Realms of the Underdark - J. Robert King [6]
A hot light ignited in the eyes of her daughters, and Malice knew she had chosen well. Being Eighth House meant gaining a seat on the ruling council-a seat that one of her daughters would one day inherit. A smile coiled about the corners of Malice's dark red lips. Desire was a stronger motivator than punishment. Now Vierna and Maya gazed at her with eager expressions.
Malice raised a hand to her throat. "I am thirsty. I require wine."
Throughout the discussion, her two sons had stood in silence to one side. It was not a male's position to speak concerning house affairs unless directly asked. At eleven years, and by far the younger of the two, Drizzt had only recently become page prince, and was not yet a true noble. Thus, serving the matron mother was his duty. However, the boy seemed not to have heard her words; he continued to gaze at his feet, as a page prince was taught to do in the presence of nobles. After an uncomfortable moment, Dinin, who was elderboy of House Do'Urden, boxed Drizzt on the ear, jerking the boy out of his stupor.
"You heard the matron mother," Dinin hissed. "She requires wine."
The boy Drizzt blinked and gave a jerky nod. He hurried to a gilded table upon which rested crystal glasses and a decanter of dark mushroom wine.
Malice did not wait, but went on. "The Festival of the Founding approaches, the day on which we recall the founding of Menzoberranzan over five thousand years ago. Do any of you know what is to happen on that day?"
"I know."
All stared in shock at the boy Drizzt. He stood before Malice, holding out the cup of wine. For Dinin, a full-grown elf, to speak without leave would have been a grave offense. For a page prince, it was unthinkable. However, before Malice could react, the boy continued.
"On the Festival of the Founding, the Spider Queen is supposed to appear somewhere in the city." Drizzt frowned as he thought out the details. "Only she appears in disguise. I suppose that's so she can see what the drow really think about her."
Briza was the first to recover. She lunged forward, gripping her snake-headed whip. "You idiot!" she snarled. "That's only an old story." She raised the whip. Drizzt stared at her in fear but did not flinch.
A hand shot out, halting the whip's descent.
"It happens to be a true story, you fool," Malice hissed, her rage now directed at her daughter.
Briza stared in dull astonishment.
Malice made a sound of disgust. "Perhaps you were given the mantle of high priestess too soon, Briza, if a child – and a boy child at that – knows more than you."
Briza started to stammer an apology, but Malice turned away. She bent over the boy, gripping his chin tightly in her hand, lifting his head with cruel force. The cup fell from his fingers, and wine spilled across the floor like dark blood. She gazed into the boy's eyes, holding them by force of will, so they could not look elsewhere. His eyes were an unusual color. Lavender. As always, Malice wondered at this. What did they see that other eyes did not?
"Tell me what else you know about the Festival," she commanded.
The boy stared at her in mute terror. She tightened her grip, her fingers digging into his flesh.
"Tell me!"
Despite his fear, Drizzt managed to speak. "I don't really know anything else," he breathed. "Except that on the festival day, you have to be nice to everybody, even goblins and bugbears, because there's no telling what shape Lloth might put on. That's all."
She searched his strange purple eyes a moment more, then nodded, satisfied he spoke truth. He was peculiar, this youngest son of hers, and difficult to train in the most basic matters of behavior and respect. However, there was a power in him. She sensed it. Right now it was unshaped. But if she could forge it with her will and temper it with the proper experiences, he would be a powerful weapon in her hands one day.
Malice released the boy. Drizzt stared in confusion until Dinin, face angry, motioned for him to return to his side. No doubt Dinin would punish the boy later for embarrassing him with disobedience,