Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [85]
Qilué moved closer. “Do you think you could pass as a Nightshadow? Could you fool them into thinking you’re one of their own?”
He smiled, his eyes still respectfully on the ground. “I believe so, Lady.”
Qilué and lifted his chin with a finger. She stared into his eyes. “Will you?”
Q’arlynd was forced to meet her eyes. He saw enormous strength of will there but also something more, something that tempered this strength. He knew, suddenly and with certainty, that she’d meant it when she said she’d let him choose whether to perform this “favor” of hers. She wasn’t commanding him. She was asking him. A female, asking a male.
He didn’t even have to think about his reply. It was his chance to prove himself, to serve not just a powerful priestess but a powerful mage—one who was a Chosen of the goddess of magic. A rush of excitement filled him. If he’d been of a religious mind, he might have whispered a prayer of thanks. To … somebody.
“I am yours to command, Lady Qilué.”
“A favor,” she reminded him, her hand falling away from his face.
Q’arlynd smiled and cocked his head, a playful gesture. He was at ease, on familiar ground. “Of course. A favor. What is it?”
Qilué’s expression tightened. “Five nights ago, a Nightshadow attacked our shrine in the Forest of Lethyr. He was attempting to steal the soul of one of our priestesses.”
“He did not succeed?”
“No.”
The answer had been abrupt. There was more to the story than this, but whatever it was, Qilué wasn’t going to tell him.
“There have been other attacks on our priestesses,” she continued. “Other soulthefts.”
Q’arlynd listened in silence, thinking of Rowaan. He felt a twinge of something. Guilt, he supposed.
“The males committing them are led by a Nightshadow named Malvag. They plan to use the soul-charged masks to open a gate between Vhaeraun’s domain and Eilistraee’s, so that Vhaeraun can slay our goddess.”
Q’arlynd whistled softly. “Is that possible? The gate, I mean. I’m sure Eilistraee can take care of herself.”
“To open such a gate, the Nightshadows would need to work high magic—something that requires complete cooperation between spellcasters and complete faith in one another.” Qilué gave a tight smile. “Can you honestly imagine Nightshadows trusting each other?”
Q’arlynd chuckled. “Hardly likely.”
“Even if they fail to conjure a gate, the attempt will consume the souls of the priestesses who were killed. I don’t want that to happen. I want the magic that’s binding their souls to the masks dispelled, and the priestesses freed—and that means stopping Malvag.”
“You want him killed?”
“If he can be.”
The “if” gave Q’arlynd pause, but only for a moment. He could guess what was coming. “You want me to impersonate the Nightshadow who was killed in the Forest of Lethyr.”
Qilué nodded. “We know his name: Szorak, of House Auzkovyn. He was one of three Nightshadows who joined Malvag’s scheme. He’s the only one from House Auzkovyn. The other two were from House Jaelre, and it’s doubtful they knew him well. Neither they nor Malvag himself have seen Szorak without his mask. You’re about Szorak’s height and build, and your eyes are the same color. We won’t need to use a glamor on you, and we know much about Szorak, since his sister was one who converted to our faith.”
As Qilué said this, a pained expression came to her eyes. There was a story there, but this was not the time to ask about it.
“So far so good,” Q’arlynd said, “but if I show up without a soul-charged mask—”
“We will provide a mask,” Qilué said. “Not Szorak’s, but one that looks just like it. A square of cloth, created by polymorphing a gem—one that contains the body and soul of a priestess who has volunteered to risk herself in this venture.”
Q’arlynd stroked his chin nervously. He was being asked to risk just as much. “Won’t the Nightshadows be able to tell I’m not one of them?” he asked. “I’ve sworn myself to Eilistraee—I’ve taken the sword-oath.”
“You spoke the words.” She touched fingers to his chest. “But your heart …” The fingers lifted. “One day,