Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [84]
He tried a dispelling, but the whirling blades remained. He tried a second spell, but the magical armor that would have protected him from the blades failed to appear. Not wanting to press his luck—the priestess was watching his every move—he refrained from further spellcasting. His chest was tight with tension.
“Who … are you?”
She smiled. “Someone you’ve been hoping to meet. Lady Qilué Veladorn, high priestess of Eilistraee and Chosen of Mystra.”
Q’arlynd’s breath caught. He was certain, deep in his gut, that the high priestess was going to kill him. That she hadn’t done so already was only because she wanted to question him. His best chance lay in appearing as compliant as possible in the hope that she would show lenience and kill him swiftly. He tried to crouch, in order to prostrate himself on the ground and barely avoided a nasty gash on the forehead. He settled for a partial bow instead.
“Lady Qilué, my profound apologies for attacking you,” he said. “Had I known who you were, I never would have dared.”
She made no comment, just stood there as the silver sparkle gradually faded from her skin and hair. Q’arlynd kept his eyes firmly on the ground, staring at a patch of sand beside her feet.
“Leliana told me about last night’s attack,” Qilué said. “She says you made it possible for the Nightshadow to enter Rowaan’s room.”
Q’arlynd clenched his jaw. His stomach felt cold and hollow. Best to get this over with. He wondered where his soul would wind up once the priestess killed him. Probably in the Demonweb Pits, where Lolth’s demonic minions would ensure that he received endless torment for his fall from grace, brief though it had been.
“I did dispel the glyph on her door, it’s true,” he said slowly, “but not for the reason you think. I simply wanted to talk to Rowaan—to give her some information about the Nightshadows that I thought your priestesses might find useful. I changed my mind and spoke to Leliana instead.”
“Why?”
“Leliana’s a higher-ranking priestess. I thought she would offer me a greater reward.” He spread his hands—and winced, as a blade nicked his finger. “It’s as simple as that.”
“I believe you.”
Q’arlynd glanced up. “You do?” Hope flared in him like a bright flame.
Qilué smiled. She gestured, and the whirling curtain of blades that had surrounded him was gone. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you,” she said. “One favor. You can say yes or no to it of your own accord, but if the answer is yes, I will place a geas on you that compels you to fulfill it. Do you understand?”
Q’arlynd nodded. He did indeed. He’d seen the effects of a geas firsthand long ago. One of Lolth’s priestesses had cast it upon a House boy, compelling him to clean her boots each night by licking them with his tongue. Then she’d walked through the filth of the lizard pens. The boy had refused to clean the boots—and had quickly sickened and died, the magic of the geas hollowing him out from within.
His lips parted—he’d been about to flippantly ask what would happen if he said no to her request—then he realized there was really only one answer to her question. “What task must I perform, Lady?”
“You were once a Nightshadow.”
“A petitioner, nothing more,” he said carefully. “I never wore the mask.”
“You attended their meetings.” She switched to silent speech. You know their passwords.
Ah, so that was what she wanted. A spy. “I know the ones they used in Ched Nasad, decades ago.”
Show me one.
He demonstrated one for her: fists drawing apart—as if stretching an assassin’s cord—then suddenly flipping upside down, fingers curled, in the sign for a dead spider.
“Do you know what soultheft is?” Qilué asked.
Q’arlynd nodded. He had indeed heard of it. His brother had been stupid enough to boast that he’d one day kill a matron mother and steal her soul—preferably, their own mother. “It’s a powerful spell. Done using Vhaeraun’s