Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [73]
Q’arlynd shivered.
Behind Rowaan, Leliana ended her conversation with the other priestess and walked toward them. Q’arlynd bowed as she approached.
“What are you two talking about?” Leliana asked.
Rowaan turned, smiling. “He was asking about Eilistraee’s domain and what it’s like to dance with the goddess.”
Leliana cocked an eyebrow and turned to Q’arlynd. “Why? Are you planning on dying some time soon?”
He rose from his bow. “Not if I can help it, Lady. Eilistraee willing, it will be a while yet before I set foot in her domain.” He gave them one of his most boyish smiles. “I’m not much of a dancer, you see.”
The remark had the desired effect. Rowaan laughed out loud.
Leliana, however, did not.
“I was thinking about my sister, actually,” Q’arlynd hurriedly continued. “I wanted to know what happened to her after her death.”
Leliana’s expression softened. “Don’t worry—you’ll see her again in Svartalfheim some day.” She paused. “If you remain faithful to your vows, that is.”
Q’arlynd bowed. “I will, Lady.” It was a promise he wasn’t likely to keep, but that wouldn’t matter until he was dead. As long as he still drew breath, he could always choose a different patron deity, if things didn’t work out with Eilistraee’s high priestess.
It was time to get moving on that.
He caught Leliana’s eye. “You told me a meeting with your high priestess would be possible.” He gestured at the bier in the tree. “Now that the funeral rites are over, I was wondering when I might meet Lady Qilué. I understand she’s in your chief temple—the Promenade?”
Leliana shook her head. “We can’t spare anyone to take you there. Not right now.”
“I can teleport, remember?” Q’arlynd reminded her. “I don’t need an escort. Just describe this Promenade for me, and I’ll make my way there myself.”
“No,” Leliana said firmly.
“Have you at least told Lady Qilué I’d like to meet with her?”
Leliana threw up her hands. “When would I have had the chance to do that, between battling driders and dealing with our dead?”
“The drider attack was more than a tenday ago,” Q’arlynd continued, using the surface dwellers’ term for the passage of time. He understood the delay—the priestesses had been busy strengthening their defenses in the aftermath of the attack—but it still irritated him. “When were you going to tell Lady Qilué that I’d like to meet with her?”
Leliana folded her arms. “When I’m good and ready—and not a moment before.”
Q’arlynd fumed, wishing he had disposed of Leliana when he’d had the chance. Clearly, she’d changed her mind about arranging a meeting with the high priestess, and since she was the one who had taken charge of him, back at the portal, she had the final say over what duties he would have among the faithful—as well as whether he might move on to another shrine or temple. Q’arlynd, however, had higher aspirations than sitting in some mist-choked forest, listening to the females sing. He wanted to be at the heart of things, at the seat of power, which would only be possible if he secured an audience with Qilué. That was how a male succeeded in life, by attaching himself to a powerful female and serving her well.
“It’s best for now if you stay here, Q’arlynd,” Rowaan said. “The drider attack cut our numbers nearly in half. If the judicator returns, we’ll need your spells.”
Q’arlynd inclined his head in a show of modesty, inwardly gritting his teeth.
“And if Vhaeraun’s assassins show up here—”
“Rowaan!” Leliana snapped, rounding on her daughter. “That’s not something lay worshipers need to trouble themselves with.”
Q’arlynd blinked. Rowaan had obviously just said something he wasn’t meant to hear. It almost sounded as if the priestesses were expecting the Nightshadows to strike.
“But Q’arlynd is one of us now,” Rowaan protested.