Some of the carvings in tact by her head look very different from the drow script I've seen elsewhere. Almost elvish."

"Well, it is a likeness of Menzoberra the Kinless, founder of the city. It was probably created either during her lifetime or at the time of her death," Lirayne said, trying to relax her shoulders. She'd unconsciously tensed the moment Cessair mentioned the similarity to elvish. Everyone knew that drow had once been elves, but no one liked being reminded of that. Even their language was a derivative. "It's been a few thousand years since then. Val, honestly, why are you even stopping? Goddess knows it's not for the marvel of encountering an old dead woman's face."

Val fingered a broken corner of the statue's pedestal. "This..." She took a deep breath. "This is where they left me." Without supplies, it was the worst place to be in the tunnels around the city. No food, no water beyond tiny droplets leaking through cracks in the stone above, just an empty stretch of tunnel leading out into the hellish maze that was the Wilds. A wrong step and you ended up in the territory of a drider. Patrols rarely swept through this area unless they were actively hunting for an enemy that scrying had detected.

"Yes, well, Zesstra never was as clever as she liked to think. Clearly she failed to allow for your annoying knack for surviving unpleasant situations. I would have slit your throat out of sight of the city and fed the body to scavengers so that resurrection would be that much harder," Lirayne said in a matter-of-fact tone. It earned a laugh from Valyne, while Galen and Storunn stared at her like she had sprouted a second head. "What? I said I'd kill her first. I'm not a monster and we are sisters."

"Honesty? Not always the best policy, squeaker," Cessair nearly groaned.

Lirayne twitched slightly at the nickname. After the first time Valyne had been required to restrain her, the priestess agreed not to attempt violence so long as no one else ever found out where that particular term of endearment came from. "When we reach the city, your ass is mine."

"You're not really my type, Lirayne, though I appreciate the sentiment," the half elf said with a wink. "Plus, Galen would get jealous."

"Wha-hey!" The paladin looked mortified and more than a little irritated with his sister. He went to punch her shoulder and missed, almost hitting Lirayne. Her eyes narrowed slightly, prompting him to take a step back.

Storunn sighed and turned to Valyne. "Not this dwarf's turn ta separate 'em."

"If you three are done behaving like children?" the arcanist said in a particularly frosty tone. She actually didn't mind, but they needed to focus on other things. "We will be in Menzoberranzan in just a few hours and we need to decide how to handle it."

It was a problem significant enough to draw the attention of all three participants in the fight. "We can't rely on a disguise spell, as impressive as your grasp of polymorph is, Val," Lirayne said, brushing invisible dust off her shoulder as if to dismiss the objects of her annoyance. "Mother, Zesstra, and Mourndar would all notice in an instant. But undoubtedly, any of these three walking around as they are would present serious problems."

"If we had your mask..." Galen said, looking to the arcanist. If she had one once, surely she could just create something similar.

"It took me a handful of favors from incredibly talented people to craft that, not to mention thousands of gold worth of rare reagents. We don't have the resources," Val muttered darkly, still furious about how it had just been casually destroyed by that succubus. Not for the first time since that battle, she hoped that whatever Malcanthet had in store was appropriately painful. "We could disguise them as slaves."

"That has its own problems," Lirayne pointed out, worrying at her lower lip slightly as she thought. "It might work for Storunn. Our paladin would be fairly easy to explain away as a demon hunter and very reluctant ally. He already plays the part perfectly. If he keeps the breastplate off and doesn't mention Torm, he might even get to continue breathing. Blondie, you'd be on an altar to Lloth before you could blink. You look too elvish."

"I suppose it's too much to hope that I can just stick to the shadows?" Cessair said wistfully.

"Drow are paranoid," Valyne said. "They would notice you. And then very unpleasant things would happen. However, I might have a solution. We make minor magical changes to Cessair's appearance and layer an effect over it. The other two are covered well enough by your plan if Galen bites his tongue."

The priestess considered this. "What were you thinking?"

"Add horns and a tail, make her detect like a native outsider instead of an elf. We've been investigating demonic activity. A tiefling companion wouldn't come as much of a surprise," the arcanist said. She looked over at Cessair and concentrated, weaving patterns of glyphs in the air with her fingers. The half elf wavered like a mirage on the horizon for a few seconds before her appearance shifted. Their rogue was now sporting small, pointed dark horns and a black, barbed tail. "Cast detection on her now."

Lirayne had to bite back a laugh at the shock on Galen's face. "She...shit, she does look like a tiefling," he admitted. "She's not tainted like a half demon, but she doesn't feel right any more."

"Love you too, brother," Cessair said with a roll of her eyes. She could feel her tail twitch. It was...unnerving. Now she would have to worry about someone grabbing it from behind in a fight. She flicked it, curling the last six inches around the hilt of the dagger in her boot and drawing the blade clumsily. But with practice, she could definitely see potential. "Ooh! Never mind. I love having a tail. Galen, look what I can do!"

"Behave, blondie," the priestess snapped, scowling as she cast detection. "Val, the polymorph is hidden under that native outsider feeling. Just get her to act less elvish and we might survive this little misadventure. How long can you sustain it?"

"I can enchant a ring for the purpose," Valyne said. She caught Cessair's hand and deftly slipped off the rogue's ring. "This will do. Why don't we take a break here and I'll set to work on it while everyone gets comfortable with their new roles?"

"Do I have to wear a collar again?" Storunn asked, doing his best to keep his tone disgruntled rather than belligerent.

"Well, that depends on whether or not you want a brand," Lirayne said sweetly. She paused for a moment. "Val, come to think of it, can we collar blondie while we're at it? I think I have a bell somewhere."

"Just...no."

* * *

_Vith'ez mal'ai_ - fucking idiot


	13. Welcome Home

"This was...not what I expected," Cessair whispered with apparent awe, abruptly pausing at the overlook.

Below stretched out the vastness of Menzoberranzan, the walled city stretching from side to side of the impossibly large vault of this cavern supported by its walls and numerous pillars the size of small mountains. It surrounded mushroom groves and even a vast subterranean lake complete with an island. The city itself was a glimmering web of towers and walls lit by Narbondel's ethereal glow teeming with life of countless varieties. There were tens of thousands of people moving around and living on those broad avenues and winding alleys-it looked as big as Waterdeep, more a metropolis than a simple city. To think this wasn't even the greatest city of the drow if legend were true! The closer she walked, the more detail became apparent. In its own way, drow architecture reminded her that they were still at their roots elvenkind, very much interested in aestheticism. She had expected a lot more grimness to their city, and while that could certainly be found, it had its own enchanting dark beauty. The only unnerving parts were the constantly appearing motifs of webs and spiders.

The city was also full of non-drow, even on the busy streets. Many were either slaves or servants, but there were a fair population of traders and free artisans as well. While drow formed the higher echelons of society, they certainly didn't seem too averse to employing or owning 'lesser' races. The smells and sounds of the city crashed over the group like a wave, a sudden break from the absolute silence of the wilds and the outlying areas. Galen and Storunn both looked stunned, but Cessair could shake off her almost child-like wonder fairly swiftly. She had spent most of her life in various cities and knew that the key to avoiding trouble was to be aware of it coming. Still, it was not an introduction she would ever forget.

At the front of the group, both Lirayne and Valyne distinctly altered their entire attitude and posture. Gone were the smiles, lighthearted banter, and relaxed posture. Both were on their guard, heads high and eyes glaring at anyone who strayed too close. With their cleric in her proper robes and wearing a symbol of her house prominently, most were adequately discouraged from causing trouble. One or two people on the street scrutinized the group more intently because of it, but Cessair made a point of giving them nothing to look at: she just followed along without stopping to gawk or talk. The ground rules had changed now that they were in a city of the drow. All those things that the rogue had gotten away with out in the tunnels and even Gracklstugh were no longer acceptable in public.

"How does it feel to be home, sister?" Lirayne asked as they moved through their home district. Once, House Duskryn had stood just to the north of the Westrift, but as fortunes changed they were relocated to Narbondellyn, the city's wealthy area that was also referred to as the Broad Streets. It had been a pragmatic decision rather than some insistence on appearances: the old stronghold had what its newer rulers realized were crippling flaws in its defenses. With the blessing of Lloth and Matron Baenre, Siniira had simply occupied what was once Oblodra's compound and created new magical defenses to compliment the different construction. All of her daughters had grown up within the new arrangement, completely surrounded by wealth, privilege, and nobility.

"Surreal," Val said, glancing back over her shoulder to make certain they hadn't lost anyone. Cessair was successfully herding her brother and Storunn in the right direction. There were humans and dwarves in Menzoberranzan, though overwhelmingly as slaves. People certainly stared at the disguised half-elf, but the tiefling attributes were serving their intended purpose. The hostility was no more pronounced than it was for any other outlander and there were no assaults to break up. "I never thought I would actually come back. I wished and hoped, certainly, but I am accustomed to reality not living up to my expectations."

"Aren't we all?"

"Zesstra may be in for a rude shock. Did you tell anyone at the House where you were going?" the arcanist said. A dirt-encrusted goblin almost crashed into her and she reacted instinctively, throwing the creature back with a crack of flame and force. The spell came casually and without fanfare or incantation, a subtle display of power to make anyone considering a fight back off. The miserable little thing scrambled to its feet and hobbled away with its burns. Everyone subtly moved to give Valyne just a bit more space.

"Other than Mother dearest? No. I look forward to the outrage and shock." Lirayne didn't even bat an eye. After all, one could expect that kind of greeting if they strayed too close to a noble or a priestess.

Galen gaped a little bit, his head turning to watch the goblin go. "Aren't there laws about that?"

"Menzoberranzan's only law is that might makes right," Cessair said quietly to him. She had been careful to not react, knowing that it wasn't wise to look too weak in a place like this. "Whether that might is political power or demonstrable prowess. Just follow Val and try not to touch anyone. I'd hate to see you charred."

"I..."

"In a drow city, we play by drow rules," the rogue said, paraphrasing Val's advice in Gracklstugh. She would have prayed for good fortune and protection, but on some subconscious level she was terrified that Lloth would hear her calling to another god and strike her dead in the street. Better not to even think it so there was no chance of it slipping out of her mouth. Besides, could any of the surface gods even hear her so deep beneath the world of sunlight?

Galen nodded, steeling himself for the unpleasantness ahead. He envied his sister's ability to put up walls and simply behave like she was perfectly comfortable in this city. He felt his discomfort start to rise as they moved from the area of commoners and mixed races into areas predominantly more drow, and affluent ones at that. The crowded streets became wide, bustling avenues lined with upper class homes and shops. There was even color, something Galen had never expected. He imagined the drow as grim and dark, yet they seemed to enjoy lighting up their city with differently colored signs written in faerie fire. "Where are we going?" he asked, catching Lirayne's eye. He didn't reach out to touch her arm to make certain she'd heard because he doubted she or the drow here would appreciate the gesture.

"Just trust that we're going to the right place, alright?" Lirayne said. She wasn't really irritated even though she sounded snappish. The last thing she felt comfortable doing, however, was reassuring a human in the middle of the street. A guard perched on the back of a riding lizard made the mistake of looking too long and hard at their group, so the priestess focused her ire on him in a glare. It was enough to convince him that he should keep moving.

House Duskryn's compound rose before them, equal parts fortress and palatial estate. Even without a gift in magic, the surface dwellers could feel the powerful hum of wards as they stepped through the gates that stood open. The main courtyard was well-trafficked by servants, slaves, and soldiers. It easily rivaled the impressiveness of surface keeps and palaces, though the statutes of Lloth's Handmaidens in their drow forms on either side of the inner gate chilled Galen's blood. "Where in the hells are we goin'?" Storunn asked Cessair quietly.

"I...I think this is a House," the half elf said, looking around with awe once they stepped into the main hall. She felt as uneasy as the dwarf seemed even though she made a point of hiding it. At least she wasn't Galen, who probably felt every hint of evil in every passerby. "A whole faction of the city, an entire army, at the command of a noble family."

There was a short series of steps before a set of double doors leading to the audience hall where Siniira would undoubtedly be found at this hour. Drow were scattered across the room in knots of conversation, a few arguments and raised voices heard here and there. More than a couple of eyes were focused on the newcomers. Lirayne ignored it and turned around. As a priestess, it fell to her to ensure their guests behaved themselves. "We're about to go speak with the Matron Mother. Or Val and I will speak anyway. I don't want to hear a word out of anyone else unless you are specifically addressed, understood?"

Cessair and Galen both blanched visibly. The legends of the drow suggested universally that Matron Mothers were heartless, cruel, calculating women who rose to their position through unrepentant slaughter and zealous devotion to the Spider Queen. Most stories suggested that they shared their goddess's insanity as well. "What? Why?" the paladin blurted out.

"He means why are we talking to a Matron Mother," Cessair said quickly, sensing that Lirayne's frayed patience was exceedingly thin at the moment. Nerves, perhaps? It really didn't bode well if a priestess of Lloth was anxious about the meeting as well.

Valyne smiled a little despite herself, knowing very well why they found the idea terrifying. She had never been able to see her mother in those legends even though she knew Siniira did have the capacity for nearly limitless cruelty when she was sufficiently motivated. The War of the Spider Queen had demonstrated that in abundance. "It will be apparent very shortly," she answered on Lirayne's behalf before putting a hand on the cleric's arm. "Sister, take a breath. Whatever happens, you have my support."

They both knew she was referring not to the Matron, but to Zesstra and the Patron. Neither would be pleased with Valyne's return and certainly not with Lirayne's part in it. That threatened to put the priestess in yet another precarious position. Then again, the cleric knew that her sister would probably have to deal with Keldzar before the end of the day which would undoubtedly be equally unpleasant. Lirayne just nodded, unable to bring herself to thank Val aloud. "Let's go," she said instead, making a mental note to repay her younger sister for this at some later date.

When those doors opened, the three surfacers followed their drow guide and the cleric even though dread hung in their chests like a lead weight. Cessair chewed at the inside of her cheek in apprehension while Storunn dragged his feet forward. Galen was clutching at the small symbol of Torm he usually wore around his neck that he'd removed and kept in his pocket at Lirayne's stern advice. All three were thinking the same thing: if Val or Lirayne turned on them, there was no way they would be able to escape. Not from a Matron Mother.

Cessair's breath caught in her throat as they approached the ivory throne and the slender drowess seated in it with regal poise, crowned in iron. It felt almost like she was looking into the future, at Valyne in a few centuries. Siniira Duskryn had aged with the grace of an elf, the barest suggestions of lines in her face and only a few threads of silver winding through her white hair. Even seated, the Matron held her head high and her shoulders back with an unmistakable air of pride. It was hard not to squirm when those storm-cloud eyes focused on her. In that moment, Cessair felt like all of her secrets were suddenly on display and her disguise nothing more than ineffective smoke. Whether or not that was true remained to be seen. And gods above did it make her feel small and insignificant.

When Valyne and Lirayne lowered themselves to one knee, their companions immediately mimicked them. Galen was pretty sure that they'd even beaten the drow to the ground. He could feel the divine energy radiating off the Matron in an aura nearly equal to Val's profane one. A cleric so powerful, particularly one devoted to battle, would be able to rip through their group in a heartbeat. Certainly, they had fought powerful demons with ease, but not one of those creatures had been wielding the wrath of a goddess.

"Rise," Siniira commanded, voice low and even. It was fortunate the Matron had centuries of practice maintaining her composure. All she really wanted to do was throw her arms around her youngest and never again let go. However, such displays of emotion were not appropriate in public. Ever. "I am pleased, Lirayne. Few who have the audacity to venture into the tunnels alone at the best of times return. You impress."

Lirayne felt her face flush and the faintest hint of a smile that couldn't be contained creep across her features. She had never received a compliment or commendation like that from either the Matron or the Patron before-there had always been some fault to find, and when they were pleased, they tended to treat it as though her success was expected. It eased a sting she hadn't realized was there. Maybe she wasn't the favorite, but for a moment she was at least valued. "Thank you, Matron."

Siniira rose from her seat and moved down the steps. Ten years of exile were not so easy to bridge with words and the Matron found herself almost overwhelmed in front of Valyne. Her face remained impassive, but her eyes were expressive: regret, relief, concern, elation, uncertainty, affection, and so much pride. "Valyne." For the rest of her days, the Matron of House Duskryn would pride herself on the fact that she managed to keep her voice steady.

"Matron."

They both seemed to be searching the silence for words. Siniira found hers first. "It is good to have you back, daughter," she said. No matter what was in Valyne's blood, she would always be the baby girl Siniira had held tightly in her arms so long ago.

"At your command, Matron, as always." Val couldn't help her smile. For the first time, the strange feeling of being home finally sank in as real.

"We have much to discuss," Siniira said smoothly, regaining herself without an outward sign that she had ever been struggling to sort through her thoughts. The fact that she had acknowledged her daughter and not summoned the guard was an unmistakable sign to the whole house: Valyne's exile was at an end. "But now is not the time or place. And there's the matter of these...others."

"They're allies, Matron. We encountered a significant demonic presence and they were invaluable in aiding us against them," Lirayne said. The original plan had been for Valyne to broach the subject so that the Matron would be less likely to lose her temper, but the cleric stepped up to take the brunt of the force her mother might summon instead. She owed Valyne.

Siniira was quiet for a moment, calculating. A paladin of good-Galen was not the only one who could detect auras-, a shield dwarf, and a very faerie-looking tiefling. She said nothing, simply arching an eyebrow at her second daughter. Galen hadn't thought it possible, but the original expression was even more intimidating than Valyne's version.

"We would not be standing before you without their assistance, Matron," Val said, supporting Lirayne just as she'd promised that she would. It was strange, but welcome, to be in accord with her sister on anything in front of the House.

"Very well. They are permitted to remain as guests," Siniira said. She didn't exactly approve, but she was willing to acquiesce to the wishes of her children in this particular situation. For all of the drow disdain for non-drow, Siniira refused to be anything less than the very soul of hospitality towards her guests. It made negotiations with other races proceed that much smoother. "Nalfein, if you would show them to the appropriate quarters? Gently."

The grizzled veteran saluted and gestured to another two of the guards, leading the three surface dwellers out of the audience hall through a side door towards the rooms reserved for guests. He didn't like the idea of being polite to these strangers, but he knew that Siniira would flay him alive if he disobeyed without very, very good reason.

"I think it's time we moved this conversation to my quarters," the Matron said, looking over her daughters. The Abyssal taint in Valyne was absolutely unmistakable, certainly befitting a half-demon. Apparently Malcanthet hadn't lied about that much. Lirayne looked unchanged, save for the fact that her looser robes fit snugly in the abdomen now. Which was...strange. The warlike priestess was rarely out of battle long enough to even begin to put on weight.

Lirayne almost winced at her mother's attention. "I'll explain in private," she said quietly, earning yet another elevated eyebrow from the more powerful cleric.

Val had found Zesstra with her eyes, grinning almost wolfishly at the brief flash of naked fear that crossed her eldest sister's face. As quickly as it had come, the emotion was hidden by a faint sneer of contempt. But they both knew that the arcanist had seen it. _You'd better hope I never get you alone, Zesstra._ She turned back to the Matron and Lirayne, content to follow them out of the audience hall for a far more private conversation.

* * *

"You should have told me," Siniira said sternly, giving Lirayne her best armor-piercing glare. She had remained silent through the entire rendition of the tale, with her daughters each filling her in on certain aspects they were more familiar with. "Goddess, Lirayne, how could you be so stupid? Running off into the Wilds while pregnant!"

"We survived," Lirayne said. She crossed her arms defensively, even though she was grateful that her mother was treating her no differently despite the truth of what had happened in her encounter with the demon. The last thing she wanted was pity, particularly with how raw and exposed she felt. It was one thing to tell Val and an entirely different matter to confide in the woman who ruled their House. "It's over and done with. And with the forces we're up against, it was necessary."

Siniira grimaced, well aware that the younger cleric had a valid point. "And to think Yvonnel wonders why I have gray in my hair," she murmured with a heavy sigh, removing her circlet to massage her temples without something in the way. "Never again, Lirayne. Promise me."

"Never again," Lirayne said dutifully. It was an oath she was all too happy to make.

"You investigated while we were gone, I assume," Valyne said to smooth things over, knowing that her sister would need a little bit of time to pull herself completely back together. "Did you find anything?"

"Shami-Amourae cannot cross into the Material Plane without a proper vessel. From what I've gathered, the prison realm she is currently in would trap a physical body if she tried to just walk out through a portal. That is her interest in Lirayne's child." The Matron spoke in measured tones, trying to get a feeling of where her daughters stood on the subject. From the way the cleric's shoulders curled forward and she seemed to shrink into herself, at least Lirayne was not looking forward where this conversation was inevitably headed.

Val was not immune to the chill of dread sweeping through her body either, but she was in a better place to fight than her sister. "Matron, no," the arcanist said, her voice a little harsher than she would have liked. "You of all people should understand."

"I do. But I also have to think of Menzoberranzan and the whole Material Plane. We cannot guarantee that Shami-Amourae will not be able to simply possess her chosen vessel at birth if the child lives," Siniira said, running her fingers through her hair. She made no attempt to hide her own conflicted feelings about the subject. "It isn't a good path, but it is the best one. That said, the decision is not mine to make. Lirayne?"

The priestess had stood up while her mother was speaking, turning her back towards both of them so they wouldn't see her distress. Her hands curled into tight fists around the cloth of her sleeves as she hugged herself, rocking back and forth on her heels. Tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes even as she tried to swallow the painful knot in her throat. This was beyond unfair. The only, only good thing to come out of all of this and now the universe wanted to take it from her. _Anything. Anything but this._ To think she had spent just last night sitting next to Valyne by the fire and tossing chunks of Storunn's dreaded biscuits into the flames while trying out names for her daughter, laughing whenever her sister vetoed a suggestion by making a face.

"Lir-" Val started to say.

A tremor ran through the cleric's whole body and she slammed her fists against the wall in a display that was half desperation and half rage. "You promised me!" It was meant to be a shout but came out as something more like a wail. She had managed to withstand so much without cracking and crumbling under the pressure. Lirayne hated it. The helplessness, the weakness, the swallowing despair that threatened to consume what was left of her world. She could feel her hands bruising and battered them against the wall without stopping anyway. Years and years of conditioning were the only thing stopping her from weeping like a worthless child in front of her mother. And with that release denied, the only thing she had left was her temper.

Valyne rose, knowing that the cleric was nearing the force that would break the bones in her own hands. She caught a wrist and pulled Lirayne away from the wall. She didn't shrink when the blows struck against her shoulders and ribs instead, knowing that her sister needed this. "I promised," Val acknowledged. "Lirayne, look at me." Never in her life had she seen an expression of heartbreak equal in its anguish to the one written across the priestess's face. Drow were not meant to love, not taught to love, but that didn't mean they were incapable of it or immune to the pain of losing whatever it was they held dearest. "We'll find another way, sister. I said I would do anything you needed from me. I meant it."

Siniira inclined her head in a nod, acknowledging the decision. She was by no means a good woman, but she would not inflict that kind of torture on her own flesh and blood. "We do not have an unlimited amount of time to research our options. What were you thinking, Valyne?"

"Go into the Wells of Darkness and confront Shami-Amourae there," the demonbinder said, allowing Lirayne to relax into her. They were hardly beyond the possibility of losing her child, but the priestess was willing to accept any glimmer of hope no matter how faint it seemed. "It may be difficult given the nature of the plane, but not impossible."

The Matron frowned deeply. "Valyne, that is a prison designed to contain demon lords, many of whom are gods in their own rights. Piercing its defenses and slaying Shami-Amourae is child's play compared to escaping from such a place. It would, in all likelihood, be a one-way trip," Siniira said.

"I can't ask that of you," Lirayne said hoarsely, closing her eyes in a feeble effort to steel herself for her sister's inevitable backpedal.

Val shrugged a little. "Good thing you don't have to ask," she said with a lightness that belied her own grim thoughts. She knew who would be going into the Abyss after their foe and honestly, she wouldn't have had it any other way. Her soul was already tainted and twisted beyond repair anyway and if Malcanthet was right, this was only the beginning. "But you know that if I get trapped, you're going to have to kill Zesstra for me. Just make it slow and agonizing."

Lirayne choked on her stunned laughter, shaking her head from side to side. "Why?"

A thousand answers to that question surged into Val's thoughts. _Because throwing myself into the impossible is what I do best. Because I want to tear Shami-Amourae's face off and cram it down her gullet with my claws. Because I can never be Matron with so much demon blood in my veins. Because Mother would do it if she were in my place. Because your little girl hasn't done a thing to deserve this. Because it feels right. _All those and so many more reasons flitted across her consciousness. "It doesn't matter," she said aloud, exchanging a look with her mother. There was immeasurable sorrow in the Matron's gray eyes, but it was tempered with pride and an unmistakable affection.

Siniira understood. "We'll need to raise the city's forces to handle the demons and cultists at Niar'hannenlyn. I'll discuss our plan with Yvonnel. She may be able to find us a ritual that will transport you into the Wells of Darkness, presuming the demons don't have a portal of their own," the Matron said with her usual calm deliberation. "All of that can wait for a time. You both need to rest while you have the opportunity. I will see what I can do to keep Zesstra and Zekatar away from you."

"Thank you, Matron," Lirayne said, her voice still raw and thick.

Siniira just nodded, silent until her children were halfway out the door. "I am proud of you both," she said in the succinct and even tone she reserved for sentiments that she genuinely meant. Both of her daughters held their heads a little bit higher at the praise despite everything that had happened.


	14. The Poisoned Vine

Despite everything Valyne had ever said on the subject, she always found something about love intoxicating. Part of it was rarity. She had seen pale imitations so often, used to manipulate and bind and twist people around until they had no knowledge of which way was up. A succubus's kiss, a charm spell, a potion designed to ensnare with infatuation, all little better than coal beside a diamond. Part of it was the allure of not being able to have it, like the enchantment of dancing flames that were without substance but still had the power to burn anyone who allowed their fingers too close. Maybe if she had never gone to the surface she would have soldiered on in blissful ignorance. No, that was a lie. A comfortable, hopeful lie. The emptiness always had a way of creeping back in.

And the last part? How heartbreakingly close she had come to having it. For the first few days, maybe even weeks, the anger had managed to blind her to pain. The shock of her world suddenly collapsing kept her focused on her next breath, her next meal. She would always be grateful to the Underdark's wilds for dragging her relentlessly out of her own head just to struggle for survival, for always offering her a choice when she had no others. Life or death. It made things simple, even in their impossibility. But eventually it had hit and she all but crumbled. And even the pain of betrayal was a paper cut in comparison to the knowledge that she had willingly stripped off her armor and done everything short of driving the knife in herself. All that just for him.

Magic and binding couldn't make it go away, but they gave her the power to inflict what she was feeling on others. And when they couldn't fill the gaps, Malcanthet had stepped in to help her stoke the fires of hatred and resentment rather than succumb. A demon could not heal a wound, but they could teach you to salt it yourself, to revel in the bitterness of pain and use it as a weapon. The problem with that was that the wound stayed as open and fresh as the day it had been given. No peace, no forgetfulness, no forgiveness.

"Valyne." Her name was a plea now, so soft it was almost lost even in the silent hallway.

She meant to keep walking, to forget she had ever been unfortunate enough to run into the Weapons Master, to ignore him completely until she left for the inevitable battle with Shami-Amourae. Her body had apparently not received any message about her intent, however, because her feet were slowing to a stop with heavy steps. _I don't need this. I don't want this. Light take him._

"Valyne, please. Just talk to me," Keldzar said with a little more volume, a little more confidence. At least she seemed to be listening to him. That was an improvement even if it was a small one.

It was wholly within her rights and power to send him away, preferably running. But she felt too much to dare speak, knowing that it probably wouldn't even come out in her native tongue. The hate, the pain, the rage would come pouring out in Abyssal, a language far better equipped than even drow to explain just what she was thinking. Her pulse was roaring in her ears even as the skin of her face tightened in a silent snarl. She was managing to choke the growl down, desperately hoping to maintain some semblance of her drow nature. Val didn't turn towards him or make any gesture so inviting. She just stopped in the hall.

Goddess, but she wanted to hurt something. Anything...anything except him. Because the heart wanted what it wanted and even demonic urges had to acquiesce to its wishes. As much as she loathed herself for it, she knew she still cared about Keldzar. Just seeing his face was enough to agonizingly remind her of that, like claws jabbed straight into the deepest part of an injury or a twist of the knife.

"I know I hurt you, Val, and that I betrayed your trust. But I never meant to. I just...please give me a chance to fix this. That's all I want."

Val stared at the far wall. She could feel her teeth grinding against each other under the force she was using to keep from speaking until she was positive her voice would come out normal and controlled. Why was this so difficult? She had offered a chance to start over to Lirayne and their animosity stretched back much further. Hells, she wasn't even certain that the priestess wouldn't revert back to her old self now that they were in Menzoberranzan again and beneath the scrutinizing eyes of the drow (particularly her family). The right thing to do, and more than that, the practical thing to do, would be to offer him an olive branch as well. The more people she had behind her, the better.

_Unless they're holding knives. Would you forgive him if it had been someone else that he hurt? Cessair, Lirayne, the Matron, even Galen, or Storunn?_ a voice in the back of her mind asked unbidden.

The answer was an unequivocal no. For all her violent tendencies and abrasive comments, she had always made it a point to protect the few people that were close to her. It was that strange sort of possessive nature that was so common in drow, mingling freely with jealousy and envy. The rest of the world could burn for all she cared, but the parts of it that felt like home, like belonging? She would die for those a hundred times over if it came to that.

_Then why are you willing to give in when it's you that you need to protect?_

No matter which way Val twisted herself, she couldn't find a good answer for that.

Lirayne was easy: there had never been any trust between them before to betray. Her sister, despite her status as a priestess and a Matron's daughter, was not a really manipulative creature when she gave someone her trust. Her temper ran hot, not cold. Lirayne would raise her voice and her fist in an instant, but she tended to do it to the person's face. She growled and snapped, but she was (though she would deny it in a heartbeat) loyal. If you were her enemy, her rival, you damn well knew it. It was the fundamental difference between Lirayne and Zesstra, likely what made her unsuited in Siniira's eyes for the position of Matron. Ruling a House required a certain level of duplicity or at least diplomacy, not that drow really made a habit of distinguishing between the two.

Val didn't feel ready to forgive and forget, nor was she certain that she would even if she could. After all, he could have told the Matron the truth. He could have refused Zesstra's offer. But when it came down to a choice between her and power for Keldzar...

"I want to be more than just the Weapons Master to you. Please, Valyne. I know I have a lot to prove, but I want to try."

The arcanist ran her fingers through her hair, exhaustion sweeping up through her body to begin to displace the anger. It was the hurt that lingered. And disappointment. When she dealt with demons, even when she hadn't been clear on the terms, she had always tried to make certain that she was the one paying the price. It would have been easier, safer, to damn other people instead of herself. Diabolists were certainly known for doing so even though they usually went down in flames themselves. Just not her, less out of any high moral principle and more from a feeling that defied explanation that twisted violently in her stomach at the idea.

Pragmatism dictated that she give him the chance even if she had no intention of ever actually forgiving him. However, leaving that door open even an inch was allowing a hope to take root in her heart that she couldn't afford. Not knowing how much it hurt to have those feelings crushed. Was it fear? Certainly. But just this once, she was alright with giving in to it.

"I am not interested," Valyne said, every syllable perfectly clear and crisp. Her tone was cold but not angry. Instead it was that relentlessly calm statement of fact people could never discard as being a snappish comment in the heat of the moment. "I am not your enemy, but I am not your friend nor will I ever be. If you need me for House business, Weapons Master, I will be in my quarters."

She left Keldzar standing in the hall with his lips still parted, whatever words that had been on the tip of his tongue dying as she walked away. Somehow it felt strangely appropriate.

"Val," Galen greeted her near the door to her quarters. "How'd it go?"

"The Matron understands the situation, at least," she said, grateful that the human leaning against the wall was refraining from a rant about the innumerable sins of both herself and Menzoberranzan in general. Of course, the night was still young. "Now there's just the matter of actually gathering forces. We likely won't get a full commitment from the Houses since they have to defend themselves from each other as well, but it's still a substantial force. We may be able to pull reinforcements from Gracklstugh. Durna Thuldark owes us a favor."

Only the paladin could look relieved and worried at the same time. "Sounds like good news to me. How are you and Lirayne holding up?" he asked. When she arched a delicate eyebrow, he shrugged. "I know, I know. What can I say? You're part of the group. Also, Cess has been practically tearing our rooms apart with nerves since we were separated from you two. Must miss girl time."

Val's lips quirked into a small smile, but she couldn't quite bring herself to laugh even though that really did sound like Cessair. "About as well as can be expected." It was strange, but despite all the fighting between the two of them, she still trusted Galen more than most. During all that time in the tunnels, in combat together, under the constant threat of danger, she had gotten used to relying on him. Even when he bitched and moaned about her lack of moral scruples, he would still put himself in the line of danger on her behalf. Certainly on Lirayne's behalf.

He winced. "That good, huh?"

"We knew this wasn't going to be easy as soon as we realized what we were up against," Val said, opening her door. She paused in the doorway and turned, her gray eyes flickering as she scrutinized his face. "You know, you don't need to come to me for an excuse to go see her."

Galen's face flushed in that way that Lirayne found endlessly amusing. "I-what?"

"Good luck, choir boy. And do try to keep that foot out of your mouth. It's a lot easier to talk without the boot leather in the way," she said in the dry, amused voice she'd come to reserve for their little group. "I'll be here if you need any more scintillating conversation."

She stepped into her quarters and closed the door. It was both a relief and an ache to see that nothing had really changed or been moved since the day she was imprisoned. Obviously someone had dusted, but beyond that there was little difference. She didn't even want to look in her bedroom, so instead she went to her study. People had been in here-probably just Mourndar and the Matron-to peruse her books, but they had all been put back in order. The smells of aged tomes and spell reagents and that faint, dark perfume of the Abyss mingled together into a soothing scent that spoke of quiet comfort. It was not really nostalgia, since it reminded her of the parts of her present and more recent past that she happened to be fond of.

Val sank down in to her chair and flipped the volume on her desk open. She wasn't really interested in the words. It was the feel of paper against her fingertips, the rustling of pages, that eased her mind. Even as an arcanist who didn't need a volume of spells, she had always connected with books. They were remarkably free of judgment and expectations, offering their everything and demanding nothing in return except time and patience.

It was probably half an hour before she heard the softest creak of the door's hinges. No footsteps, not even the outer door opening. She had laid her head down on the open pages and closed her eyes by that time. Not that she needed to see to know who it was. A lack of noise could be as distinctive as its presence.

"Hey you," Cessair said gently, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her ankles. She felt almost guilty for disturbing the drow, but Galen had told her on his way to see Lirayne that the mage looked unhappy. "Want to talk?"

"Not particularly," Val said, eyelashes fluttering as she debated whether or not to open her eyes. In the end, she decided she should look at the rogue and actually be a part of the conversation even if she couldn't put words to all the things churning in her head. Cessair was still disguised, clearly aware that it wasn't safe to give anyone any chance to see her without her tiefling features.

Cessair understood when she saw the hint of uncertainty and heart-sickness in those gray eyes. Most people didn't regard her as a particularly bright creature, but she could read the silence and all the things in it left unspoken. Val didn't want to talk: she wanted someone else to talk, just to make it feel like she wasn't on her own. It was vaguely reminiscent of the nights they'd spent on watch together out in the tunnels where hours would go by without a word, comfort enough in the presence of a friend that nothing needed to be said.

"You know, I really like the Underdark. Weird to hear from me, sure, but I was always more of a city girl than a woodsy type. And it's not just the pretty architecture and the interesting people," Cessair said, moving to the chair closest to Val's. She dropped down and pulled off her boots before curling up and tucking her feet beneath herself. "On the surface, I was too elvish for the humans and too human for the elves. Here, aside from the little drow-elf thing, people really only care about what I can do. Yeah, my skin's pale and my ears are a kinda pointed. But they barely get a second glance once people figure out I can pick locks, disarm traps, and stab the shit out of people from the shadows."

Val leaned back in her chair. "What about where you grew up?"

"You can never go home again, my stepfather told me when I started wandering. He wasn't throwing me out. It was really more prophetic than anything. Whenever my feet take me down those old roads, I find that the places I was so used to have changed terribly. And even where they look the same, it's still not home because I've changed. It's like trying to put on clothes you used to wear that don't really fit any more," Cessair said with a shrug, resting her chin on her hand. "Not that they ever really fit great to begin with, you know? Galen always melds right back in because he has our family and his order, but I can't."

"So where do you go when you can't go home?" the drowess asked thoughtfully, turning over the half elf's words in her mind. She was beginning to understand the feeling.

"Well, I hear the Abyss is nice this time of year," Cessair said impishly. "I'm even rocking the horns and tail for it."

Val rolled her eyes with just a hint of an easy smile touching her lips, fixing her friend with that look of amused exasperation she seemed to save up just for the rogue.

"There's my girl," the half elf said, all but beaming at the little expression. It was a sign that her words were actually starting to ease whatever turmoil was bothering the arcanist. "Anyway, it's not that I can't go home. It's just that my home is a different place now. It's with my friends on the road. Galen's a tree and I'm a tumbleweed. It's how I roll."

The drowess laughed, shaking her head. "I feel like you told me all this just to get to that little pun."

"Maybe," Cessair said smugly. "I have been saving it up. Keep me around a bit longer and you'll see how many short jokes I also saved to use on Storunn once we hit someplace where I could hide from him without volunteering to be the first course on an Underdark buffet."

"Cess, never change," Valyne said with a touch of gratitude and admiration in her tone. Something about the way the rogue put things and looked at the world made the path ahead a little bit lighter, a little bit easier.

"Careful what you wish for, Val," Cessair warned in her playful way, plucking at her leather bracer when she realized she had a stray thread of stitching starting to come undone. "Can I be serious for a minute? Nothing bad or anything."

"Depends. It might kill you to try."

The half elf looked up, affecting a mournful air. "Oh, I know. Just reanimate my corpse for the funeral and make it sneak up on Galen. I'll go to the afterlife knowing I at least scared the shit out of him one last time," she said, blue eyes gleaming with mischief at even the thought. She settled down a little and let her thoughts stray to weightier matters. Serious talks were never her forte. "I just wanted to let you know that we're gonna see this through to the end, Val. Galen, Storunn, and I. I know we could leave now that Menzoberranzan is gearing up to handle it, but we're your friends and we know what this means to you. So if we have to fight a demon lord or jump into the Abyss or dance the remigold in a flower dress to summon forces of light or whatever, we'll be there. I know you're not used to having someone watch your back, but I plan on doing it anyway."

Val didn't say anything, but her whole expression seemed to soften at that little declaration. The tension in her jaw relaxed and she felt a sort of lightness settle in her chest. "Why?" She felt more gratitude than she had words for, so asking for some reason was the best she could do.

"You'd do it for us. Hell, you already fought for all of us this long even when it wasn't the smartest or easiest thing to do. You went claw to claw with a succubus for Galen and you can barely stand him half the time," Cessair said with a shrug and a lopsided smile. "I don't think you can really see it because of the dark magic and the demon blood, but behind the mask and the temperament of a really pissy pit viper, you're worth fighting for too."

"I..." Val struggled to think up a response to that. "Just...thank you."

"Eh, don't thank anyone yet. It means you're stuck with us," the rogue said, the conversation moving back to more comfortable territory. The mage looked a little overwhelmed at the moment, but at least this time it was in a good way. "So, later will you come play cards? Storunn and Galen are in as long as we don't use my cards because they're apparently marked. Hopefully Lirayne will agree too. We know that drow nobles can't really mix with us in public, but Storunn was just saying how he misses the bickering. He's worse than a mother bird with an empty nest. It seemed like a good compromise."

The arcanist laughed, shaking her head. Somehow, the gruff dwarf admitting something like that didn't surprise her in the slightest. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. I have some research to start first, but I'll be there. After Narbondel sets?"

"Is that the glowing thingy? Works for me," Cessair said, springing up from her seat and pulling on her boots. "I'll leave you to your books until then. I'm supposed to be acquiring drinks anyway. Found the kitchens, so the cellars can't be too far away."

* * *

Galen took a deep, satisfied breath and let his head tip back as the sound of the cleric's voice washed over him. He was sitting on the couch in Lirayne's quarters listening to her read aloud. The priestess herself had settled next to him, her back against the arm of the couch with her legs across his lap. She looked better, relaxed, now that she wasn't alone trying to deal with the knowledge of how much was at stake and how much might be lost even if they won. The paladin's aura of good was strangely comforting even to a priestess of Lloth, if only because it was as far from a demon's unholy aura as one could go.

The human could only pick out a handful of drow words that he understood, but he recognized it as poetry by its flow and meter. Lirayne had told him a little bit about the story of the verses: it was the history of Lloth and her faithful in the early days, trying to create a new homeland after being cast out, and the struggle between the gods of the Dark Seldarine. _Even below the surface, we have heroes_, she'd said, hiding behind her book as though she was admitting to something mortifying. He'd done his best to just nod in quiet acceptance rather than smile and laugh lest he set off her temper.

And now, he was glad he had asked her to share it. Because even if he was missing the story, he was allowed into a quiet, peaceful moment just for the two of them. Well, three, he supposed. Her pregnancy wasn't really hidden any more now that the Matron knew. Galen closed his eyes, perfectly content to just stay this way for the rest of the evening.

"Galen, are you still awake?" Lirayne asked, glancing up from the page. She was more amused than irritated. For all of the paladin's pigheadedness, she appreciated that he'd turned up to check on her despite her thorny attitude since they arrived back in Menzoberranzan. And he hadn't pushed while she found her center again after the turmoil that was earlier with the Matron.

"Mhmm. I was just thinking."

She closed her book on her finger to hold the page, studying him intently for a moment. Galen looked comfortable despite being in a drow city for the first time, his posture open and unguarded. "What about?"

"Whether or not your daughter will do that eyebrow thing that Duskryn women apparently do," he said with a chuckle, rubbing at the stubble on his chin that was rapidly turning into a short beard. He didn't mind that it was growing out, but he would probably need to neaten it up if he was to keep looking well-groomed.

"I presume you have a preference?" Lirayne said, raising an eyebrow. It was the exact expression he had been thinking of and the paladin grinned despite himself.

"I hope so. It's very fetching on her mother."

Lirayne pursed her lips as if in disapproval, but her eyes were bright with amusement. "So paladins can be charming after all. Who knew?" she said, opening her book again even though she had completely forgotten where she was on the page. Galen's compliments were endearing despite her best efforts to shrug them off, likely because he offered them without expecting anything in return. A lot of times the lack of hidden strings left her off guard, but she was slowly learning to appreciate it for what it was.

Sometimes it was hard not to wonder if he found it frustrating that things could never go beyond this. Not when they were each standing in the middle of opposing worlds that had happened to collide in a less violent way just this once. But so far she had left the issue alone because they were both aware of the boundary and neither was stupid enough to try crossing it.

"Oh, so I'm charming now? Here I thought I was an idiot."

Lirayne hid her smile behind the book. "You say that as if the two are mutually exclusive," she drawled, meeting his gaze with a wink. Here, behind closed doors, she could get away with saying and doing things that she would never dare to do in front of an audience. No one would believe Galen if he told them anyway.

He feigned an injured look. "Cess and Val are rubbing off on you."

She just hummed her acknowledgment, tracing her finger along the binding as she buried her nose in the slim volume again. The book was well loved, its leather cover worn and plenty of pages dog-eared from holding places when she couldn't find something to slip between the pages.

Galen had been about to respond when a harsh, military knock sounded on the door. Both of them started at the sudden intrusion of reality and Lirayne's whole demeanor changed. She snapped the book closed with a sharp movement, her relaxed posture and content smile vanishing in favor of the tenseness of a woman ready for combat. "That's the Patron," she said, rising and heading for the door.

The paladin steeled himself for a fight, knowing that a visit like this was probably not a good thing. Lirayne certainly didn't look thrilled. He didn't have his armor on, but he had his sword and shield with him. They were on the low table less than a foot away. Granted, he didn't necessarily need them. Even the Patron, who was unquestionably a brute and a large man for a drow, had nothing on Galen's tall, broad-shouldered build.

The priestess crossed her arms in irritation when the Patron stepped in as soon as the door opened. He hadn't even noticed Galen, clearly too absorbed in his own towering rage. "Yes, please, come in," she muttered under her breath. It was better to push this straight into a confrontation than let it build on his terms, so she raised her voice to an audible level. "Did you want something, Zekatar, or is this because you missed me?"

As grim and perpetually displeased as ever, the scarred male glared at his daughter. With Lirayne he did not fear retribution nearly as much as he did with Zesstra and Siniira. "What in the Demonweb were you thinking, bringing Valyne back?" he demanded, clearly struggling to keep his voice down at an appropriate level. "Do you have a death wish?"

"I could ask you the same thing, male," Lirayne snapped, tension coiling in her muscles as though she was preparing to lunge at him. Her hand had fallen to her snake whip which was writhing and hissing to express its mistress's displeasure. She might have slipped into inexplicable fondness near a worshipper of another god, but that did not mean she had lost her backbone. "Would you care to continue in that tone?"

He took the not so subtle hint and pulled in a deep, growling breath to calm himself. "She is your rival, Lirayne, your enemy, and you have all but handed her the throne," he said in a much more measured tone.

As much as she had always wanted his approval, this was a particular area where she was not about to budge. Not after everything that had happened over the past few months. And there was going to be no way to change his mind about the situation, not when he was so fixated on the idea of one of his daughters taking the throne. "I have no obligation to justify anything to you," she said harshly, matching his glare with an equally ferocious one. He might have stepped off his assault, but he hadn't backed down.

"You-"

"I am a priestess of Lloth and you will remember that when you speak to me," Lirayne all but hissed, a spell crackling to life in her hand. That got his attention in a way the snake whip hadn't.

Grudgingly, Zekatar lowered his burning eyes to the floor. If looks could kill, the flagstones would have been dead a thousand times over. "Did the Matron order this?" he asked.

"No, I did it out of the kindness of my heart," she said with a biting sarcasm. A lie, of course, but she wasn't going to tell the Patron that it had been her idea even though she almost enjoyed the idea of sending him into an apoplectic fit.

"Do you know why?" he probed, his tone and posture far more respectful.

"The demonic army building at Niar'hannenlyn probably has something to do with it," she said, her tone positively acidic as she kept her glare focused on her father. If she hadn't been so relaxed with Galen, she might have actually used the spell that was still at her fingertips. Her patience was exceedingly thin at the moment. "And I was all too happy to agree. The position of Matron is less appealing with Menzoberranzan and the House are burning down around it. But if you disagree, I'm certain Zesstra would welcome your support. She so adores you."

Zekatar's lip curled, but he allowed the rebuke to go unanswered. Lirayne's temper was not something to be toyed with. Particularly not with the change that had come over his daughter in the past few months. She was not quite a stranger, but there was something jarringly unfamiliar about the way she was speaking to him now. Lirayne was...controlled. Her anger was no longer directed at anyone and everything. Clearly she had made an effort to restrain and focus it, which made her even more dangerous. He did not fancy being on the receiving end.

"You're pregnant," he said after a pause, still not looking up.

"Congratulations, you noticed," Lirayne said flatly. She knew it surprised him even if he wasn't showing it. After all, she had never expressed any interest in a consort or children before. To suddenly have a child on the way was at the very least disconcerting. And she would never, ever tell him how it had come to happen. The less he knew, the better.

Zekatar had no problem with estimation. Lirayne was clearly far enough along that she had been with child and probably aware of it before she left. That at least explained part of her strange behavior from before she left. "That's all you intend to say on the subject?"

"To you, certainly," the cleric said. Her jaw was beginning to ache from clenching her teeth together. "Leave, Zekatar. Now."

"You cannot become Matron without me, Lirayne. I am not leaving until I receive an explanation," he said, head jerking up. One of his hands moved forward and then suddenly he was slammed back against the door by a bulky human warrior, a pale-skinned arm across his windpipe.

"The lady told you to go," Galen ground out in Undercommon, a good head taller than the powerfully built drow and certainly more muscular. He was glad he had the element of surprise and that he at least understood Lirayne's order to the Patron. The paladin knew a bully and a brute when he saw one. He had no problem leaning on the scarred male's windpipe a little when Zekatar looked like he was about to lash out.

"I will leave, _rivvil_, but this isn't over," Zekatar rasped out, a little winded from how hard they'd collided with the wall.

"It is between you and Lirayne. Between you and me? We're just getting started, Patron," Galen said roughly before releasing the drow male.

Zekatar left without a word, his crimson eyes communicating silently that the challenge was very much accepted. The paladin dusted himself off and turned around to see Lirayne smiling ever so faintly at him. "You okay?" he asked anyway, as if needing reassurance that she was actually fine. He didn't like anyone forcing her to suddenly revert to the hateful, vicious woman that he'd seen just now. As far as he was concerned, the priestess was always lovely, but he much preferred her without the bitterness.

"Charming and useful. I knew I kept you around for a reason," the cleric said. She looked him over, silently checking for injuries. There were no visible ones, which meant Zekatar really had been caught off guard. "You didn't have to intervene."

Galen shrugged, a hint of color staining his cheeks when he saw her expression turn appreciative. "Seemed appropriate. He'll be trouble later."

Lirayne sighed. "Trust me, I know."


End file.
