Glass shattered against a stone wall, ruby colored wine splashing to the floor along with the fine fragments. "This foolishness has gone on long enough! I am responsible for her, not you, and I will not have you dictating to me how I should handle it!" Lirayne snarled in a fury, her glare directed at her older sister.
On the other side of the door, listening in and watching through a crack, Val winced slightly and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself for comfort. She was a rawboned child, wiry by build and average in height with eyes like polished steel. But she wanted to know how much more her aching, beaten back was in for.
The noble daughters of House Duskryn were oft remarked upon as studies in contrast. Valyne was the youngest and current point of contention, unremarkable in her childhood save for her usual muteness and frequent disputes with her erstwhile wean-mother. Lirayne (who had been saddled with that odious duty) was almost completely made of a fiery temper held in check only by external authority-second in birth and forever second in her mother's eyes. Zesstra was better known as the dangerous one, the eldest: thoughtful, cautious, humble, and ever useful to those around her. Hers was a precarious place with her mother stepping down on her hands lest she try to climb up and take the throne, and her siblings pulling to bring her down. Frightful intellect hidden behind pleasantries and dutiful obedience was the only thing that kept her on top.
And Lirayne knew that conversation was a battleground she could never win against her sister. Even devils might sign away their souls to the charming but invariably inscrutable priestess sitting in front of her with chin resting in a cupped palm. "This morning, she stumbled through every verse of a daily devotion, which I've heard her recite picture perfect before. The Goddess's names were mangled!" Lirayne snapped, knowing she was starting to sound foolish but powerless to stop her words.
Zesstra chuckled, flint eyes full of a mirth that seemed terribly wholesome for a drowess-people were laughed with by the priestess, not at. It put them terribly off balance, a feeling Lirayne despised more than wounded pride. "As I can imagine. The poor thing is terrified of earning a beating, and that makes her stammer. And you responded to this how?"
"A lash for every word she'd butchered," Lirayne said, leaning back and running her fingers over her snake whip. It was easily her favorite weapon, and many had learned to fear it-male drow, servants, pedestrians in her way on the street, and now the youngest child. "Without teeth. I'm not unreasonable."
"Your restraint does you credit, sister," Zesstra said. Her face was softly angular, lips full and now pursed a little as she considered the situation.
"How else will she learn?" Lirayne snapped defensively, always suspicious that Zesstra was having a joke at her expense.
"I find she remembers instruction better with simple firmness and directness. A few stern words do as much, if not more than that whip. But then again, that is an area where I think we must agree to disagree," the elder priestess said smoothly. "You're at your best in the field, Lirayne. Spiteful, confident to nigh arrogance, ferocious, and quite cunning. But the delicate and subtle still elude you."
"Well, I yield the floor to you, silver-tongue," Lirayne muttered. She was still wearing her armor from patrol and she would be the first to admit that she did much prefer battle to anything at home except maybe visiting the Arena. If she couldn't engage in combat, she sated her destructive nature by watching others fight. "Shall we see what corner she's skulked into?"
"I suppose that's for the best."
Val knew a warning when she heard one, and shot up. She raced barefoot down the hall without looking back, rounding a few corners and landing back at the candlestick she was supposed to be cleaning near altar in her family's chapel of Lloth. She snatched up the foul-smelling polish and rag, scrubbing away with fierce intent.
It was only moments later when her sisters entered. Lirayne fired the first salvo. "I see you can do something you're told," she said scornfully.
"I'll handle her for the day, sister. Go," Zesstra said with a wave of her hand. "Get some sparring in."
Lirayne wasted no time, leaving the two alone in the chapel. Val frowned intently and continued her ferocious scrubbing.
"I know you were listening," Zesstra said with a hint of a smile, sitting down on the steps leading up to the altar. "Do you remember the words to the morning devotion?"
"Yes," Val said quietly.
"Good."
There was a long pause and Val slowly finished her task, then settled down next to Zesstra on the steps. "She's going to find out," the girl said quietly, looking down at the steps as she held her hands together. "It's getting stronger."
"Magic is magic, Valyne," Zesstra said calmly, taking her youngest sister's small hand and holding it palm up. "Perhaps no one else sees it, but it is still a gift."
Frost began to creep out across the surface of Valyne's palm involuntarily, and then she clenched her hand into a tight fist. She looked at the priestess with eyes old beyond her years. "You only say that because you want me to like you, so I'll help you become Matron," she said skeptically. "Mourndar told me. He also said I'd have been better off dead than what I am."
Zesstra rolled her eyes. "He is an ass these days, isn't he? Ah, youth. You've learned not to trust. A fine start. But tell me, if all that is true, what are you going to do about it?"
"Be better than Mourndar," Val said firmly, sweeping her ivory hair back out of her face. It was already growing thick and long since the first fireball incident. She'd concealed it by pretending that she'd decided to lop off her own hair one evening. "He has to pour over books just to cast a wisp of flame. I don't."
Her older sister's laughter was musical, soft and pleasant in the still chapel air. "I see Lirayne's lessons have made something of an impact despite what she claims."
"I'm not a fool," Val said, hugging her knees to her chest as she listened.
"But if you're bright, you'll pretend to be," Zesstra said with a gleam in her flint eyes. "You want to live a long life, Valyne? Stammer through your devotions. Be mute in front of the Matron. Struggle with books and hide your true gift. Be harmless, and people will ignore you. That ignorance is power."
"You do that," the girl said critically, examining her older sister closely. She had learned to be quiet, to listen, to be unseen. She knew that cruelty was not beyond the scope of Zesstra's capabilities. The same woman famous for her disarming charm and thoughtful, almost passive approach was responsible for extortion, espionage, framings, abduction, and murder. It confused her, yes, but she hadn't lived this long by disbelieving what was right in front of her.
"Different steps, but the same song and dance, yes." Footsteps approaching cut off their conversation and Zesstra quickly stood. "That will be the Matron. I imagine Mourndar surrendered your little secret. Failed your tests for divine casting, did you?"
"Am I going to die?" Val asked softly.
"No. But you will wish you had for some time," Zesstra said. Blunt honesty was sometimes required.
The doors flung open explosively and the Matron stalked in, dragging their brother. Her snake whip was curled around his throat, just tight enough to choke him but never enough for him to pass out. "You knew," Matron Siniira said flatly as her eyes focused on her eldest. She flicked her wrist, uncoiling the whip from her son's throat. "And you concealed this from me?"
"I thought Mourndar had told you. It seemed better that it was broached by House Wizard," the priestess said smoothly, clasping her hands behind her back. To the side, Val stood with a rigid fear.
"Do you comprehend what manner of affront it is to have a daughter who dabbles in the magic of males?" Siniira snarled fiercely. Her heel found Mourndar's kidney and pressed threateningly. "Why did you say nothing, male?"
"Perhaps because he foresaw your reaction being this?" Zesstra redirected gently. Had it been anyone else, Siniira might have lashed out. But while she had always been described as having the maternal instincts of a punching dagger, the Matron of House Duskryn had a fondness for her eldest that exceeded normal expectations.
"If she cannot be a priestess, she is no more valuable to me than a male, and we already have a House Wizard," the Matron said instead, full lips thinning into a flat line that spoke of displeasure. She looked down at Mourndar. "As worthless as he is."
"Then let her pursue it. Send her to Sorcere when she's of the right age. What have we to lose? She will either die or become useful," Zesstra said. Her motives were less than altruistic, of course-Mourndar had not shown his talent so early. A talented mage would still keep Lirayne's attention focused firmly downward."
"There is...merit to your suggestion," Siniira said grudgingly. "But Sorcere is no small investment, and I do not place bets I am liable to lose. Tell Lirayne to redouble her efforts. I do not care what is broken."
Val remained rooted to the spot even after the Matron left. It was her first day in a life without hiding what she was, though she did not know precisely what that meant.