Big thank yous to everyone who has reviewed and is following this story. :D
This chapter was simultaneously very fun to write...and incredibly difficult. Hopefully it works! Let me know what you think. ;)

Chapter 19: A Pause for Breath

All of those who had not been in the Planar Sphere had soon been listening with rapt attentiveness to the story that Haer'Dalis wove for them. Viconia had been surprised when he rather tactfully left out Elatharia's fit of panic upon seeing the barbed devils in Minauros – it had been less surprising when Korgan insisted on including that bit. Since everyone there (apart from perhaps Mazzy and Haer'Dalis himself) would probably have wanted to respond similarly, the tale seemed to pass them by, but for Viconia it felt key to understanding the weaknesses of her friend. And though she had long ago accepted that she and Elatharia were friends, that acceptance of each other went far enough to understand that one day they would most likely betray each other in some way. Knowing the Transmuter's weaknesses was an invaluable boon to the drow…and while they were fully on the same side, it was also simply a curious fact. One that she fully intended to find out in full, eventually.

In fact, the whole time in the Planar Sphere had been so strange that the drow had no need to correct the tiefling's normally inevitable dramatic exaggerations. Each time that he started doing such a thing, he would look over at her and smile, as if taunting her with such stupidity would make her find him any less annoying. The fact that this thought now made her smile as she watched the others talking (or, in Korgan's case, drinking themselves into a semi-conscious stupor) was something that she tried not to linger on too much.

"How about ye tell us about that dragon ye fought with, tiefling?" Korgan's suggestion had never sounded more like a demand. The dwarf was holding himself up against the edge of their chosen table in the Copper Coronet, cradling his latest flagon of dwarven ale.

"That is a tale far better told in verse, or in a play, my War Dog," Haer'Dalis told him from Viconia's side. Unlike the dwarf, he was still sipping from the same glass of wine which he had bought two hours before, "But I shall give you a taster of the reality," he added with a wink when Korgan – and Minsc from the looks of it – had been about to protest.

"Boo says it is worse than stupid to side with a red dragon, but that it must also make an interesting tale," Minsc admitted, patting the hamster's tiny head where the creature sat perched upon one of his great shoulders nibbling on a nut.

Thinking of all the tiefling had already told her about his life in the Planes, Viconia sat back against her chair and folded her arms. Since the sun had started to set barely an hour before, the Copper Coronet had filled up fast with people, as it did every evening. The brothel that ran on the upper floors was already busy, from the traffic of people which moved up and down the stairs to the walkways above the tavern floor. Meanwhile, the scant number of drinking and eating patrons had swelled drastically – the drow was glad for the wise decision that they buy their food here earlier. The bar was completely out of view now, surrounded as it was by such a throng of patrons.

"I think you are all a little too happy to accept such an immoral alliance from one of our own group," Mazzy complained, her deceptively quiet voice almost lost in the clamour of the place.

Her eyes had started to drift uncomfortably around the Coronet, as if rather unhappy with the scenery. Viconia almost smiled to think of this; the paladin would no doubt be far happier back in the Five Flagons Inn. Come to think of it, it was less busy there. Jaheira, seated by the halfling's side, seemed to be having much the same thoughts, watching the patrons bustle and jostle with a quiet, distracted air.

"Ah, my Tiny Hawk, 'twas no choice of mine," Haer'Dalis sighed as if sorely wounded by her disapproving tone, wincing a little when the halfling glared at him before he glanced at Viconia with a mischievous smile, "What say you, my Blackbird? Two demand the story and one thoroughly disapproves."

"Oh, why not?" the drow sighed after a moment, twirling her wine glass around upon the table and trying to watch him with her least interested look, even when he smiled at her like that.

"Good," Haer'Dalis only grinned more widely, "As it happens, my Tiny Hawk, I really did have no choice. As a slave born into the demonic side of the Blood War, I was bound against my will to side with whomever my superiors chose. If I had not done so I would have been slain by either my fellow soldiers or my devilish enemies," he shrugged, glancing at Viconia again in a way that made her heart jolt.

"Well…alright then," Mazzy nodded after a moment, frowning all the same and hugging her mug of water a little closer as if it might somehow become contaminated by the immorality of the story to come.

"Get on wi' it then!" Korgan demanded, waving his tankard angrily at the bard before taking a long swig.

"Very well, my War Dog!" Haer'Dalis laughed, "It is, as I said, a better story for the stage. But I shall continue all the same. 'Twas more years ago than I can count, since time moves differently in the other Planes. I was still a slave to my great-grandfather's whims, the only tiefling who had risen above the lowest ranks of the demonic army which would newly be facing a host from Cania. Knowing we would be facing an onslaught of the icy denizens of that Hell, my great-grandfather had enlisted the help of a red dragon – who was more than happy to help, with the promise of mountains of spoils and the prospect of spreading some well-needed chaos through the ordered ranks of the devils. I had recently angered one of my superiors…or perhaps they had recently felt the need to inflict fear and pain upon their underlings. 'Twas something which they did every moment of waking, and most of sleeping, but there were times when the mood struck them to be even more thoughtful in their cruelty than ordinary…"

"You speak of suffering in very merry terms, bard," Jaheira noted, something cold in her eyes that had not been there at the beginning of his story. Viconia almost smiled at that – did the druid really believe she was the only one who had suffered? And that placing blame was the best way to deal with it?

"I have felt much from many, Ptarmigan," Haer'Dalis shrugged, though the drow thought she heard something a little more serious in his tone, "And I was fortunate enough to escape the ill fate intended for me. For my superior had sent me to die with the dragon; I was first to watch him before battles, and then to steal from his hoard until he found me."

"And what did ye do instead?" Korgan was slurring badly now, but sounded curious enough.

Mazzy looked rather appalled, by dwarf and story both.

"I'm not so sure that I will want to know the answer to that," the paladin admitted. She looked to Jaheira for backup, but the druid's expression was fixed into a frown and her eyes were trained on Haer'Dalis.

"Aha! And in that sense I suspect you have a far more sordid mind than you would like to admit, my Tiny Hawk!" the bard told her, to her consternation. He turned to Viconia next, his expression far less teasing and far more thoughtful, his eyes locking with hers intently. It was as if he was telling only her, as a continuation on their previous conversation about his earlier life, "I did what anyone ought to do in such a situation. I told the dragon everything, and promised him the chance to kill the demon who had set me up. He agreed, of course, and was perhaps grateful enough for the preservation of his hoard and the chance to kill his betrayer that he permitted me to live. We even fought together at points after that."

Viconia's thoughts turned back to the stories Haer'Dalis had told her of his early life in the Planes, as a slave, a soldier and a fugitive. She thought of Raelis Shai, the tiefling who had been his lover and taken him to Sigil…and she could not ignore the uncomfortable pang she felt at the thought. As the others asked questions of Haer'Dalis about the dragon and his time in the Blood Wars – none of which he truly answered clearly – Viconia waged war with herself. And the more she thought angrily upon her feelings, the more confused and frustrated she became.

Another glass of wine later, Mazzy had headed back to her room at the Five Flagons Inn, Korgan was staggering over to the bar for another pint and Minsc was staring into his beer with the morose, fogged expression of one who would have been lost in thought…if he had been capable of thought. It was late now, nearing midnight, and the Copper Coronet was as hot and rowdy as ever. More patrons were staggering and falling, fewer prostitutes were lingering at the doors. It surprised Viconia that they had ever managed to lure Mazzy into such a place. At least Minsc was too clueless to realise what those women did for a living.

Jaheira stood abruptly, and when Minsc looked up at her dazedly she gestured at the door. Her thoughtful frown had not abated since their conversation dwindled and she had hardly touched her mug of…whatever it was that druids drank in taverns. She was hardly out of place for wearing her combat leathers, scuffed and muddy as they were – this was, after all, the favoured place of mercenaries, sojourning adventurers, and ruffians. It did appear, however, that Jaheira was the only person in the room (other than perhaps Viconia and Haer'Dalis) who was not drunk. There was no hint that she had enjoyed herself even slightly for the entire duration of her stay at the tavern that evening.

"We should leave, Minsc," Jaheira told the Rashemi ranger, who instantly grunted an affirmative and made to stand.

"Ah, Ptarmigan, ever unable to forget what haunts you," Haer'Dalis sighed up at her, "No ailing soul ever did grow whole again from dwelling upon pain."

The druid's mouth, set in a hard line, twitched with sudden anger. Her frown deepened, pale eyes boring into Haer'Dalis's dark ones as if no words could have been more insulting.

"And those who cannot care for the plight of others are the most worthless of all creatures, tiefling," her eyes drifted over Viconia disdainfully, "On that score, I would be careful of whose company I keep, if I were you."

Haer'Dalis just raised his eyebrows and watched them leave, apparently not at all bothered by her confrontational tone. Only once she had gone did he turn to look at Viconia, setting his own half-empty wine glass upon the table before him.

"Has the Ptarmigan always been so?"

"She has always been insufferably righteous," the drow told him, sneering at the exiting druid's back, "And she has always been hard with those who struggle, or show weakness – that at least is an admirable quality. Ever led by the tenets of a faith that keeps its mysteries close, she firmly believes that outsiders are unwelcome, because they will upset the Balance of this surface world. Ever has she been thus with me, and her distrust for Elatharia grew when we learned of her Bhaalspawn nature."

"Then here is to ever being an outsider," Haer'Dalis grinned, raising his glass again and tipping it towards her in toast, "I think I am in good company."

"Spare me your empty compliments. From the avariel's blushes I could believe you have once claimed to have wings and thus to share your nature with her as well."

The tiefling chuckled into his wine glass.

"Are you implying that I am not capable of getting what I want based on charm alone? That I must lie?"

"With the avariel you could probably have her at your heels for eternity, gaping in wide-eyed and pathetically selfless adoration until one or both of you dies," Viconia snapped at his flippant tone, "And do tell, jaluk. What precisely is it that you want?"

"Hmm," he finished his wine and set the glass down for good, nodding as if she had made a fine point, and standing, "That is a problem. To be so innocent is to be fascinating. To be so sad, and yet so willing to leap with childish glee…but you are right, my Blackbird. She would likely be overcome by my…charms. And though she might linger, I do not doubt that my journeys would take her to places in the Planes that she would not always enjoy."

"Oh, male. You are so ludicrously certain of your prowess," Viconia sighed, eyeing his offered arm disdainfully and standing all the same, "I take it you are leaving?"

"I take it that we are," Haer'Dalis corrected, saluting Korgan as the dwarf returned to the table with two more tankards, "Good War Dog, our Raven has told me to suggest that she may have need of you on the morrow."

"If there be killin', I'll be waitin'," the dwarf slurred, slumping into his chair and fixing his eyes upon his tankards. He offered no parting comments as they left, but for a hearty and resonant belch.

It was surprisingly cold outside, given how hot the days had been lately. The sky was pitch black and speckled anew with twinkling stars, just as it had been for so many days over the long, sweltering Athkatlan summer. The chill in the air was a reminder to Viconia that, as it surely had near Baldur's Gate and Beregost, the autumn and the winter would soon be drawing in. Leafall they called it, here in the human lands along the Sword Coast. Shivering, she pulled up her deep hood and hugged her cloak around her shoulders, eyeing Haer'Dalis. The tiefling wore a dark cloak over his unbuttoned doublet and loose shirt, but he seemed utterly unconcerned by the weather.

"Is it getting colder, my Blackbird?" he inquired innocently as they extricated themselves from the drunken throng outside the tavern and remembered to turn right for the Planar Sphere, rather than left for Gaelan's Bayle's house. Each of them had their backpacks with them, in order to transfer their belongings to their new lodgings.

"Clearly," she told him, rolling her eyes, "And I will not permit you to get away from my question, tiefling."

"Ah," he grinned, pushing his hands into his pockets and glancing at the cobbles ahead almost bashfully, "You wish to know what I want?"

"Yes."

"That is a very open question, my Blackbird," he warned her as they moved down the dark, quiet street, all but utterly without light at this time – and all the better for it, as far as the drow was concerned, "I want many things," his arm bumped her shoulder as they turned a corner, and his hand brushed hers ever so briefly, "I want to learn of this world before I move on, and to witness its brand of chaos ere I leave. I want to see chaos in all its forms, ere I die, and to travel every Plane that I may."

"Your evasive words do you no credit," Viconia sighed, "I know that my meaning was clear…"

When Haer'Dalis caught her by the waist and pulled her with him off the street, Viconia's first response was to assume that they were under attack. When he let go, his back to the wall of the nearest building and his smile unchanged, she pushed herself back from him and glared.

"How dare you…what…"

"Enough of that, my Blackbird," he chided softly, pulling her back towards him. Though she remained rigid and untrusting, she did not resist. Her hood fell back when she looked up at him from so close, "I am confessing, as you wished," there was a hint of mischief in his dark eyes, "For I do want the Dove, as you implied," he held onto her when she attempted to pull away, but his hold was not worryingly tight. She did not fear him, though anger filled her at his words, "I think you would have difficulty in finding a man who did not, in truth. But…you are right. What she wants and what I would want are not the same. What of us?"

"Of us?" Viconia asked the question reflexively, surprised. Her skin ached treacherously where his hands rested at her waist. Her eyes widened when he ducked his head towards her.

"What of us?" Haer'Dalis asked again, more softly this time, "I have confessed, as you had hoped. I want her…and your jealousy is rather appealing." He just smiled when she squirmed in his hold.

"Jealousy? What egotistical, idiotic…"

"I want her, but I want you more," he whispered it into her ear, his breath drifting over her skin in a way that forced her to stillness, her heart racing. Reflexively, her hand fisted in his tunic, "I remember your kiss, my Blackbird. And I see…in your eyes…that what we want is the same." His lips skimmed her cheek as she turned her head to meet his eyes. It felt like tendays since she had kissed him on the roof of the Windspear Castle…

"You are far too impertinent, male," she surprised herself with her vehemence, wrenching herself from him and stumbling back. His eyes positively burned when they looked back at her. The slow smile he showed her was part demon and all predator. Her throat was dry, and her words caught a moment before she managed to speak again, "Should I want you, I will come to you. Not the other way around."

Lavok's library was huge, with a few concealed doorways that led off into a kitchen, a washroom and the bedroom that Elatharia had seen upon first entering. Not only that, but hidden in amongst the stacks there were stores of chemicals and ingredients of far more varieties than she had ever seen in a shop. As a Transmuter, who had first learned her profession sitting bored during religious or martial classes of Candlekeep, changing the shape and composition of her quills and her paper, Elatharia had been struck with a great deal of nostalgia at the sight of such supplies. Smiling to herself, she had taken a little block of wood and reached into the Weave, twisting it first into a tiny cup and then into a pile of wood shavings. The deactivated Sphere, now safely anchored in the Prime Material and full to the brim with ingredients and information, was doing wonders for her mood.

"Faced with a library full of magical knowledge, she turns to the most juvenile of pursuits. (What more should I have expected from a Transmuter?)"

Edwin's voice sounded from just behind her, quiet in spite of his derisive tone – as if honed by years of indoctrination that no respectable person ever spoke loudly in a library. Not even a library that they had just won and likely had an equal share in. There was something wary in his eyes, behind his disdainful grimace. They had not really spoken since their argument earlier that day, after seeing the barbed devils.

"I leave the scroll-hunting to you, obviously. Because I definitely trust you to show me everything you find. In the spirit of fair play. Of course," she smirked at him over her shoulder, determined not to spoil her good mood, dusting off her hands defiantly and letting the wood-shavings fall to the floor.

"I did give you your precious Ruby Ray of Reversal (which you have not even transcribed correctly yet)," Edwin pointed out, not really bothering to sound affronted. He was holding a small cup of his herbal tea in both hands and his Archmagi jacket had been discarded; she could see the lines of his tattoos at his neckline and along his forearms where he had rolled up his sleeves.

"You're settling in nicely," she commented, ignoring his words and making a point of stepping closer to look over the rim of his teacup – which he held cradled at his chest-level – peering at the steaming liquid before tilting her head back and grinning at him, "Did you go back to the Guild House for your tea set? None for me?"

Edwin's expression flickered at her brazen manner, his lips pressing together as if he was trying to hide amusement. Was there a little relief there, too?

"You are perhaps a little overconfident about your deal with Bodhi," he suggested, deliberately sipping his tea – and correctly surmising part of the reason behind her renewed good mood, "From attempting to blow me up with a barbed devil to mocking me about my perfectly superfluously good taste in beverage…this is a change that not even I, long-suffering minder that I am, have seen before."

Elatharia's smile fell at his words and she looked away, fixing her gaze upon a fallen book that had not been righted since the spellbattle with Lavok, fighting away the grating, scratching, screaming things that crawled behind her eyes. Golden light sparked in the back of her thoughts, flaring light a lit match.

"I don't want to talk about that," she gritted out. A sidelong glance to Edwin showed his eyebrows rising.

"And what about that writhing, screaming thing you became before Aerie sedated you?" his voice was lower, a little softer. Elatharia flinched, a flash of red rage, remembered, arcing through her thoughts.

"No," she snapped. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

She heard Edwin's tea cup settling upon the shelf beside him and turned away quickly. She made to rub at her face and found her mask in the way. Trembling, her head pounding with the renewed memories, she pulled it off and let it fall down her arm, its ribbon catching at the bend of her elbow. Golden light burst behind her eyes when she covered them. She gasped she felt Edwin's hand on her shoulder, trying to turn her to face him.

"Don't touch me!"

She scrambled back until she felt the shelves behind her collide with her back. A few jars of alchemical ingredients rattled with the impact. Edwin watched her without affront or worry. He looked…curious. Not even particularly taken aback.

"You do not remember? (Raving and shouting thing that you were)."

"Aerie said…said…" I wasn't myself. She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the shelf behind her waist. Golden light burst in the darkness and she trembled.

A smirk slowly spread across Edwin's face as he looked back to her with dark eyes that glinted red in the bright, conjured light of Lavok's library. He approached her incautiously, in a few quick strides.

He hissed when she fought him. Her bare foot stamped on his booted one. A wordless scuffle followed. He barely caught her arm when she moved to push him back, intending to get away. He took a step closer to use his greater weight and height to gain better leverage against her

"And just what did Irenicus do to you with the barbed devil to make you turn feral, Elatharia?" Edwin demanded, voice full of the soft menace of one who had not expected to be fought. He caught her chin when she tried to look away from him.

"You said it yourself, Irenicus had a…a theme."

Some level of understanding flashed across his face. His thumb moved over the raised scars across her writs from Irenicus's spiked manacles. And she just watched him, desperate not to think too deeply.

Edwin was easily tall enough to hold onto her in that manner and look down upon her tilted face. She caught at his arm with her free hand, but her hold only dragged them closer.

"Ah, there it is," Edwin nodded, and a faint smile curved his lips in spite of everything. His dark eyes narrowed.

Still with his fingers gripping her chin, he tilted back her head a little to better catch the bright light diffused above them. He did not let go of her, even when she attempted to pull back. Instead, her resilience forced him to take hold of her shoulder with his other hand and step closer. His smile returned, hungrily this time.

Of course. He was seeing the power in her, and there was nothing that Edwin wanted more than power. She understood because that was a sentiment they had always shared. Her heart skipped. Her breath caught as his gaze shifted to her lips. She licked them nervously, gripping his arm tighter.

"What? What are you looking at?"

"Your anger, and the spark of Bhaal's power," the Red Wizard told her distractedly, his eyes searching hers in a thoughtful, calculated way that was both disturbing…and strangely disarming, "I had thought that I might test that, given a chance."

"Are you saying you can see something in my eyes?" Elatharia's stomach dropped at the thought, "Like Sarevok? And the elf that tried to kill me on the road to the Windspear Hills?" she found herself gripping his forearm tighter, as if by physical contact she might anchor herself in the reality that she was not like her brothers.

"Yes," Edwin told her, "To a degree. (A spark, a brief flash. A…reminder.)"

"Why?" her voice was hoarse, "Why did you…did you mention it?" She wanted to shake herself. She sounded as tremulous and weak as Aerie! The knives were scratching behind her eyes, and though she fought it the flashes of memory would not leave her.

The question broke Edwin's distracted train of thought and he looked back to her eyes, his grip weakening enough for her to pull away. If that bothered him, he did not let it show. His smirk did not abate.

"In the absence of your own academic sense, I have taken matters into my own hands," he informed imperiously, gesturing back down the stacks to the main floor of the library, where she had left him reading his books when she went off to find this little alcove of alchemical supplies, "And I found an interesting comment in a book detailing the denizens of the Infernal Planes and their Prime Material offspring."

"I'm not Haer'Dalis, Edwin…"

"No, but Bhaal's domain existed in close conjunction with the Infernal Planes," Edwin interrupted her, retrieving his tea. "And there may be tea for you if you come and learn your part in my plan," Edwin added before turning away and beginning to move back to the central floor of the circular library.

"What plan?" Elatharia demanded suspiciously, following all the same.

"I believe we already discussed the matter."

"The Nether Scroll, yes. You want to go there tomorrow," Elatharia sighed, rolling her eyes at him, "We haven't even been allocated our first task for Bodhi yet. Gods know how long it might take for us to get to Imoen, even bypassing those lying bastards that call themselves Shadow Thieves."

"Did you have better plans?"

"What, than watching you becoming a lich? Probably."

"I have already told you that I have no intention of becoming a lich at present," Edwin paused amongst the stacks, frowning at her. "This is far more important. Far more fascinating. (And that is all you will hear of it)."

"And what do I get out of it?"

"My unending gratitude," he told her deadpan.

She just glared at him, hands on hips.

He narrowed his eyes before rolling them.

"Fine, fine. I shall first explain to you what it is that I have found regarding your heritage. (Not only is she incompetent, she is impatient as well.)"

As they moved down the few steps and out onto the black marble floor at the centre of the room, Elatharia's thoughts wheeled back to her sense of familiarity at the sight of the Infernal Planes in the Viewing Room earlier that day. She distinctly recalled the feeling that she knew something ought to be there, and that she should be searching for it.

Edwin moved straight to the semi-circular table that stood before the bedroom alcove, the desk now strewn entirely with papers and open books, along with his teapot and a spare cup. He moved to the other side, watching her expression smugly as he sat down. She did not follow his lead, and stood opposite, staring at him expectantly.

"The theories disagree a little," he began, gesturing vaguely at the books before him, "But generally it is believed that his Plane, the Throne of Blood – also known as the Throne of Bhaal – existed closer to the Hells of Nessus and Cania than to anything in the Abyss."

"Fine, so Bhaal's realm used to be near Nessus and Cania. What are you telling me?"

"It is universally accepted that the children of gods manifest no physical symptoms of their godly heritage, unless various spells and prayers are involved, and probably a great deal of incredibly impressive Conjuration (I clearly took the most fruitful path amongst mages). As a god can take many forms – even a god like Bhaal, who was once human – then his children ought not to look similar in any way."

"But Sarevok, our recent attacker and I…we all have that one thing in common. Our power manifests in our eyes, at least to some degree," the thought made her feel a little sick, but she continued – at least hers was just a fleeting spark in the wake of anger, "Are you suggesting that he took the same shape before he sired us? That can't have been possible."

"Not necessarily," Edwin leaned forward, watching her intently from beneath his brows, "What about your mother?"

"But Sarevok was a full human, and I'm a half-elf. The Bhaalspawn who attacked us was an elf…"

"Was he? Are you really what you think you are? Have you ever felt any kinship with Aerie, with Jaheira? With our companions near Baldur's Gate; Imoen's fool, Coran? Is there really anything about you that you can definitively say is elven? Who told you about your mother?" His suggestions were relentless, his expression intense.

"I…no," Elatharia admitted, blinking into empty space, "No. Gorion told me, and I believed him. But what about my markings?" her hands came up to her cheeks automatically, feeling the indented patterns beneath her fingers, "Unless Bhaal took a different shape and sired me…with the same mother?"

After a moment of thought, she sighed noisily and shook her head, moving over to Edwin's side and peering down at the book he had open in front of him. She scanned the words upon the page, looking for something helpful.

"None of those traits are mine," she said, slumping into a chair next to Edwin, "What does it matter anyway? They attack me, I kill them. I'm not going to save them just because I'm their real sister."

"And you shouldn't," Edwin agreed, "I was more interested in this entry, however," he pointed to the picture in the bottom right of the page, a drawing of a female…devil, or something of that sort. Two tall horns protruded from her head, and beneath her eyes ran several meandering dark lines, branching off from each other like tributaries from a river and ending at her cheekbones. Elatharia's blood ran cold. She read the lines that Edwin indicated, following the path of his finger like a pointer.

"'High priestesses of Bhaal could on occasion take on a devilish appearance, including horns, facial markings…and could even at times manifest a golden light within their eyes. It is likely that this was some indication of their god's favour; it did however leave them quite disfigured, as the drawing indicates. Only the most powerful and favoured of his servants are likely to have been granted this visage.'"

Her hands flew to the indented markings on her own face, fingertips tracing the black, interlacing lines. Tears of the devils, Ulraunt had called them. She wondered if he had known the truth.

They sat in silence for a few moments until Elatharia turned to meet Edwin's eyes.

"You think my mother was a high priestess of Bhaal," she stated, "Not an innocent elf or half-elf. A willing parent."

"Yes. It is likely that Sarevok and the other sibling you killed either shared a similar parentage, or there is something else at work. Perhaps Bhaal's taint is stronger in you…and was in them. It has certainly increased in you. It has not visibly affected Imoen, as far as we know."

"What does that mean?"

Edwin looked at her as though he thought she was stupid, but he did at least pour her a cup of tea. When he set it in front of her as begrudgingly as anyone had ever done anything for her, he spoke again.

"It means you should stop acting like a victim in this, and start using what you are given…the power that you are given. If you are going to use a benefactor like Bodhi, rather than simply act upon her every whim, then you are going to need to be intelligent. And when the time comes, you are going to have to be more powerful than those you wish to betray."

"And?" she could hear a smugness in his voice which suggested that he had won somehow. It irritated her that she could not follow his thoughts, but it was also obvious that he had spent a lot longer considering this topic – and this speech – than she had.

"And I will help you, Elatharia," Edwin promised, "In return for your aid in gaining this Nether Scroll tomorrow morning when the necromantic powers that undoubtedly bind it to the crypts are at their weakest. (Should you prove ultimately weaker than your foes it will be a different matter, of course)."

"I heard that," she snapped, and he raised an eyebrow, "And fine. I accept. After all, if you fail when we go for this Nether Scroll then I get to laugh in your face before you blow yourself up. And since you've just so openly promised to betray me if necessary, loyal friend and upstanding Red Wizard that you are, you can count on me when I promise that I am serious. I will laugh. And I will leave you, as you would leave me." Was that a threat, a promise…or a hope?

Edwin closed the book slowly, and when he looked back at her it appeared that he was attempting to hide a smile again. Did he look impressed?

"Sometimes I dearly wish that you had been born Mulan, Transmuter," he told her softly, "You would have liked Thaymount."

They discussed Edwin's plans for findings the Nether Scroll in detail, perusing maps for the old crypts of the Graveyard and arguing over which would be the best spells for each of them to prepare in the event that they would be facing a lich in the morning. Jan came by to tell them that he was leaving for the night – after a detailed perusal of the Sphere's mechanics – and shortly afterwards Haer'Dalis and Viconia arrived to inform Elatharia that they had returned and would each be staying in the bedrooms around the pond in the western globe of the complex.

Time passed unnoticed. It had been a long day, and Elatharia was glad to have this to think of, rather than what had passed earlier. She did know that at some point this distraction would have to end.

The black sky glittered with stars, visible above them through the glass dome of the library, and it was fully dark and all but deserted in the city outside by the time Edwin poured their last cups of tea, rubbing at his face and sighing wearily. Books were strewn all over the table, from the tome of maps to the still-open account about the priestesses of Bhaal. Both of the wizards had been peering down determinedly at their spellbooks for some time, making sure they had prepared their appropriate spells, but Edwin had finished shortly before Elatharia.

This was another clue, about what was going on with him and his spells, Elatharia realised. She had been noticing it perhaps for longer than she had consciously realised, and he liked to hide it behind bluster and overconfidence. Now she was a better wizard, and she could see that something was a little strange. She was not slow to memorise her spells; he was fast. And it had nothing to do with being a better wizard.

When at last the Red Wizard had finished his tea and left, she turned the wheel by the door to set the room out of alignment with the rest of the Sphere, dispelled the lights of Lavok's library and lay down in the bed in the alcove across the room, drawing its curtains behind her.

Sleep came slowly in the darkness.

When it did, the memories crept in. She remembered the bite of spiked manacles at her wrists…and at her ankles. She recalled the spines of the barbed devil and how they had torn her skin. And she woke screaming. Her first thoughts were of Imoen, and of what she had read in her journal. The torments Irenicus had inflicted upon her sister had not been as overtly violent as they had been for the Transmuter, but they had been just as awful in their own way. She woke angry.

Once the fear ebbed there remained the golden light, bright and comforting and wrathful. She reached out to it and drifted back to sleep in its soothing warmth, thinking of revenge. Irenicus would not win. Especially after what he had done to Imoen.