• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1328 0

talented ambassadors, had begun the task of turning a barbarian hunter of the Shadow Marches into a proper lady of Deneith, Ashi had chafed at her mentor’s lessons. Particularly those on dress and style. What was the use, she had thought then, of knowing which kinds of sleeves and collars were in fashion, or of knowing that yellow didn’t suit her complexion? Understanding the value of what Vounn taught her had come slowly. Too slowly maybe, Ashi suspected. She’d eventually made her peace with Vounn, and they’d found a respect for each other, but there were some things Ashi hadn’t really found a true appreciation for until after Vounn’s death. The value of masking her true emotions. The necessity of submitting to demands in the short term with an eye on the future.

The potential power in her own appearance.

She emerged from her chambers as the sun set, striding past Woshaar without pause. Her escort fell in close behind her, and turning her head slightly, Ashi caught him giving her surreptitious glances. He seemed to carry himself with more pride than she’d seen before as well, as if suddenly she was worth keeping watch over. He wasn’t the only one whose reaction changed at the sight of her. Servants looked away from her, turning their faces to the ground. Hobgoblin warriors whom she recognized from their service around Khaar Mbar’ost glanced at her, and then looked back and stared. She passed a warlord, Iizan of the wealthy Ghaal Sehn clan, on his way to the feast and deep in conversation with another clan chief. Iizan actually paused, mouth closed, eyes wide, to watch her go by. Ashi raised her head and swept on, up the broad stairs of Khaar Mbar’ost to the hall of honor, the vast chamber that ran from one side of the fortress to the other.

She wore the clothes that Vounn had given her for their first presentation to Haruuc only three months before. A gown suitable for a feast in the Five Nations would do little to impress the goblins of Darguun, so the outfit resembled a parade uniform with polished boots, trim trousers, and a cropped jacket bearing the crest of House Deneith in silver thread. Her sword hung from a belt likewise trimmed with silver. But tonight the Darguuls weren’t the only ones she wanted to impress, and Ashi had taken more care with her hair than she’d ever taken in her life. Washed and brushed, it shone like old gold. She’d pulled it back in a style that was stern but not severe. Commanding, Vounn had called it. Ashi had even raided the small pots of cosmetics her mentor had left. The patterns of the dragonmark that curled over her cheeks made rouge ridiculous, but a light hand with powders around her eyes gave her gaze a startling intensity.

She was a lady of Deneith, and none of the envoys of the other dragonmarked houses could dare deny it.

Ashi paused in the doorway of the hall of honor just long enough for those near the door to get a good look at her—and for her to scan the vast room for familiar faces. The hall was crowded. A long table ran much of the hall’s length, taking up space, but even so there were more bodies present than could have sat at it. That was tradition at hobgoblin feasts, she’d learned. Important guests sat and were served. Less important guests lingered on the fringes.

She spotted Pater d’Orien and Dannel d’Cannith. They would make a good place to start her inquiries. Ashi took a goblet of wine from a passing servant and moved into the crowd to join them.

She didn’t get far. A hand reached out from among the shifting bodies and caught the hem of her jacket. “You’ve put an effort into looking your best tonight, Ashi,” said Midian.

Disgust mingled with fear raced through her, but she kept it from her face. Did Midian somehow know what she was up to? Had the puppet already told his master? Ashi forced herself to answer. “Tariic commanded my presence, and I am the face of Deneith in Rhukaan Draal, aren’t I?”

She poured acid into the words as if her appearance was just some attempt to defy Tariic’s power. It seemed to work. Midian’s eyes narrowed briefly, and he gave