Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [51]
Yes, perhaps she • could have her journey into the light, but at the cost of her very identity. Dark-elven magic was more than a collection of spells and powers and weapons. It was her passion and her heritage. It flowed through her blood; it shaped her every plan and act. With it, she was drow. Without it, what would she be?
Like one asleep, Liriel rose from her table and picked up the scrying bowl. She tipped it, letting the water slowly spill out onto the carpeted floor. Then she hurled the scrying bowl aside and flung herself facedown on her bed.
For the second time in her life, Liriel wished she could weep. The first time was the day she had lost her mother. Now she mourned the loss of an open sea, and a newborn dream.
Chapter 8
THE DARK MAIDEN
Liriel's sleepless night left her heavy-eyed and short of temper. Her mood did not improve as the day wore on, not even during the advanced class on the lower planes. Shakti Hunzrin was there, heavily doused with perfume to disguise the lingering scent of the pasture, but her usual scowl had been replaced by a smug little smirk, and she followed Liriel's every move with measuring, speculative eyes. The stout priestess was plotting something, of that Liriel had no doubt. Although the young Baenre was not overly concerned by this, she was in no mood to play this particular game.
Nor did she have time. Mistress Zeld seemed devoted to filling her new student's every moment with two different activities, preferably on opposite sides of the Academy. Liriel's scant leisure time had been taken away so she might attend still more classes, and even her meals were henceforth to be taken in the company of a tutor. Being lectured on the intricacies of clerical protocol was enough to destroy even Liriel's appetite. She pushed aside her food untasted, although the entree-spiced, steamed snails-was one of her favorite dishes. Liriel literally had to run to keep up with her new schedule, and by the end of the day her arms were heaped high with spell scrolls and lore books to be learned by the following round of classes.
Not one to take abuse silently, Liriel made her way to Mistress Zeld's study, where she voiced her concerns with her usual vigor.
Mistress Zeld sat in cold silence until the Baenre princess had finished ranting. "The matron mistress bade me to make you into a high priestess in record time. I have my orders," she said in a soft, menacing tone, "and you have yours."
There was little Liriel could say to counter that, so she rose to leave. She knew Zeld suspected her of the pranks, and she had thought the mistress was merely trying to keep her too busy to indulge in such mischief. If that had been the case, a little reminder of Liriel's family name and paternity would probably have been enough to bring the mistress back in line. But since this directive had been handed down from Matron Triel, there was no way Liriel could turn it aside.
Fine, Liriel concluded bitterly as she strode toward her room, heavily laden with her assignments. I'll become a high priestess before I'm forty-five, for whatever good that will do. I'll be dead of exhaustion, of course, but at least House Baenre can have the satisfaction of cremating me with one of those snake whips in my hand!
By the time she returned to the dormitory, most of the students were already asleep. The door to her room was intact and locked shut, but the faint, mingled