The Rook

by Fatality

(Kings and Pawns - Book I) (Sequel to Devil) Phendrana has at last become a shade, but in the wake of his transformation all is not well. With his mental abilities keener than ever before the doppelganger finds himself plagued with a series of prophetic dreams, and only by relying on these vague images will the Shadow Court have any hope of defending the City of Shade.

12. The Truth

"What is the High Prince's official statement regarding all that has transpired tonight?" asked First Prince Escanor, and when his voice came out pinched with strain Soleil leaned right over the back of her fiance's chair and worked her fingers deftly into the bunched muscles in his shoulders, her eyes downcast with sympathy.

Lamorak was slouched low in a chair that was not his own at the far end of the council table with his feet stacked rather uncharacteristically upon the granite surface, arms crossed, head down. His eyes were tracing the great fissures in the table that Phendrana had caused just weeks ago, marveling at the passage of time – it seemed impossible that such a recent event could feel as though it had occurred entire lifetimes ago. When he spoke his voice was soft, his expression one of brooding. "Only that the threat has been neutralized. At present, he will say no more on the subject."

"And our brothers?" Escanor pressed, hardly satiated by such a vague response.

"The seven youngest are all in the Most High's immediate care – the shadows that bind them have mostly unraveled, and they are dependent now upon our sovereign's diligence to help them recover. Rivalen and Clariburnus are doing what they can to aid him, but there is little support they can offer. Both were caught in the initial blast but were safeguarded by Lim's globe of darkness; Rivalen drew his strength from the Sceptrana's staff, but depleted nearly all of his power just to revive Clariburnus – who then, as you know, placed himself at great risk to help Lim and me escape."

There was an uncertain pause as Escanor considered all the information presented. "And Aglarel?"

"He is the reason that the High Prince survived this ordeal at all," Lamorak told his eldest brother tersely, though for the life of him he couldn't explain just why he was feeling so suddenly hostile.

Escanor was gaining momentum now, his brow furrowed with suspicion, and Lamorak couldn't say that he blamed him – there were several things that didn't quite add up. "It is rumored that the Sceptrana was doing battle with the drow when the blaze was set. How did she manage to escape with her life?"

"The Most High has told me that Aglarel returned to the ballroom at great personal risk to recover her, and both of them are resting now. Neither of them were badly wounded in the fire – Aveil sustained several serious injuries when she faced the drow, but they have been attended to. It is said she will make a full recovery."

"And what started the fire?" The skepticism in the First Prince's voice was easy to hear; Lamorak had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"I cannot say," said the Determinist Prime irritably, "and the Most High can only speculate at this point. He blames the drow, but the details are unknown."

Soleil wisely took up a more empathetic line of questioning on her fiance's behalf, sensing that Lamorak was reaching the end of his patience with his oldest brother's rather blunt inquiries. "How is Phendrana? Have you spoken with him? I understand that he was instrumental in saving many lives today."

Lamorak uncrossed his arms and set the tip of his right index finger into the jagged groove of one of the fissures in the granite table, running the digit slowly the length of the fracture, lost in thought. For the longest time both the mountebank and the First Prince were certain he would not answer at all, but he spoke up in the end. "I have spoken with him twice, though only briefly – the severity of his mental fatigue currently makes him incapable of long term conversation, and he struggles to answer even the simplest of questions. The first time we spoke he exhibited signs of recognition, but he confessed to being unfamiliar with me." The Third Prince broke off for a moment, his throat tight and the backs of his eyes strangely hot, and swallowed hard in an attempt to compose himself. "The High Prince ordered that we allow him to be isolated for a few hours, and so I spoke with him a second time not long ago – during that meeting he was able to identify me and answer several basic questions, but the more finite details still elude him. He is sleeping now."

"Are you saying… that…?" Soleil opened and closed her mouth several times more, but her voice had failed her and in the end she was unable to voice her fears aloud. Lamorak closed his eyes, his finger still absentmindedly tracing the path of the crack in the table, no longer able to meet her gaze.

"Nothing is certain," he admitted softly, "but in my opinion he overexerted his own mental capacities – in short, he asked more of his mind than he was physically able to provide. I believe the strain has permanently and adversely affected his brain, but only time will tell to just what extent. At this point it is his memory that suffers most, but perhaps he will recover in time."

"The Night Mother watch over him," Escanor prayed quietly, looking crestfallen, and still standing diligently behind him Soleil dissolved into silent tears. Lamorak said nothing but allowed her to grieve quietly, privately wishing that he could do the same without sacrificing his dignity or opening himself to ridicule. "It saddens me to hear of it, but I have feared as much since his return from the excavation of Castle Tethyr. I know I am not the only one who believes that his transformation was… flawed."

Abruptly Lamorak was desperate to be alone with his thoughts and he bolted out of his chair as though it had burned him; Escanor and Soleil looked on confusedly, at a loss for words, and he took advantage of their momentary speechlessness and formulated an excuse to leave them. "I must return to the High Prince," he blurted out, "and offer my assistance. There is much to be done… Excuse me."

Lamorak didn't return to the infirmary, but locked himself away in his private quarters to sort out his thoughts. The idea of enduring anyone's company, of continuing to pretend that he was unaffected by all that had transpired, was simply too much for him to bear.

---

Lim Tal'eyve was skulking in the alcove to the left of the infirmary when Hadrhune let himself out. The shadow sorcerer allowed his eyes to linger upon the drow for half a second, and then he was shoving past him and striding purposefully down the hallway.

Having expected as much Lim hurried along in his wake, matching him stride for stride with only a little difficulty – a drow with no Netherese ancestry, Lim was the shortest member of the Shadow Council excluding their two female members. "The Princes are faring much better?"

"The High Prince would be more than happy to answer your inquiries, I am sure," Hadrhune spat back icily without so much as a second glance in the drow's direction. "I have business to attend to."

"What business?" Lim inquired with a scoff, his tone making it clear that he doubted the seneschal had anything better to do than come up with clever ways to evade his questions. "All council business has been temporarily suspended – the Most High has prioritized the health of his sons, and understandably so. Indeed, you seem to find yourself far better off than most – despite the fact that you were nearer to death's door than any of the others, from all that I have heard. How can it be that you have managed to recover so quickly?"

"I do not owe you any answers," said Hadrhune flatly, and throwing open the great double doors he brushed past the gate guards flanking the entrance to the Palace Most High and descended the wide stone staircase toward The Circle. "And why should I, when you so easily forsake my companionship for your own self-preservation?"

Lim opened his mouth to respond with a cutting, sarcastic remark, but seemed to think better of it at the last instant and wisely swallowed his ill-advised comment. He sensed that the time to deal in jests with his present company was long past, and that he had little choice but to offer up some measure of sincerity or risk losing his only real ally in an increasingly hostile environment. They were nearing the southernmost curve of The Circle now – including Villa Cambria, Hadrhune's abode and the place where Lim had been resting his own head for the last two fortnights – and swallowing a certain measure of his pride Lim threw caution to the winds and seized Hadrhune by the elbow.

"I had no fear for your life, since you were in the doppelganger's care," he admitted, "and knowing that there was nothing I could do to aid you I thought it best to flee. All our lives were at stake, and not just your own, if you recall."

Hadrhune ripped his arm out of Lim's grasp and shadow-walked out of the street in an effort to lose him; Lim sighed and followed along in his wake, keeping pace with him easily in the Realm of Shadow. When they materialized they were standing in the seneschal's private quarters, and Hadrhune was looking positively irate now. "Do not insult my intelligence by presuming to remind me of the dire nature of the situation we just faced! Do not pretend that you trust so much to the doppelganger's abilities, when just days ago you were searching for ways to undermine him! And do not play yourself off as the innocent here, when I know for a fact that you urged the High Prince's sons to leave me to my fate!"

Lim sighed and ran a hand down his face, scrambling for words. Truth be told, he had hoped this admission would never reach Hadrhune's ears – he supposed he had underestimated just how much Lamorak and Clariburnus both detested him. Well, he reasoned, there was nothing he could do about them now – salvaging the arrangement he had with Hadrhune was a priority now. "I did say as much," he confessed, "and I cannot say that I am proud of it – they say you cannot truly measure the worth of a man until he is placed in a crisis, and I cannot say I care much for my own personal worth this day."

"Perhaps you did not hear me before when I told you I had business to attend to," Hadrhune reminded in an icy tone, and Lim cocked his head to one side.

"You are conducting business in your private chambers?" the drow clarified, skeptical.

"My business is no concern of yours," the seneschal insisted, and his tone of voice suggested that they were at an impasse.

Lim weaved his way through the room and sank down into the high-backed desk chair, letting his head fall into his waiting hands; Hadrhune watched his every move with slitted eyes, untrusting but still somehow intrigued. When the drow looked back up after many long minutes of silent contemplation, his expression was bleak. "You deserve far better treatment than what I have offered you these long weeks," he admitted in a self-deprecating tone. "It is true that the High Prince ordered you to attend me while I work to achieve my ultimate goal, but you have given me so much more than simply your loyal service – you have given me your companionship, which I do not hold as dear as I should. Were it not for you, I would be utterly alone in this place – and such dedication should not go unrewarded." He heaved a sigh, looking at once stressed yet resigned, and finished, "So let me reward you."

"That won't be necessary," Hadrhune said dryly, crossing his arms.

Lim sat up a little straighter and fixed the seneschal with an eerily serious gaze. "Let me reward you with the truth, Hadrhune."

"I am not interested in your warped, twisted version of the so-called truth," said Hadrhune crossly, but he spoke a little too quickly and his eyes had sparked with interest; it might take some convincing, but Lim knew he would win.

"Yes you are." The drow-shade laughed long and loud at his unlikely companion's stubbornness – there was nothing more comical than a man who failed to see the humor in anything, and Hadrhune could always be trusted to be that man. "I am no fool. I know that your sovereign is not in the least bit concerned with my personal well being – he and I entered into a business transaction, nothing more. He fulfilled his end of our bargain right away, just as I requested, and now he is eager for me to return the favor. He didn't assign you to my service to ensure that I adjusted with grace and poise to the life of a shade – he did it so that he could keep tabs on me." Noting Hadrhune's swiftly-souring expression, Lim hurried to explain his reasoning. "Not that I blame him, of course! He has been far more accommodating than I could ever have imagined, and I have nothing but gratitude for him. You have been suffering through my jests and my revelry and my conniving nature all this time without complaint, and all because you are hoping to hear something of use to report to your master. So allow me to give you something to report."

Hadrhune stood there, his teeth bared in an awful grimace and his hands clenched into slightly-trembling fists at his sides, and said nothing. Lim settled back in the chair and clasped his hands upon the desk in front of him, shifting from moderately bemused to businesslike in the blink of an eye.

"I will take your lack of protest as a sign that I should continue," Lim observed shrewdly. "Know that all I tell you from this point forward I have not yet shared with a single soul."

The intrigue was simply too strong for Hadrhune, who had spent centuries being privy to all of the Most High's most delicate matters and had found himself suffering perpetual disfavor in the wake of his forbidden liaison with Aveil Arthien. He sat on the corner of his bed, privately wishing he had his familiar darkstaff in his hand and feeling somewhat lost without it, and surveyed the drow with obvious disdain. "I will hear what you have to say, but you should know that it will reach the High Prince's ears if I feel such a thing is necessary."

"Fair enough." Lim propped his elbows upon the smooth wooden surface of the desk and steepled his fingers together, his expression perfectly unreadable. "Over the last several tendays I have been sowing discord among you. I have been deliberately pitting you against one another in order to achieve my own personal ends. This has absolutely nothing to do with the High Prince's agenda, though I can assure you that nothing I do opposes his mandate in any way."

Hadrhune's jaw stiffened and his eyes grew unmistakably cold, but he seemed to be struggling to hear the drow's words through to the end and so swallowed his protests. "Tell me why I should believe a single word you've said since you came here. Tell me why I shouldn't return to the High Prince right this instant and brand you a traitor."

Lim shrugged, hardly concerned with the half-hearted threat. "Because he would never believe you. Your word has lost its credibility since the moment you acted upon your own personal desires, and he no longer values your opinion as he once did. Not to mention that he is so focused on the prospect of delivering Lolth to Shar that he will inherently reject any scenario which may cause him to deviate from that goal. You would be better served keeping the news of my meddling to yourself, for to share it with anyone would only cast your loyalty and your usefulness into further scrutiny."

The logic of Lim's words bound Hadrhune to where he sat as surely as any physical bonds might. Lim had to admit, he took a certain measure of sadistic pleasure in seeing the High Prince's chosen emissary made powerless through words alone. "Then tell me why you feel the need to pit the High Prince's advisors against one another. What do you stand to gain? Need I remind you that we are all allies here?"

"We are all allies now," the drow corrected, and his voice pitched itself lower and so dangerous that Hadrhune's initial instinct was to recoil. "There is a common enemy that binds us together, but do you truly believe that will be the case for as long as the shadow sustains us? Phendrana has seen the death of Soleil Chemaut in his dreams – what do you think will happen if that comes to pass? Shall I tell you?" Lim paused long enough to ensure that he had his audience's undivided attention, but otherwise did not wait for a verbal response. "High Prince Telamont will issue a formal declaration of war against Menzoberranzan, and though I have no doubts that Thultanthar will find itself victorious in the end there will undoubtedly be heavy casualties. A far more chilling prospect, however, is the dissolution of the hierarchy of the Princes of Shade should our soon-to-be-princess meet an untimely end. First Prince Escanor will never remarry, no matter how much the High Prince might pressure him to do otherwise – Escanor is just romantic like that, isn't he? And what do you think will happen then?"

Hadrhune didn't answer. The blatant horror in his face suggested he was incapable of speech.

"The princes will mutiny," Lim continued, his innate love for chaos sending a thrill of anticipation coursing down his spine. "If Escanor refuses to marry, he willingly chooses never to father legitimate heirs. And if he cannot give the High Prince grandchildren, he forfeits his claim to the throne… a claim that his brothers won't be so quick to give up, I'm sure. And you can bet that the High Prince won't be as… shall we say, lenient… when it comes time for his other sons to choose their wives – no, he will return his line to more traditional ways. He made an exception for Soleil because he has such a special fondness for her, the lost little waif who crept into the palace of great kings and pledged her soul unto a higher power; oh, she might have given up her mortal soul that day, but I promise you she received something far more precious in return – she stole the High Prince's heart, and has been worming her way inside it for years. And of course he could see every facet of her relationship with his eldest son, so there can be no doubt as to how pure her intentions are... but when he loses her…" Lim broke off with a negligent shrug, having no doubt that Hadrhune could guess what would come next; the seneschal continued to stare at him, mystified, struck speechless by horror but to engrossed in Lim's musings to put an end to them. "Well, I know what I would do – I would want my grandchildren to be as pure of blood as is feasibly possible. I would require my remaining sons to take wives of pure-blooded Netherese descent, or of noble birth at least… But do you know, there is one woman of noble birth in our midst already, with a strong legitimate claim to a long-vacant throne. Can you guess who that might be? Have you caught up with me yet, my friend, or shall I spell it out for you?"

"Aveil." Hadrhune's voice was raspy and coarse, as though he had swallowed fire, and Lim settled back into the desk chair looking smug that his companion had reached the correct conclusion.

"Ah, good, you've figured it all out already – yes, Aveil, the only daughter of the last crowned king of the Frostfell." The drow set to rhythmically tapping the fingernails of his left hand upon the surface of the desk, his chin propped upon his right hand, thinking out loud. "Whatever happened to the kingdom of the snow elves when Aveil's father was murdered by his own people? It passed to a steward, didn't it? Not that Aveil couldn't crush those who might oppose her rightful claim to the throne – she is so much stronger now than she was on the day I met her, why, I often mistake her for another person entirely. And when she's Queen of the Frostfell and just as dedicated to the City of Shade as ever, she'll make a fitting Princess of Thultanthar, won't she? But who knows…" Lim broke off with a soft, malevolent chuckle, shifting to the edge of his seat and leaning as near to his companion as the desk would allow when he pitched his voice conspiratorially low and murmured, "…Who she'll end up with? Rivalen, whose eternal devotion to the goddess Shar will pit him ever at odds with her simply for her worship of Mystra? Lamorak, whom I already suspect harbors conflicting infatuations that would result in a childless marriage? Or do you suppose her hand might fall to Aglarel?" Lim laughed aloud at the prospect and at the disgusted look it brought to Hadrhune's face. "I'm sure you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

"Why are you telling me all this?" asked Hadrhune in a tortured voice, his hands coming up to clutch raggedly at his own face, his fingers contorted into claws. "Do you take pleasure in tormenting me so?"

"That is neither here nor there," the drow answered loftily. "I tell you this because I promised to tell you the truth, and now I have – I am certain that this is what will come to pass if death comes for Soleil, as Phendrana has seen it will."

"The doppelganger's visions are not finite," the shadow sorcerer argued, pushing himself off the mattress and pacing the length of the bedchamber from doorway to balcony and back again. "Phendrana, Lamorak, Aveil… they have all been interfering with fate since the moment these dreams began. The course of the future can change."

"It can," Lim agreed, "if only someone is willing to change it." His eyes were upon Hadrhune's face as the seneschal wore a path in the carpet, appraising. "I am willing – nothing would please me more than to keep this future from coming to pass, for if it does you can be certain that the Tanthul Dynasty will eventually crumble. However, Phendrana has also seen my death approaching, as I recall… And I do not think it within my power to preserve both my life and Soleil's."

Hadrhune stopped, his eyes burning within his shadow-swathed face; Lim silently praised the shadow sorcerer for putting the pieces together so quickly. "This is why you have been pitting us against one another since these drow assassins began infiltrating our city," he reasoned. "You wanted to see who you could bend to your will – who would do your bidding."

"No, my friend – I wanted to see who would stand by me when the moment came." Lim vacated the high-backed chair and circled the desk slowly, his every movement unthreatening as though he were approaching a wild, vicious animal; he drew right up to Hadrhune's side and laid one comforting hand upon his shoulder, pleased when his companion did not pull away. "I wanted to know who was dedicated to preserving the Tanthul family, and now I know – there is no one now more desperate to stop this wheel from turning than you."

That was when Hadrhune spoke the words that Lim had most wanted to hear. "Tell me how."

"How?" echoed Lim coyly.

"Tell me how to stop this." So great was the seneschal's revulsion for the future that Lim had envisioned that he practically choked on the words as he spoke them.

Lim cocked his head to one side, curious, and said, "You poor man. You still love her, don't you?"

Hadrhune didn't speak, just stared back at Lim with his eyes filled with hatred and sorrow; Lim squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand in a mocking display that was meant to fill his companion with some sort of misplaced courage.

"Don't you?"

"Enough to help you keep Soleil alive, that this bleak future might somehow be avoided."

It was more acknowledgement than Lim had hoped to receive, and he clapped Hadrhune one last time upon the shoulder before dropping his hand to his side. The shadow sorcerer continued to watch him, his eyes filled with loathing but now also resigned; Lim slipped one hand into his pocket before holding out that pocket's contents to his companion, and when Hadrhune's eyes widened in recognition and understanding the drow knew that all of his careful planning would amount to something after all.

"Obviously this is stolen," Lim told Hadrhune with a scoff, "and so I would ask that you carry it with discretion until such time as you deem its use necessary. As I have said, I am just as dedicated to preserving Soleil's life as you are – however, since my position is just as precarious as hers, I think it best to enlist your help in this. Because you want me to live too, Hadrhune – perhaps more than anything else, though of course I don't expect you to know that just yet. My promise to tear Lolth from her place in the Abyss and cast her at your sovereign's feet wasn't just the ravings of a madman – it was the solemn vow of a man who is more sworn to see his life's mission through to the very end than ever before, no matter the cost. Can I trust you, Hadrhune? Do I have your word that you'll help me?"

Hadrhune's fingers closed over the proffered object and Lim surrendered it gladly, his satisfaction showing through in his devious smile; the seneschal tucked the object into an inner fold of his shroud, close to his heart, and laid his hand over it reassuringly for a moment before facing the drow with grim determination.

"I will help you," he agreed in a lifeless voice. "When the time comes, I will do what I must to ensure this kingdom's survival. This is nothing more than what the High Prince asked of me long ago, when he first took me into his service. I will do my sworn duty as his emissary, and then at last perhaps his faith in me will be restored."

---

He wrestled with his own self-loathing, with the inevitable conversation he knew he must sometime initiate, until the quietest hours of the night when it was certain all the other loyal subjects of the High Prince would be fast asleep. Even then he prowled restlessly about his private quarters, grappling with the ravenous, angry beast within him until being confined within four walls was stifling – it made him edgy, made him claustrophobic. He stepped out onto his balcony and breathed deeply in an effort to quench the fire, surveying his father's kingdom disinterestedly as he did so, feeling a little less as though he could call the place home – in succumbing to that other, fouler part of himself, he felt more different and more isolated than ever before. He felt as though he didn't belong, and even worse – that that feeling would plague him for the rest of his life.

The beast clawed at the inside of his chest, craving control; he clenched his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms until he heard the unmistakable drip of droplets of shadowblood as they stained the ground at his feet. Briefly he wondered if he would constantly have to fight his own dark instincts just to function in day to day life, just to remain of sound mind and purpose. He wondered if he would ever be the man he had been before, or if he was doomed now to be two.

And when speculation only made those primal instincts stronger – conquer, destroy, kill – he leapt over the balcony guardrail and landed soundlessly upon the cobblestoned lane below, moving with conviction though his mind was clouded with doubt.

He had almost killed her. He owed her an apology. He owed her more than that – she deserved an explanation.

Rip. Tear. Slaughter.

He walked faster, his footsteps nearing a sprint.

Annihilate.

He ran.

One explanation, that was all – would he find some relief in the knowledge that one other soul existed who knew the truth? Or would he feel infinitely worse knowing that he had divulged a secret that by all rights had never been his to reveal?

He stood beneath the balcony at the other end of The Circle, having no knowledge of just how he had arrived there so quickly, and knew that he was willing to take the risk. He invoked the powers bound into the obsidian wristband he wore and levitated up to the second floor, easily bypassing the railing and touching down noiselessly upon the balcony. He put his hand up to the heavy velvet curtain that had been drawn for privacy, his instincts warring with his common sense, rage and terror and desperation thrumming in his veins.

He hesitated.

Though Aveil had been living in the guest bedchamber within Villa Hara since Lim Tal'eyve had relinquished her soul this night she had pleaded with the High Prince for absolute privacy, he knew; Soleil had graciously volunteered her own private quarters for the Sceptrana's use and gone to Villa Dusari to be with Escanor, though of course the wedding was now just two days away. He cupped his free hand before him, envisioning grains of sand slipping futilely through his fingers. There was no stopping the passage of time – indeed, agonizing over what was to come only made it slow, which in his opinion was far worse. He needed to be proactive now, needed to keep the wheel turning – Aveil deserved to know just what she had faced earlier that day, and he needed relief and acceptance.

Would he find them here? He knew already that if he didn't, those things would surely not exist anywhere.

He parted the curtain a few inches and slipped inside, the blissful darkness of the room's interior soothing to him. The waning moon's rays filtered feebly through the perpetual veil of shadows that enshrouded the City of Shade but even that was plenty for him to see by, and his eyes adjusted quickly. She was fast asleep on the side of the bed nearest the balcony, her dark hair spilling over the pillow like ink, her face porcelain in the faint silver moonlight. He stood there for an amount of time for which there was no measure, heat in his vision, electricity in his veins, and struggled for control.

Flesh. Blood. Devour.

He slid back a half step, his feet leaden. He could feel control slipping away, and knew that he had made a grave mistake in coming here.

Consume.

His skin was on fire. A growl of denial ripped through his tightly-clenched teeth, that sound the only thing that kept him clinging desperately to his very last shred of self-control.

The sound was loud enough to wake her. She turned her head a fraction, her violet eyes luminous even in the near-darkness, and he could hear her breath catch in her throat. Even from a distance he could hear the gentle rushing of blood as it circulated throughout her body, and a thin shaft of moonlight illuminated the faint pulsing of her carotid artery beneath her supple, wintry skin. Sensation flooded his senses, heightening every single stimulus, smothering what remained of logic and reason.

Aveil watched, frozen with fear, as Aglarel's eyes darkened from cold silver to boiling crimson. Her dread betrayed her, and her heartbeat quickened until it resembled the beating of a hummingbird's wings.

Aglarel dropped into a predator's crouch and lurched forward a step, and something punctured the bottom of his boot and bit into his flesh. A blinding pain shot up his leg, whiting out his vision, boiling his blood, and he buckled for the ground as seizures wracked his body.

Aveil moved cautiously but full of purpose, her every action carefully measured so as not to seem threatening; first she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, and taking her feet she padded to the desk and lit a candle. Even that small flame was enough to bathe the entire room in soft golden light, including the handful of enchanted caltrops she had scattered upon the floor between the bed and the balcony, their hungry little needles shining brightly with holy magic. She moved on tiptoes over the treacherous stretch of carpet, careful not to skewer her own feet as she went, and sinking down to the place where Aglarel lay gasping and writhing in agony she swept the other caltrops aside and sat cross-legged beside him.

Time passed with excruciating slowness, with nothing but Aglarel's soft hisses of pain to mark its progression. Aveil watched his face contort over and over with anguish as the holy magic burned through his body like liquid fire, hating herself, hating him; twice she almost cast a healing remedy upon him to ease his suffering but resisted, knowing that in his agony he would likely find himself again.

Eventually his body stilled and his ragged breathing grew more even, and when he managed to open his eyes they were the cool color of backlit moonstone again. Aveil sighed in relief and stretched out one hand toward him, her fingertips millimeters from his face, but Aglarel recoiled.

"No," he panted, the syllable barely distinguishable through his clenched teeth. "Not in control… not myself."

"Relax," she told him in a soft voice. "Rest. You have nothing to fear." She pressed her fingertips lightly to his forehead, and her icy touch sapped the heat out of his veins. He blinked, his vision refocusing, the last of the holy magic fading from his body, and suddenly felt more like himself than he had since he had left the High Prince's audience chamber to deliver his sovereign's wrath unto the drow conjurer. With a little self-congratulating smirk Aveil reached down and plucked the caltrop from the sole of his foot, offering the cruel little item to him wordlessly; Aglarel allowed her to tip it into his hand, careful not to let its nasty little needles puncture his skin again, and inspected the glowing needle-tips with a strange mixture of disgust and awe.

"Holy magic," he observed, his voice rough and weak.

"Holy magic," she confirmed, and though her voice was inflectionless and gave nothing away there was a deep understanding within her eyes that made Aglarel feel foolish indeed. It was terrifying at first, the knowledge that she had uncovered the truth of his secret all on her own, but the terror passed quickly to be replaced by the acute relief he had so desperately been hoping to find. She knew. He hadn't needed to say a word – she had figured it out all on her own.

"Clever girl," he congratulated her, allowing the tension to ease fully out of his muscles, and when he leaned his feverish head into her unnaturally cool fingertips Aveil pressed her palm flat against his clammy forehead. "It seems that underestimating you has become hazardous to my health."

"It was just a lesser holy magic spell," Aveil told him dismissively, rolling her eyes, and the levity was unexpected enough that Aglarel actually barked out a single harsh, tired laugh. "Hardly enough to fell an imp, yet here you are writhing around on the floor as though you might die. Some devil you are."

"Indeed," Aglarel agreed thickly, feeling abruptly exhausted, and he let his eyes fall closed. "So you know. Did the High Prince tell you?"

"No – quite the contrary, the High Prince is under the impression that I have repressed most of the memories I have regarding that awful incident, and that I can recall nothing regarding how I escaped the drow's hellhounds or how the ballroom was set ablaze." Aglarel opened his eyes to regard her, taking note of her pride with a flicker of admiration. "I must admit, I was very convincing."

"So it would seem. And how did you arrive at this conclusion?"

Aveil scoffed, momentarily offended by the insinuation. "I have lived only a fraction of the years you have, yet I have seen many things, Prince. Truth be told your behavior today did not alert me to the truth of your heritage at all – it merely confirmed suspicions I've been harboring for some time now."

That brought a frown to Aglarel's face – his brow furrowed beneath her hand. "For how long?"

She tipped her head back as she studied the shadows slanting across the ceiling, remembering; at length she admitted, "Nearly a lunar cycle now – since we fought Brennus and Hadrhune in the Hall of the Arts Martial, and Hadrhune's daylight spell had no effect on you. Your theatrics that day were impressive, of course, but not good enough to dispel my suspicions. When you rematerialized just minutes later looking as though nothing at all had happened, I began to wonder…" Aveil's voice trailed off uncertainly then, watching his face with avid interest, and he knew that she was awaiting a reprimand. For his part, Aglarel had to resist the urge to laugh. His most precious secret, the one thing he had been commanded never to reveal, and this mortal had uncovered it through nothing but keen observation. Silently he chastised his own brothers for not paying closer attention – as she had pointed out, all the clues were there.

"Still," he protested, "I must ask you – "

"'Never to reveal the truth of my heritage to anyone'," Aveil cut in, her voice pitched low in a decent impression of him, and Aglarel snickered. "Consider your secret safe – I value my own life, as well as the trust of the High Prince, far too much to ever dream of compromising your identity. Rest assured, should anyone else ever become wise to what you truly are, they will not have come by such information from me."

At last Aglarel felt strong enough to sit up, and managed to do so with no help from her; she rocked back onto her knees, dropping her hand to her side and watching as he continued to roll the wicked little caltrop over in his hand. "This was inspired," he praised her, dropping the tool into her hand and clambering to his feet with only a little difficulty. "But how did you know I would come?"

Aveil shrugged her shoulders, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, and said, "I know you."

She really did, he realized with a start; he had been so busy spreading himself thin, seeing to the High Prince's business and outsmarting Lim Tal'eyve and keeping up with Phendrana's strange prophetic dreams and struggling to keep her at arm's length that he hadn't even noticed how close she had really become. It was a little unsettling, he privately admitted, but oddly liberating too. He tried to remind himself that deceit and manipulation were like art forms to Aveil Arthien, the woman who had once cowed the Archmage of the Citadel of Assassins, but doing so only served to remind him just how completely she had changed. Aveil was no longer the same woman she had once been; he knew that much, as surely as he knew that she would never breathe a word of his lineage to anyone.

"It's fortunate that you laid some… preventative measures," Aglarel admitted at length, his eyes lingering upon the dozen caltrops she had swept aside. "When I came upon you, I was lost."

"I have no doubt that you'll learn to balance the calculating nature of the Netherese with the instinctual desires of the Abyssal dweller," said Aveil, and her voice was so assuring that Aglarel stared. "That isn't to say it won't be difficult for you at first, or that you will be able to master these… urges… right away, but I'm sure you will forge a more harmonious blend of the two with time." She dropped her gaze to the floor, a flash of white at the corner of her mouth suggesting that her teeth were working away at the flesh of her bottom lip again; for the first time Aglarel noticed what she was wearing, a sleeveless nightgown with an empire waist of pale blue silk that flowed down her body like rain. "I have one question."

"I will answer." He had held her life in his hand just hours ago – surely he owed her that much?

"Your blood is your blood, the same now as it was the moment you were brought into this world; that being said, you have had these whisperings in the back of your mind for centuries. You have balanced reason and desire as easily as you have continued to draw breath – why now do you struggle for control?"

Aglarel knew the answer. "Today was the first day I have ever sought that other side of me willingly, allowed it to govern my thoughts and my movements, sought purpose within its darkness. I suppose that now that I have had a taste of what I am capable of, a part of me will always yearn to succumb to its clutches again."

Aveil's eyes were burning with ill-advised curiosity. "What was it… like?"

Aglarel allowed his thoughts to travel back without even a thought for the consequences; he remembered the raw, unbridled power that had coursed through his veins, burning away all of his uncertainties, leaving him feeling as though he was possessed of limitless potential. He remembered the heat roiling within his very core, filling him with flames, threatening always to consume him. He remembered how easy it had been to tear the arm from the drow's body, to fill the room with molten flame, to let everything spiral out of control.

He remembered with startling clarity how that searing hatred had filled him with ecstasy.

Burn.

"It was hell," he told her simply, hardly eager to relive the event any further, and a small shudder ripped through him before he was able to fully root himself to the present and keep the shadow of those urges at bay. Aveil watched him, intrigue warring with common sense, and chose not to press the issue.

Aglarel turned and slipped soundlessly through the gap in the curtain, suddenly craving the feeling of cool, fresh air against his feverish skin; Aveil followed along in his wake patiently, afraid that if she interrupted his musings things might turn ill for her. They stood at the guardrail in a kind of companionable silence; beyond the thick clouds of shadow, the sky was gray with the approaching dawn. "I should go," Aglarel said through gritted teeth, hating himself. "For every moment that I stay here, you are in danger. I am just as much an enemy now as any drow that might come here."

"You know that isn't true," Aveil chastised him gently. "You can conquer what you feel. I know you can."

Aglarel avoided her eyes, wishing for all the world that he had never left his villa earlier that night – what had he been thinking, to test his feeble grip of self-control on the one person least able to fight him off if such a thing became necessary? "Your trust and your confidence are two things I do not deserve."

He mounted the rail and leapt, too consumed by his own dark thoughts to offer her a proper farewell; she called after him as he was descending toward the ground, but her words were lost within the roaring in his ears.

Obliterate.

His fingers delved deep into his pocket and curled around the caltrop he had taken from Aveil's room, and the voice quieted.

---

"Phendrana? Are you listening?"

The doppelganger started and jerked awake; he hadn't realized he'd been balancing precariously on the precipice between wakefulness and dreams, but he was nothing but grateful for the intrusion. His thoughts were cloaked in a murky fog, all but the most acute of memories lost within that impenetrable haze. He would never admit it aloud, but he felt certain that to succumb to unconsciousness for any period of time would be to cross the last threshold from sanity into madness. The thought that he was losing his grip on any sort of mental fortitude was nothing short of terrifying.

Forcing his eyes open he sat up a little straighter – he had been propped up on a mound of pillows in bed, his first and greatest mistake, he knew – and focused his gaze on Third Prince Lamorak, who was sitting in his familiar place behind the doppelganger's desk surrounded by stacks of books and sheaves of parchment. His gaze was searching and professional, something Phendrana had grown accustomed to from their frequent meetings together, but there was an undercurrent of fear and desperation in his expression that only served to intensity the anxiety that Phendrana felt. Briefly he wondered if his own terror was showing through on his face – he couldn't imagine what expression he was wearing, only that the set of his own face felt unfamiliar to him. Lamorak came forward an inch or two in his seat, his attention on Phendrana now borderline rapturous.

Phendrana sighed and rearranged the pillows behind him before relaxing back again; the headboard bit uncomfortably into his shoulder blades, and it was sure to keep him awake for a little while longer. "I am listening. I apologize. I'm only tired."

"Did you hear what I said?" Lamorak's voice was an odd combination of a parental-like reprove and genuine concern; it grated on Phendrana's nerves, made him worry.

There was no point in lying; Lamorak had stressed the importance of disclosing the entire truth of his condition, and so Phendrana took him at his word when he sighed and said, "I heard what you said, but I've already forgotten the question."

Lamorak dropped his quill, and something in his eyes froze and died; Phendrana recoiled from the dull lifelessness he glimpsed there, suddenly very afraid of what his honesty might cost him. The Determinist Prime mastered himself quickly, though, retrieving his quill and setting it to parchment with a darkly determined look. "Pay it no mind – I will repeat the question. I said, do you remember how you came by the ring?"

Phendrana opened his hand, blinking down at the mithral band that was exuding its curious warm radiance against his palm. He had had the presence of mind to remove it when the danger had passed and had hidden it in one of his pockets, but had divulged its existence to Lamorak upon the prince's second visit for the prince seemed trustworthy enough; the memories Phendrana had of him seemed recent, and he remembered them with great fondness. Still, he hoped that Lamorak would choose not to disclose the ring's existence to anyone else – he couldn't explain why, but he felt certain he shouldn't allow knowledge of it to become public. "I picked it up off the ground… It was just lying there."

"Lying where?" Lamorak was very detail-oriented, something that Phendrana felt certain he had once appreciated very much about the other man but now was an inconvenience to him – recalling details had about the same simplicity as trying to catch lightning in a bottle.

"Next to…" Phendrana cast his mind around frantically, certain the name was known to him, pleased when he was able to recall it. "Hadrhune. Next to Hadrhune."

Lamorak's eyes were on his face, probing; it was clear in his expression that Phendrana's hesitation hadn't escaped his notice. He continued his inquiries, pressing for information. "Do you think perhaps Hadrhune may have dropped it?"

"I don't know." Phendrana's voice was sullen.

"You don't know," Lamorak echoed disdainfully, "or you don't care?"

The doppelganger's eyes snapped back onto the prince, black with rage at the insinuation, but now that the confrontation had been established he found he wanted nothing more than to engage in it. "You are right – I don't care. I don't want to continuously flounder about in my half-formed memories for the details of something so obviously insignificant. I'm not in the least bit interested in your questions. I want to sleep." The truth of his own words struck him suddenly and he added, "I want to give up."

Lamorak vacated the desk chair and strode toward him, his facial expression and his posture hinting at his own anger, and Phendrana pressed himself back into the headboard as though hoping he could simply melt into the wood and disappear; the prince knelt at his bedside and seized one of his hands in both his own, shoving his face so close to Phendrana's that the doppelganger couldn't possibly look anywhere else but at him. His hands were like ice, and with a fresh wave of guilt Phendrana recalled just how close to death Lamorak had been earlier that day.

"Listen to me," Lamorak growled, his voice akin to a plea. "You can't give up, Phendrana."

"Why?" Phendrana heard the whine in his own voice and was immediately disgusted – he didn't want to argue for argument's sake, he genuinely wanted an explanation. He wanted to know what was so important that he should stick around for, because for the life of him he simply couldn't remember what he needed to do. "Why do I need to be here? What use could you and your family possibly have for a mentally-unstable doppelganger?"

"You have a duty to the Tanthul family," Lamorak reminded him impatiently. "You swore an oath to my father. To my brothers. To me."

"I doubt very much that such a powerful and prestigious family will require anything of me when I cease to remember so much as my own name," Phendrana shot back, and he regretted the words the moment they had been uttered. The prospect of forgetting everything frightened him beyond words, and it reawakened the lifelessness in Lamorak's eyes.

Lamorak was shaking his head numbly, as though Phendrana's words were beyond his comprehension. "You have a duty," he repeated in a hollow, monotonous voice. "You swore."

"Who cares?!" shrieked Phendrana in a sudden fit of hysteria, his voice ripping through two octaves as he screamed, and Lamorak snatched his hands back so suddenly and unexpectedly that the doppelganger actually flinched.

"I care!" the Third Prince bellowed. "But if you are content to continue wallowing in your own self-pity, and you truly believe that your condition is irreparable, and you would prefer to consider yourself beyond all aid, then by all means – sleep! Surrender! But I refuse to be a part of it, because the Phendrana I know would never willingly admit defeat! You may have given up on yourself, but you can rest assured that I will never give up on you!"

The silence that followed this outburst was somehow just as loud as the Third Prince's tirade. They stared back at one another for an indiscernible period of time, Lamorak's face a mask of fury and the doppelganger's expression one of slow realization, and Phendrana sensed that perhaps they were hovering on the cusp of something that had nothing at all to do with the High Prince's agenda.

The timid knock upon the closed door seemed thunderous as it shattered the silence; Lamorak whipped his head to one side and glared at the door as though it had offended him, his eyes frosty. "What?"

Poor Lux poked his head through the crack in the door, cowering like a pet that had been scolded by its master. "Forgive my intrusion… Lord Phendrana has a visitor."

"No visitors," barked the Third Prince, shifting his glare back to Phendrana and crossing his arms as though silently daring the doppelganger to dispute the point. Phendrana wisely held his tongue.

"Prince… I…" Lux slunk into and gently pushed the door shut behind himself, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed as he attempted to make himself appear as unassuming as possible. "I'm afraid he's insisting, and I haven't the authority to dismiss him."

Lamorak cursed beneath his breath – typically he was so composed in his conduct that Phendrana could only stare – and turned on his heel, storming for the door; Lux hastened to open it for him, though whoever it was that had come to call was not visible from where Phendrana sat and he hadn't the first clue who it might be. Lamorak paused for a fraction of a second, his hand upon the doorknob and his eyes like steel, before exiting and slamming the door shut behind him. Lux stood awkwardly by the little-used dining table, his eyes upon Phendrana brimming with pity, and then raised voices reached their ears from the hallway.

"What the hell are you doing here?! Get out!"

"I live here. I think if anyone should be asked to leave, it's you."

"Phendrana isn't well, and he needs rest if he is to recover. Even if he was in perfect health and sound of mind I would never allow you to inflict your company upon him!"

"He needs to hear what I have to say, and if you know what's good for you you'll stand aside."

"Oh, that's adorable – are you threatening me, little brother? I'm not going to continue to let you have your way – he's been barely more than a hollow shell of a man since you left him, and all of a sudden you expect to just walk back into his life?! If you hurt him one more time I swear I'll – "

"Look who's threatening who now…I don't need to be reminded of the consequences of my own actions. Believe it or not, I'm here to remedy them if I can. But I can't do any of that if you don't get out of my way."

"Lux," Phendrana called to the Shadovar boy softly, for his squire seemed near tears over the confrontation brewing just outside the door. "Who is Prince Lamorak talking to?"

The door was forced open, rebounding off its hinges and narrowly missing Lux; Lamorak was standing there with one hand braced against the doorframe as though trying to bar someone else's admittance, his posture hostile and his face livid, and standing barely inches behind him was Twelfth Prince Brennus. At least, Phendrana thought he recognized him – the youngest prince appeared so gaunt and frail to the doppelganger's eyes that he supposed Lamorak's comment about appearing as little more than a hollow shell of a man might aptly describe them both. It was a little frightening how each memory he had of Brennus – even the ones that made him breathless with fear or queasy with sorrow – felt as though it had been branded into his mind.

Brennus slouched to one side a little, bracing his shoulder against the wall, and with a start Phendrana realized that the wall was the only thing keeping the loremaster from collapsing to the floor; his eyes were the dull color of rusted metal, and his breathing came in shallow gasps. Despite Brennus's obvious infirmity Lamorak stood firmly between him and the doppelganger like a sentinel, barring access to the bedchamber with that same steely glint in his eye, and Phendrana couldn't help the sudden wash of gratitude he felt at the sight.

"Phendrana – " Brennus's voice was a breathy sigh, a sound that someone might utter on the precipice between sleep and wakefulness, and the familiarity was such that even that single word almost brought Phendrana to his knees.

"No," Lamorak interrupted, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "You are in no condition to be out of bed, and Phendrana is hardly in a state of mind to receive visitors."

"Let him in." It was a handful of seconds before Phendrana was able to recognize his own voice; it was cold and detached and remorseless, and so unlike him that it sounded as though a stranger had spoken. "I want to hear what he has to say."

Lamorak's eyes snapped up and fixed Phendrana with a look that was impossible for even the ever-astute doppelganger to identify. Was it anger? Was it despair? Was it betrayal? Before Phendrana could classify the expression the Third Prince had rearranged his features into his characteristic clinical, businesslike demeanor, saying "You must do as you will", and then he had whisked out the door and out of sight. Lux let out a soft undignified noise that might have been a squeak of apprehension before rushing after him, and then Phendrana and Brennus were alone.

"So," Phendrana managed to say through gritted teeth, that singular syllable garbled by unmistakable rage; hostility was rolling off of him in waves, so strong that his hands were shaking at his sides. "The high and mighty Twelfth Prince of Shade has descended from his lofty perch to mingle with the common folk. To what do I owe this unprecedented honor?"

"Phendrana," the loremaster began tiredly, "I – "

"Let me guess," the doppelganger overrode him, now feeling as though he had become the autopilot for his fury. "You've grown bored of your concubine again? You're in the market for less conventional fare? You have a fondness for breaking and neglecting your toys?"

A flicker of some deep emotional trauma flashed in the depths of Brennus's tired, vacant gaze, bringing Phendrana up short. He recognized that haunted expression – it was one he had been glimpsing in the mirror for nearly three lunar cycles now.

Brennus mastered himself with some difficulty – it seemed that masking his own emotional excesses was somewhat taxing on him. "I won't attempt to refute your remarks," he conceded gracefully. "I cannot say that they are untrue, nor can I say that I do not deserve them."

"How big of you," scoffed Phendrana, crossing his arms. "Did you come all the way here just to tell me that? Did you walk a grueling thirty feet down the hall, after pretending that I don't exist for three months, just to tell me that I'm right?! Well let me tell you something, Prince – had you thought on any level that you would be so displeased with the man I would become when I took on the shadow, I think instead of saving me that day you should have let me die."

There was no protective veil of shadows enshrouding the youngest prince, and his skin was a sickly pale gray color and still faintly translucent; beneath his semi-transparent flesh Phendrana could see his shadow orb pulsing feebly as though sustaining his life was a struggle, yet at the doppelganger's bold proclamation the organ stuttered and skipped a beat before resuming its sluggish pace. Brennus uttered a little gasp of discomfort before slouching into the dining chair nearest the door and there he sat, oddly still for quite some time, his eyes closed and his breathing slight. Phendrana's anger kept him from approaching out of concern – surely the loremaster had known what awaited him in coming here?

"Leaving you to die was never an option for me," Brennus gasped out, one skeletal hand clutching his chest as he labored for breath. "I knew the fate that awaited me even before I changed you - clearly that knowledge wasn't enough to stop me. The consequences I knew I would face could never have outweighed how I might have felt knowing I had let you perish."

Phendrana mulled these words over in his mind, his eyes upon Brennus filled with skepticism, trying to recall the Twelfth Prince suffering any sort of reprimand upon their return from Castle Tethyr but remembering nothing. "Consequences? No one suffered but me – and considering I had no choice in the matter of my own mortality, I must say I find that unfair. I was confined to my own room often for days at a time, with no one but Lux and the occasional visit from Prince Lamorak to break the tedium. I was dismissed from all matters of council, despite the fact that I have never served the High Prince with anything but diligence and loyalty. I was forced to listen to the disheartening speculation that my mind was beyond repair and face up to the possibility that I might never be fit to serve again. And when I was finally permitted to leave my isolation I was accused of breaking centuries-old traditions and threatening your way of life. And what did I do but lay there dying, powerless but to accept something from you that I never wanted for myself?"

At last a spark of real anger flared to life in Brennus's otherwise emotionless eyes and he sat up a little straighter. "The matter of your mortality had already been decided, Phendrana. You knew the High Prince would change you. Do not presume to tell me that you never desired the shadow when we all know you had agreed to the terms."

"I wanted the shadow!" Phendrana bellowed, stomping one foot to accentuate his point. "But not from you!"

"Because you knew what such a thing would cost me," Brennus pointed out diplomatically, his voice carrying a note of smugness that suggested the doppelganger had proved his point after all. "And do you really think that I wasn't punished for my decisions? That the High Prince simply allowed me to slight what may be the most sacred of our traditions? That I have not suffered, as you have suffered?"

"You are alive and whole," Phendrana observed, but his voice lacked its earlier conviction now and he felt far less certain than he had. "You sit on the council. The High Prince hears your voice."

That was when Brennus smiled, but it contorted his face in a way that was painful for Phendrana to watch; it was rueful and hopeless and without joy, and the mindmaster took absolutely no pleasure in the Twelfth Prince's anguish. "He does now," Brennus corrected him, "because he hardly has a choice in the matter – the Twelve Princes of Shade must maintain a united front in the face of this crisis we now face. But I am certain when the threat presented by the drow has been extinguished I will be cast off the council again – the High Prince's ire has hardly abated, and I suspect it will not for quite some time."

Phendrana gazed down upon the loremaster with curiosity now, unable to recall just when his feet had carried him across the room to stand at the opposite end of the dining table. Reaching down he drew out a chair before settling into it, and when he was situated he poured two glasses of water from the pitcher in the center of the table. When he slid one toward Brennus, the youngest prince took it in hand immediately and drank as though he hadn't in days, so the doppelganger filled it for him a second time. And when the loremaster seemed a little more comfortable Phendrana leaned toward him, his arms folded upon the table's surface, and said, "Tell me what happened to you. Tell me everything, and tell me the truth. I deserve to know – even you cannot deny that."

Brennus didn't answer right away, merely set to tracing the rim of his glass with the tip of one index finger as though lost in thought; Phendrana worked to master his swiftly-thinning patience, doing his best to remember that while this confrontation was certainly long overdue there was no denying the frailty of the man sitting across from him. At length the Twelfth Prince relaxed back in his chair and fixed Phendrana with the full weight of his desolate gaze and said the last thing the doppelganger had been expecting to hear. "Very well. I will not deny you anymore, no matter what it might cost me.

"My punishment came the night we returned from Castle Tethyr, the moment you left the High Prince's audience chamber; let us say that the High Prince was less than pleased with the news that not only had I performed such a sacred ritual without his blessing or supervision, but that there seemed to be side effects as a result of my snap decisions. He… broke my body in ways I wish I could forget." Brennus broke off and shuddered at some memory, but he didn't allow himself to dwell on it for long. "He wanted to dispose of you, convinced that your new mind's flaws would far outweigh its uses, but I argued. I refused to believe that after all of your trials your mind would come out weaker than before. My ill-advised persistence rewarded me in the end – he agreed that your life should be spared, and that your mind's capabilities be further analyzed before he passed any further judgment. He even agreed to spare me, a kindness I neither expected nor felt I deserved. Then he told me that our lives would be spared only if I renounced you utterly, and I finally understood the severity of his sentence - I would live, but with every second of my life I would wish I was dead. Still, what could I do but agree? My life was not the only one at stake, a fact the High Prince knew I would never overlook. I obeyed, for your sake. More than anything else, I wanted you to live.

"When you came to my door later that night and begged for admittance, then an explanation, and then for just a moment of my time, I was devastated. I had assumed the High Prince would share my sentence with you – why wouldn't he, when we were both so obviously affected by it? Then it occurred to me that your lack of knowledge on the matter was simply another component of my punishment – that in keeping you uninformed, the High Prince would be assured of my compliance. Still I obeyed. It meant listening to your cries, your pleas, your curses and your condemnations, but I accepted them. I deserved them. I had made all the wrong decisions, and those decisions benefitted no one. I knew you would hate me, but I tried to take heart in the fact that being the recipient of your rage was still far better than having your death on my hands.

"In a demented sort of way I came to look forward to your nightly pleas for attention," Brennus continued with a self-deprecating shake of his head. "They were the only assurance I had that the High Prince was upholding his end of our arrangement, and my only interaction with the world that lived on outside my door. The first night that came and went without the sound of your voice was disheartening, but not unexpected. I knew what you were thinking, for I had glimpsed your mind on a precious few occasions. I knew that you were convinced I had abandoned you - given my silence, I could hardly blame you for that. You visited my door less and less, and then one day you simply stopped coming at all."

Phendrana knew he was staring, but he simply couldn't find it within himself to look away; he wanted to speak up, to apologize for some of the deeply hurtful things he had said in his ignorance, but the words stuck in his throat. Somewhere deep within his chest his shadow orb contracted painfully. Brennus had played his part well – so well, in fact, that Phendrana had renounced him in the end. Guilt clutched at him then, impulsive and strong – what a horrible and faithless man he had been, to turn his back on Brennus when the loremaster had never given up on him.

"The only boon that came of my prolonged isolation was the time; I had all the time I could possibly want and more, but how to spend it? I still clung to the hope that one day I would be permitted to pass beyond the walls of my home, and I knew that if that ever came to pass I would want to be armed with all the knowledge I could gather. Study became my life's purpose, the only thing that kept me from surrendering to my despair – I took to visiting our private library in the small hours of the night, so as to ensure I would never cross your path and give the High Prince reason to reconsider our bargain, and sleeping during the day. When the night came and I could be certain that no one would disturb my studies, I accumulated my knowledge.

"I started with psionics – something I had always been avidly interested in but never actively pursued. The reason I chose this area of study first was simple, really – I needed at least a basic knowledge of what was happening in the High Prince's court, and a vague understanding of your mental state. Fortunately this portion of my study took very little time – I was able to master telepathy in just a week's time, and with that skill at my disposal I began intruding upon the surface thoughts of others. It was a tedious process – I was possessed of neither your mind's latent talents nor your patience – and there were many occasions when my stubbornness forced me to sacrifice discretion for persistence. Lux was my preferred target at first, for it was clear that you were close to the boy and trusted him utterly, but after the first few weeks I found his knowledge lacking.

"Your increased contact with Lamorak I found both difficult to come by and far more preferable – these conversations were centered around you and your condition, something I needed a better understanding of before I could proceed with my studies. I had no choice but to delve deeper into the art of psionics, and to push my own mind beyond its limits – your sessions took place further away and the thoughts I targeted were far more closely guarded. I needed range and increased mental fortitude, and I knew one mistake would cost me everything. It was a month before I even dared to attempt to glean anything from Lamorak's mind, for psionics was something he had dabbled in recreationally before and I knew he would make a formidable target.

"With carefully measured mental intrusions I was able to gather several important pieces of information – your mental abilities had grown exponentially since your transformation, and you were afflicted with unsettling reoccurring dreams. The increase in your mental prowess I understood – hadn't we anticipated as much? – but as for the dreams I found myself facing more speculation. I knew what Lamorak thought, of course – that the dreams were one of the side effects the High Prince was certain you would have, a by-product of a poorly-executed transformation, further proof that your mind was beyond repair - but I clung to my hope. There was another explanation, a correct explanation. I simply had to work harder to find it."

Phendrana watched, mesmerized, as Brennus paused long enough to take another gulp of water. It was clear just in observing him that talking was doing wonders for his immediate health; his breathing seemed more regulated, coming still in shallow inhales but not laboriously, and his flesh was opaque again beneath his loremaster's robes. The doppelganger looked a little more closely, frowning, realizing for the first time that the sleeves of the robe were more voluminous than he remembered and the Twelfth Prince's lithe figure was all but lost in the folds of the fabric - he was thinner, far too thin to be considered healthy for his stature, and with a jolt of real concern Phendrana realized this had nothing at all to do with the ordeal they had all faced today.

"So when Lamorak came to summon me, I had a far more comprehensive knowledge of the situation than I should have on account of my new understanding of psionics. I knew that in your dreams you had glimpsed the death of the High Prince, and I knew that I would only be reinstated to my position on the council if these events actually came to pass. Unfortunately I had not been nearly as stealthy in my mental intrusions as I had originally hoped – Lamorak had been wise to my presence since my very first attempt, and told me as much when he came to collect me. I panicked. I knew what that would mean – the moment the High Prince discovered I had been meddling in affairs I was forbidden to be a part of he would rend my shadow orb, and likely do the same to you. I begged my brother for news. I told him everything – what could it hurt now, when he was already wise to the only secret I had wanted to conceal? But I was immensely fortunate – Lamorak shared my views where your dreams, as well as your mind, were concerned, and reluctantly agreed not to share my goings-on with the High Prince. He was also of the opinion that your dreams were not a side-effect of your transformation but a gift, something that your mind had developed out of sheer brilliance, something that if interpreted properly could aid us in saving many lives. I was relieved, to say the least - Lamorak agreed to allow me access to his mind on occasion, but cautioned me not to interfere for reasons that were already known to me. I was happy to accept. I never imagined I would find myself in a position where physically intervening on anyone's behalf was a necessity… I was wrong.

"Reading Lamorak's thoughts became easier as he was willing to lower his mental defenses when he felt me probing for information – that, coupled with the fact that I was now allowed limited access to select locations outside my home, meant that gathering information and staying well informed was far easier than it had been in my exile. The knowledge that there was a drow coming for you, someone with abilities more closely akin to yours than anyone else I had ever come into contact with, was unsettling, but I hoped you would take the appropriate steps to safeguard yourself against such an attempt. With the assurance that you had a dependable network of allies helping you against the drow – Lamorak, Aglarel, and Aveil – I immersed myself in further study of your mind, hoping I would stumble across something that could shed more light on your prophetic dreams.

"I heard commotion in the hallway the day the drow came and couldn't keep myself from investigating; Lamorak had come to call on you and was distraught to find you missing. Lux was able to give him a general time frame of when you had departed for the palace grounds, and I was able to intercept him before he followed after you… Lamorak was highly opposed to my involvement, but I insisted on accompanying him. I knew that my meager understanding of psionics would be of little help against a drow with a strong latent talent for such abilities, but I didn't care. I was too involved already – I always had been."

"It was you," Phendrana interrupted in a barely audible voice, his mouth slightly agape with wonder and his eyes wide. He remembered that day vividly – the pain inflicted upon his mind was like nothing he had ever experienced, and he knew he wouldn't likely forget it anytime soon. "I knew it wasn't Lamorak who pushed the drow out of my mind that day. It was you. You were with him."

Brennus allowed himself an indulgent little chuckle, the sound hollow, the corners of his mouth twitching as though the expression was unfamiliar to him. "Yes. It was me – though I can hardly explain how I saved you that day. When we came upon you the drow was so focused on crushing your mind that he didn't even sense our presence, and you were so delirious with the pain that it took barely any effort to filter into your mind… And then…"

"You pushed him out of my mind," Phendrana supplied, confused by the loremaster's hesitation, and Brennus actually snorted.

"No, you pushed him out of your mind, Phendrana, make no mistake of that – on the defensive end I helped very little, for the moment I told you what to do to expel him you had already done it! But the second I could no longer sense him within your mind and Lamorak was helping you to safety, I was filled with such rage…" Brennus's gaze was no longer upon Phendrana and his expression was vacant, as though he was glimpsing something the doppelganger couldn't see. "I crushed him utterly. It felt almost effortless. And then I had no choice but to flee, and hope that there was nothing left behind to implicate my involvement… After that I was more careful. I shut myself away and re-devoted myself to my studies. I knew that if I was that careless again the High Prince would catch wind of what I had been up to, and I knew I couldn't risk that until I had gathered all the information I required."

"I do not understand," the mindmaster broke in again, his brow furrowed as he considered. "What were you hoping to accomplish?"

Brennus blinked, taken aback. By now his skin was the dark shade of charcoal, and the thinnest veil of black mist could be seen floating around his body. "I had thought that much, at least, would be obvious… I was searching for proof that your mind wasn't flawed, that it was in reality stronger than it had ever been. I hoped if I was able to prove your mental fortitude somehow that the High Prince would cease to think that you could be of no use to him. I even selfishly entertained the notion that he would welcome me back into the council, and into his circle of absolute trust, once again, but I did not cling to that notion so closely. You were my priority – you always had been."

Phendrana's gaze dropped to his hands, which by now were twisting guiltily in his lap. It was humbling to hear just how central his well-being was to someone else, someone whom he had been convinced all along wanted nothing to do with him. The thought made him wish he could go back in time and do things differently. It made him wish he was even a fraction as brave as the Twelfth Prince was.

"It took me far longer than it should have to realize that I had been going about my studies all wrong." Brennus was finally relaxing a bit, settling back in his chair, resting his chin upon one hand – the retelling of his accounts had made him more animated, made him seem like at least a ghost of himself. "All along I had been operating off of the assumption that the dreams you were having were somehow linked to your inherent abilities of the mind… It occurred to me not long after your run-in with the psionist that the dreams were likely heightened, something the shadow had amplified upon regenerating your body. I changed my strategy. If the dreams were a result of your transformation, I needed to look elsewhere.

"It took some doing, but after much debate I was able to procure some of Lamorak's notes detailing your condition and your abilities for my work. When I had a better idea of how your talents were developing I asked Lamorak to supply me with a handful of accounts of Determinings he had conducted in the past that had yielded similar results. After reviewing three of these in particular, I was finally able to arrive at the conclusion I had been seeking.

"The first specimen I reviewed had been highly cerebral prior to his transformation – highly intuitive, with the ability to use probability and odds to predict outcomes of particular events with a very high rate of success. After he took on the shadow this ability of his was amplified exponentially, to the point where he was actually able to see the world around him several seconds into the future – just long enough that he could influence events in a favorable manner if he so desired. But this gift came at a heavy price for him – the strain of constantly glimpsing the future took its toll upon his mind, until he suffered a mental collapse. It drove him insane.

"The second case was similar – a lesser noble, highly aware of her surrounding environment, with the ability to look at a person and somehow know where they would wind up and what they would be doing. This precognition was heightened upon her transformation, and her ability turned into acute telekinesis – she was able to move things thousands of times the weight of any other recorded archwizard in Netherese history. Unfortunately it was greed that brought about her downfall – in Lamorak's account this shade actually attempted to tear the top off a mountain with her powers and mold it into the next floating enclave of our empire. Needless to say, she was unsuccessful.

"The last of these accounts was so similar to yours that I was puzzled how its existence had escaped Lamorak's notice – but then, I suppose he has been much more involved in recent matters than I. The specimen had vivid dreams that followed both reoccurrence and a state of progression – they happened on an almost nightly basis, and the events furthered themselves with each passing dream. Following his transformation this shade was able to predict the future through his dreams with startling accuracy. According to Lamorak's report, however, the shade's condition progressed so quickly that he began experiencing negative side effects – hallucinations being the most severe of these."

"What happened to him?" Phendrana found himself asking in a soft, intrigued voice, and Brennus dropped his gaze with a grimace.

"He… did not survive long," the loremaster told him evasively. "The intensity of the mental stimuli was too much for his mind to endure… He took his own life." Phendrana swallowed hard, suddenly intensely afraid that he was destined to suffer a similar fate, but Brennus continued. "In reviewing this last account I was able to form a strong hypothesis where your mental state was concerned… I concluded that your mind, while brilliant, was likely having difficulty adjusting to its new capabilities. From studying Lamorak's notes on your condition, I was certain that unless preventative measures were taken your abilities would continue to grow until your mind lacked the mental capacity to sustain them.

"So I started reviewing the facts, pondering all that we knew of your condition. What did I know? I knew that you had possessed a remarkable facility for telekinesis and telepathy even before you had become a shade. I knew that in the wake of your transformation those two abilities had become amplified, and that you had begun having prophetic dreams. I knew that your memory had suffered in the earliest stages of your regeneration. And I knew that you were under a crippling amount of stress - brought on by a combination of being isolated for extended periods of time, being viewed with mistrust, being made to choose sides, being forced to deny your true emotions, and likely a handful of other things you had neglected to share with anyone. In short, your mind was too brilliant. Your new abilities were wearing you down, and if something wasn't done you would be lost.

"I knew I couldn't trust anyone with such a sensitive matter, so I surrounded myself with spellbooks that might be of some assistance – I hoped that if I could locate the right enchantment I could bind it into a magical item, and if I could get that to you somehow…" Brennus broke off with a shrug as though perhaps he viewed his own actions as foolish, but he would no longer look Phendrana in the eye and the doppelganger was almost certain the loremaster was embarrassed. "The spell I chose was Mind Blank, but I weaved a handful of other supplemental magics into the finished product that I knew would be beneficial to you."

"I am not familiar with Mind Blank," Phendrana admitted softly. "Will you tell me what it does?"

He had hoped the sound of his voice would prompt the Twelfth Prince to look up, but Brennus had devoted his attention to a scratch on the table's surface and kept his eyes fixed upon it stubbornly as he continued. "The enchantment will protect you from any mind-affecting spell – natural abilities such as the art of psionics will be able to bypass it, but any spell-like effect will be negated by it. It also shields your mind from any such divinations – if someone attempted to scry a person who was protected by this spell, the scrying attempt would fail. It would be impossible to locate that person through magical means."

Phendrana was unable to hide his shock. "By the Gods."

"There is more. Mind Blank fortifies the user's mental fortitude – an especially well-crafted item imbued with that enchantment can increase a person's focus, aid a person in silencing certain thoughts and emotions at a time when they would otherwise seem detrimental, even increase a person's mental capacity. So if someone happened to be suffering the side effects of over-developed mental abilities – "

"The spell would enable them to function normally," Phendrana finished, astounded. "The side effects would be negated."

He raised his left hand and uncurled his fingers, presenting the luminous mithral band he had found on the ballroom floor of the Palace Most High; the two diamonds twinkled coolly in the light from the candles that were lit upon the headboard, the band imparting its perpetual warmth into his fingertips. Phendrana looked up to find Brennus staring down at the ring he held with a fierce pride in his eyes, which by now had returned to their characteristic bronze color, and when the loremaster shifted his gaze to finally look Phendrana in the eye those eyes took on a familiar molten quality that the doppelganger had once been certain he'd never see again in his lifetime.

"You made this," the doppelganger concluded quietly, "for me." He remembered the chaos of his own thoughts, the feeble struggle for focus as he'd attempted to ground his abilities enough for them to be of use, the panic and hopelessness that were direct by-products of knowing he wasn't strong enough to make a difference. He remembered the sensation of courage and self-worth that had come with slipping the ring on his finger for the first time, how simple it had been to recreate Hadrhune's mind from the splinters of what had been left behind, and the impenetrable shield of his own mental defenses keeping the Princes of Shade from further harm. It struck him then that if it hadn't been for Brennus's diligence and devotion, he would never have found the strength to save anyone.

Brennus's face screwed up with confusion then as he tried vainly to recall something, but whatever it was it seemed he could not quite envision it. Phendrana came to understand in the next moment when the loremaster said, "I think I saw you there, protecting us from the fire until the High Prince came. I think it must have worked."

For some reason he couldn't explain Phendrana found his thoughts traveling back over the months to the moment when a Brennus who did not carry the concerns he did now had unveiled the doppelganger's new home to him for the very first time. Phendrana remembered being awed into a revered silence and humbled to a state of near-tears, just as certain now as he had been then that he was the recipient of something he could never deserve, and recalled precisely the words he had said in that instant – they fit this situation just the same. "Why? Why do you insist on giving me all these things?"

The Twelfth Prince must have remembered that time just as fondly, for his laugh ringing throughout the doppelganger's bedchamber was more jubilant than it might have been otherwise; he looked Phendrana square in the eyes then, ensuring that he wouldn't miss a single word when he offered a response identical to the one he had given that day. "Do you not know?"

The atmosphere in the room changed abruptly as Phendrana relaxed back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing the loremaster with an expression of mock displeasure. "I find myself still less than pleased with your behavior over the past several months. I am not certain I am prepared to forgive you!"

"Then we are in agreement," Brennus laughed sheepishly, "for I may never forgive myself." His expression shifted from dour to uplifted in the blink of an eye then – he was so overcome by optimism that Phendrana was in awe of him. "But this changes everything, Phendrana. A few simple tests is all it will take to assure the High Prince that your mind is not broken – that it is stronger now than it has ever been, in fact! So long as you are in possession of that ring you needn't fear your own mental excesses. Your abilities can continue to grow and develop, and you have no fear of the adverse effects you suffered previously. Your life can go on."

There was a note of wistfulness in the prince's tone that alerted Phendrana to the fact that one thing still was amiss; he chose his words carefully, hoping Brennus would supply the answers of his own accord when he prompted, "And so can yours."

"Ah." Brennus's face fell then, his obvious disappointment shattering the feeling of bliss swelling in Phendrana's own chest. "Unfortunately that is not the case… The High Prince can never find out that it was I who created that ring for you. If he does, he will know that I have been violating his orders all this time… The punishment will be severe, and I will likely not survive it. You must therefore invent your own creative means for coming into possession of such a useful artifact, and your explanation can never involve me."

"But you saved me." Phendrana could feel anger burning in his chest, helpless rage for the bleak situation they now found themselves in. "It is all on account of you that I have maintained my sanity… That I will continue to be useful to the High Prince at all! Surely he would reconsider – "

"No, Phendrana." Brennus's voice derailing his tirade was sad yet stern, and the molten quality had vanished from his eyes – he was the Twelfth Prince of Shade now, a man whose decree was to be respected and carried out. "He would not reconsider, and he would not understand. He must never know of my involvement."

The unfairness of it all - of having love torn from him and suffering the gaping wounds of its absence, of finding that his hatred had been misplaced all this time, of experiencing the fleeting prospect that perhaps miraculously all would be well only to have it ripped from him a second time – drove Phendrana from his seat; he gazed down at Brennus with an expression of utmost torment upon his face, his hands trembling at his sides, and spoke the most heartfelt vow to ever fall upon the prince's ears. "I swear to you now that I will find a way to remedy this," he growled, his conviction making the words sound unnecessarily harsh, his eyes shining with purpose. "I will find a way to absolve you of all suspicion and doubt in this matter. I will not rest until the High Prince recognizes your selflessness and your acts of astounding heroism. I will persist until he finds it in his heart to forgive you. And then I will love you for as long as the shadow sustains me."

Brennus rose soundlessly to his feet and smiled, clearly touched by the sentiment, but did not approach; secretly Phendrana was grateful for that, for there was so much left to do and so much that remained unspoken between them that he knew the moment was simply not now for any further declarations. The loremaster drifted for the door, his eyes upon Phendrana with his every step, and pausing there he murmured, "I will cherish your vow for all the days of my life, and pray daily for your success. And when the day comes and you realize that you have made a promise you cannot keep, I will continue to love you regardless."

And then he was gone.

Phendrana glared at the closed door for a long time afterward, recalling with despair all the nights he had spent projecting his hate through the heat of his furious gaze upon an individual who hadn't deserved it at all. For a moment he almost bowed beneath the crippling feeling of despondency that assailed him as he considered the seemingly impossible task ahead, but just when he felt that all was already lost he felt something blazing warmly in his left hand and loosened his fingers to inspect it.

It was the ring that Brennus had made, sitting quietly upon the doppelganger's upturned palm, somehow imparting courage and strength through it presence alone, and Phendrana drew something far stronger from it that he used to battle back the feelings of doubt and dread and desolation.

It was hope.