Chapter 2: Secrets

Ilyrana jolted awake, the worn, thin sheets sticking to her sweat-drenched skin as she shot up into a sitting position. Her stomach heaved, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, ignoring the taste of blood from the cuts she had made in her palms during the dream. Staggering to her feet, her muscles on fire from being tensed for so long, she stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time to vomit up the wine and bread she had had for dinner two hours ago.

She sat there for a moment, on her knees, both elbows propped on the toilet seat and the heels of her hands pressing painfully into her closed eyes as she waited to see if her stomach was going to sit still.

A minute passed. Then another.

With a deep breath, Ilyrana pushed herself to her feet, placed one hand on the mirror above the sink, and leaned forward to fumble with the tap, her eyes still shut. With one hand, she splashed water onto her face and rinsed her mouth out, never opening her eyes, never looking into the mirror.

It was the stinging in the palm pressed against the glass that caused her eyes to reflexively open and glance up.

Anger and loathing roared through her as her reflection glared back at her. That face. Her face. The too big eyes, doe eyes, but whiskey-colored, made her look young and innocent. She supposed she was young, still, having only seen some twenty-something seasons. She didn't know, of course, exactly how old she was. Most of the bhaalspawn didn't, either because they were born in the temples, where it was their sacrificial deaths that were celebrated, not their births, or, most commonly, it was because the rate at which they aged was so abnormal. For Ilyrana, it was both these reasons. As an elf of some twenty or so years, she should be a toddler still, not reaching maturity until her sixties, but all of the bhaalspawn, regardless of race, aged at about the same rate as regular humans did.

Pale skin, and delicately pointed ears, the tips of which just barely peeked out from her long almost-black hair. Scars littered her body, scratches on one side of her neck by a gibberling, a torn bite from a vampire who had missed her jugular between her neck and left shoulder, the one that curved around the right side of her abdomen, the X's down her spine, and the mottled cold burns on her thighs.

It was her face, though, that she despised. Not the scars or any other physical attribute or flaw. Her face, that was, for no known reason, so similar to the striking queen of her race, was what she could not stand to see. It reminded her too much of the times she was forced to be Elliseme.

The woman in the mirror snarled, her eyes glowing brightly for a second, before she struck the glass with a closed fist. The mirror shattered. A few shards clinked into the porcelain sink. Now, there was a spiderweb of cracks spreading out from where her face had been.

There were many mirrors scattered around Amn, and other regions, that were similarly broken. Almost every room of every inn she had stayed in was left with most of its reflective surfaces marred in one way or another.

Ilyrana washed the blood and glass from her knuckles, wrapped a hand towel around them, turned, took one step back toward the bedroom, and froze.

Her eyes flared into golden light, this time not from a strong emotion, not from her rage, but from the other half of her soul that was two rooms down the hall. She felt a brief moment of vertigo as his half plucked against hers, verified her location, and withdrew, not unlike a tuning fork humming from being struck. Her eyes faded back to their normal color.

Ilyrana sprang towards her door, hand towel fluttering forgotten to the floor, as she reached to ensure the locks were in place. She froze again, as the futility of what she was doing sank in. Something between a sigh and a growl escaped her lips as she angrily began unlocking the door in jerky, barely controlled motions. There was no point in trying to keep him out. He was coming, she knew it, and he knew she knew it. What should concern her was what all had he figured out from what he saw?

That he had seen her dream, dreamt it just as vividly as she had, was certain. She could taste that knowledge when their soul briefly reconnected. Her heart, which was only just starting to settle back into a healthy rhythm, began pounding yet again.

So, so much information in that dream. So much that she had never told the others. Gods, so many secrets. So much that Ilyrana couldn't even confide in her closest friend, her half-sister, Imoen. So much concerning him. Was that why he was coming? To twist the knife? That she had been dying from the pain of his death was a secret she had guarded just as fiercely as she had hidden the extent of what Irenicus had done to her. Had he seen that?!

She felt her stomach threaten to heave again as she realized that she was trapped. Not physically. Oh, she could run and avoid facing him tonight, maybe even tomorrow, as well, but the confrontation was set, there was no point in drawing it out or allowing him to mull it over. She couldn't hide, either, their shared soul meant they could check to see where the other was at any time. Just as they could get an idea of what the other was feeling, as long as their inner shields were down. No, she was trapped by the favor she owed him.

Yaga-Shura had been a half human, half fire giant, son of Bhaal. Nigh unkillable, he, and his armies, had laid waste to Saradush, a city that was held by Gromnir, a half-orc Bhaalspawn. A city that had also, coincidentally, taken in hundreds of bhaalspawn refugees just before it came under siege. Those bhaalspawn who didn't have much, or any, power derived from the taint of their father.

The fight against Yaga-Shura had been one of the most exhausting that Ilyrana had ever endured. Saradush's walls had just broken, human mercenaries and fire giants pouring inside like ants over discarded fruit. Yaga-Shura himself was still outside the city, with a number of his followers, not yet having entered, letting his soldiers slaughter Gromnir and the other Bhaalspawn

Ilyrana and her party had fallen upon the half-giant before he could join with the rest of his forces. She had climbed to the top of a supply wagon, taking out those who had remained beside him with her bow, while the others engaged the Bhaalspawn. It had taken hours to bring that monster down. Hours her companions spent dodging Yaga-Shura's horse-sized mace, striking and falling back. Hours spent emptying quiver after quiver of arrows into the waves of soldiers that had come to defend their leader, her arms and back burning from the endless repetition of knock, draw, and loose.

At the end, sensing his imminent defeat, Yaga-Shura, in one last act of desperation, charged their backline. Imoen had been slow to move out of the way, would have been crushed, dying instantly, and perhaps permanently, if Sarevok hadn't gotten in front of her and taken the giant's right leg off at the knee with one well placed, brutal swing of his greatsword.

He had saved Imoen's life, and the girl owed him for that, but she was Ilyrana's only real weakness, the one thing left that she loved, as Sarevok well knew, so Ilyrana had offered to take the debt upon herself, and unsurprisingly, he had accepted.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, willing her face to set into a mask of neutrality, her body to relax. She walked across the room, choosing to settle herself on the opposite end from the door.

She heard him, now, striding down the hall towards her room. His steps were quieter than you'd expect for a man his size, but her ears missed little. Ilyrana took another deep breath, leaned back against the wall, folded her arms, glanced at the desk that would stand between them, and her knives laid out upon it in easy reach, and went as cold as she was capable of.

The door swung open and Sarevok stepped in. She expected him to slam the door behind him, she could feel the rage pouring off him, even leaking through his mental barriers. The barely audible click as the door gently shut was somehow worse.

His dark gold eyes locked onto her and, for a second, neither moved. Then, slowly, deliberately, he began closing the distance. She watched him pause, turn to look at the shattered mirror, the light from the candles in the room reflecting off of the tattoos crisscrossed over his head and down his emotionless face, and turn back to her. She could almost see the puzzle piece falling into place. See him making the connection between the dream and the mirror. She hadn't spoken a word and already she felt as if he was beginning to understand everything she was furiously desperate to keep hidden.

It would have terrified her once, watching him stalk toward her in the small, now tiny-feeling, room, while she held no weapons, and wore no armor. Well, neither of them did, but he had a foot and a half in height on her, at least another hundred pounds of muscle, and a much farther reach. Physically, he was more powerful than she was. She had speed on him, but even then, he was faster than he had any right to be. No, she would win a physical confrontation only because of the Slayer, and they both knew it. The fact that she had won their last battle was firmly blocked from Ilyrana's mind, because the aftermath…

This wouldn't come to blows, though, she was almost sure of that. He had more to lose then she did. Death, at this point, wouldn't bother her so much. Death, again, for him, though, knowing a third chance at life was impossible, and knowing what to expect when he passed on, was something he did not want.

Sarevok stopped at the desk and rested his hands on the back of the chair pulled up to it, wrapping them around the wood. His gaze never left her, and hers didn't waver from his. They stared at one another, him a towering mass of fury barely restrained. Her a cold, emotionless statue. She was not going to break the silence. He had come to her, so she would let him open this match.

"You owe me a debt for saving that pest's worthless life, and I've come to collect," Sarevok said after a moment, his deep, caustic voice carefully controlled.

Normally, Ilyrana's hackles would have raised at the use of the words "pest" and "worthless" to describe Imoen, but she didn't react. He knew, better than the others did, that making her angry would make her talk. This was already going to be difficult, with him holding most of the cards, and, when talking with Sarevok usually made her feel like she was playing a game of chess blindfolded, forced to feel each piece on the board after every turn, trying to mark their location and remember which pieces were taken and which were still in play. So, she would try to keep her rage tightly leashed, and try to find out how much of the dream he had seen, and what he could deduce from it.

"What do you want?" Ilyrana asked.

"Do not play this game with me, girl. You know damn well why I'm here and what I want," Sarevok's voice rose and his hands briefly tightened around the chair.

Anger was Sarevok's god, too, as well as one of his most glaring weaknesses.

Ilyrana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could evade and redirect, but playing dumb would not work in her favor.

"You want answers, and I want to know how much of my dream you spied on."

"Yes. Answers," he sneered. "Answers to several questions raised by the dream I had no control over seeing while I was also asleep."

"Whatever. I need to know how much you saw."

"I saw more than I wanted to see."

"Stop being vague," Ilyrana snapped.

"Stop trying to wiggle out of what you owe me, or next time you had better be there to protect that weak child," Sarevok countered.

"I didn't ask you to save her," Ilyrana snarled back through clenched teeth. "I'm still surprised you bothered to at all. Going soft, Sarevok?"

"Enough!" The back of the chair snapped beneath his hands. "Some of your secrets have to do with me and I would know why."

"And all of my secrets are supposed to be private. That's why they're called 'secrets', you arrogant-"

"We share a soul, you fool, privacy is an illusion, now," he interrupted. "You think I enjoy that side effect of my resurrection? You think I want to be tied to you like this?!"

"Oh, please, don't try to pretend that you don't get off on using it against me," Ilyrana shot back. "Or that this is the first time you've used it to glean information."

"Pretend? I openly admit that having the power to peruse your weaknesses at my leisure is the only tolerable aspect of this arrangement. Aside from living again, that is."

Ilyrana opened her mouth to deliver her verbal riposte, but he continued, his voice rising over hers.

"And, speaking of living, I am curious as to why you allowed me to join you after returning me to life without a gaes to ensure I couldn't betray you."

That brought her up short. There were several questions that she was terrified he would ask, secrets that she couldn't imagine ever uttering aloud, especially to him. This question wasn't one of those; it was, in fact, one she had expected him to ask at some point in the last several months since he had bribed her for a portion of her soul to resurrect him. Why ask it now? Why come into her room in the middle of the night, even more pissed off than usual, just to ask this question? Maybe he hadn't seen as much of her dream as he had let on?

"I'll make this easy for you, since you appear to be struggling," Sarevok's snide voice cut through her thoughts. "You will answer three questions, honestly, and to my satisfaction. I have already asked the first."

Ilyrana's stomach sank. Three questions. No, he wouldn't be calling in the debt for just one. An idea occurred to her, and she tried not to let it show on her face. It wouldn't get her out of this interrogation, but it could give her some leverage.

"Fine. I'll tell you what you want to know, honestly, I vow it. But, I want a question of my own answered, as well," this time it was her turn to raise her voice over his when he started to protest. "You owe me that much for taking half my soul instead of just a piece."

Check.

He fell quiet for a moment then, weighing, she supposed, the risk of what information he would have to give up against what he might learn in turn.

"Don't look so worried, it should be easy for you to answer. I promise," Ilyrana crooned maliciously, enjoying the shoe being on the other foot, if only for a second, and hoping that he might back out of this entirely, now that he could potentially hand over a weakness, as well.

He placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned toward her. Her knives were lying just inches in front of him now, so that, if she wanted them, she was going to have to get a lot closer to him than was advisable. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet, his gaze boring into hers.

"You do realize that I could have demanded far worse than just answers, little one."

Oh, she did realize this, but, she had already known when she acknowledged the debt that he wouldn't ask for anything that he was implying he could have asked for. Their soul dilemma worked both ways, after all. She knew him just as well as he knew her.

"We both know that information is far worse than anything else you could have demanded," she replied softly, her eyes glowing dimly in the candlelight for a second, giving him a final warning to back down from this.

His expression didn't change, but she hoped he was beginning to realize just how sharp this double-edged sword could be.

"So be it. Now, tell me why you didn't force me to swear to a geas that I couldn't betray you."

Instead of trying to formulate her answer, she already knew it, she wondered why he wanted to know that so badly. A gaes was a powerful, unbreakable vow. Acting against one once you have made it results in a swift, agonizing, permanent death.

His questions would be telling, she realized suddenly, not as much as her replies would be, but still. Her question was also just as telling, but she pushed that aside for now.

"Tick tock."

"You didn't say this was timed."

"I didn't think I had to. If you want to stand here all night, then I guess I can't stop you, but the dawn won't bring an end to this, in case you were thinking of stalling."

She suppressed a growl of irritation and decided to hurry up and get this question over with.

"Back in Athkatla, there was a bounty hunter from Kara-Tur who was aiding me in my search for Imoen and vengeance against Irenicus."

Sarevok's right hand, his dominant sword hand, twitched at the mention of the mage. Ilyrana made note of it and continued.

"When we caught up to Irenicus in Spellhold, just after he had extracted mine and Imoen's souls and placed one in himself and the other within his sister, it was revealed that Yoshi had been…" She broke off suddenly, her voice cracking a little. Ilyrana saw Sarevok take notice, his eyes narrowing slightly. Silently cursing herself, she cleared her throat and went on. "That Yoshimo had been under a geas since the beginning, since before we met during my escape from Irenicus's lab. He had been ordered to stay close to me, making sure I found my way to Irenicus's new lab at Spellhold. Once there, Yoshimo was ordered to delay me and my group, by trying to kill me, while Irenicus and Bodhi, his sister, fled to the Underdark."

"So, you killed him."

Ilyrana let her gaze drift away from his, not wanting to look into his eyes while she finished her answer.

"No. He resisted the command. The gaes killed him."

Sarevok slowly straightened up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ilyrana didn't give him the chance.

"I watched one person die that way, a slave to another, I don't want to see it again. End of story."

"Were you lovers?"

Ilyrana jerked as if he had struck her.

"I don't see how that's relevant or any of your fucking business."

"I don't care. You vowed to answer honestly, and to my satisfaction, so answer the question."

Ilyrana's eyes blazed golden as she pushed off from the wall. She was two steps from the desk. Two steps from her knives.

Sarevok's own eyes began to glow in response, in challenge. They stared at one another like this for almost a full minute. Each one poised to attack if the other moved.

In the end, it was Ilyrana who backed down first. He was closer to her weapons, it would be folly to even try to go for them. It was folly to have allowed him to get that close to begin with. She slowly sank back against the wall, her eyes fading back to amber. She would save her rage for the questions ahead, when it would surely be needed.

"Yes. We were," Ilyrana bit out.

Gods, she hated him for this. Yoshimo was an integral part of those three years that she did not think of. How could she not think about him now?

They had become close during their travels through Amn. Yoshi had helped her navigate the underworld of Athkatla, introduced her to Renal Bloodscalp, and through him to the Shadow Master, who aided her in finding Imoen's location and securing a ship to Brynnlaw. He had shared stories of his younger years in Kara-Tur, and about the bounties he had collected, some of which were obviously fabricated or exaggerated to an often obscene degree, but he had made her laugh, during a time when she could not even remember what smiling felt like. He had made her yearn for his touch, when being touched by anyone reminded her of the feel of Irenicus's icy hands on her back, her neck, her thighs. And Yoshimo had done those things while under an unbreakable vow to that monster. While he knew that one day he was going to betray her, hand her over to Irenicus to have her very soul ripped from her body, and then finish whatever was left.

The fact that Yoshimo had resisted the gaes in the end, and paid the ultimate price for it, wasn't lost on Ilyrana. If they had never become lovers, she could have accepted that Yoshimo was just as much a prisoner as she had been. That his shackles were just as real, just as heavy, as hers. She could have forgiven him for the role he had played; but, she could never forgive him for allowing her to get close to him, for letting her care for him, for sharing her bed while feeding information back to the man who had violated her.

Sarevok tilted his head, studying her. Ilyrana didn't have to say any of this out loud, it was visible on her face, in the tightness of her shoulders, and the way her crossed arms had begun to curl around her stomach. She had thought that question was going to be easy to answer.

Ilyrana almost regretted shouldering this debt, allowing herself, for a moment, to feel angry at Imoen for letting this happen. It wasn't her fault, she knew that, but now that Ilyrana was paying the price for her sister's blunder, she couldn't help but feel resentful.

"Next question," Sarevok said, forcing Ilyrana back to the present. "In the dream, when you were captured by Irenicus's lackeys, why were you still injured from our fight?"

No. No no no no no no. Not this question.

"It had been weeks since you left Baldur's Gate," Sarevok continued, watching her face intently. "Actually, why leave at all if you had not healed yet?"

Ilyrana swallowed the lump of fear and helplessness rising inside of her. She knew, from the moment she realized he had shared her nightmare, that this question would be asked sooner or later. She wasn't ready. How was she going to admit that killing him had nearly killed her? That the memories her foster father, Gorion, tried to erase all those years ago had been restored while she watched Sarevok bleed out? That, even knowing those memories had obviously never meant anything to him, they had meant everything to her. No...that wasn't entirely true, was it? She didn't know if those memories had meant anything to him, because she wasn't entirely sure when he had gotten his back.

Ilyrana's mind, in one last desperate attempt to save the heart, and thus the body, from succumbing to the sorrow, had woven together a tapestry of assumptions. Of maybes. Of what ifs? The end result was what sparked the rage that would keep her heart beating and would encourage her body to allow itself to begin to heal.

Lying there, in a cot back at Baldur's Gate, her fevered mind convinced her that Sarevok's memories must have returned to him years before their final battle, years before her own did. It had displayed supporting evidence like a shopkeeper presents trinkets for inspection before the purchase, and her survival instincts had bought it all. Because, if it were true, if he had gotten those memories of their childhood together back long before she did, before he came for her at Candlekeep, then they could not have mattered to him. It would mean he had chosen to pursue his ambitions of becoming a god over the bond they had once shared, and break the vows they had whispered to one another, as children do, of never leaving the other's side, and always protecting each other from any who would do them harm.

If Sarevok's memories had been restored when she assumed they were. If he was the cold-hearted bastard she believed him to be. If the only thing he had ever truly cared about was power.

But...what if she was wrong?

"Before I answer, I'd like to get my question out of the way, first."

"Go ahead," Sarevok sighed irritably.

Ilyrana stared at the man for a long moment, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion from lack of sleep, and the tightness of hunger in her stomach from having not been able to keep her recent diet of alcohol and bread down. Her shoulders ached, and the palms of her hands still stung from her nails.

She took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled, and made the only move open to her. The one move that could shatter everything she had once believed...or confirm it irrefutably.

"When, exactly, did you get the memories of us back?"