Despite everything Valyne had ever said on the subject, she always found something about love intoxicating. Part of it was rarity. She had seen pale imitations so often, used to manipulate and bind and twist people around until they had no knowledge of which way was up. A succubus's kiss, a charm spell, a potion designed to ensnare with infatuation, all little better than coal beside a diamond. Part of it was the allure of not being able to have it, like the enchantment of dancing flames that were without substance but still had the power to burn anyone who allowed their fingers too close. Maybe if she had never gone to the surface she would have soldiered on in blissful ignorance. No, that was a lie. A comfortable, hopeful lie. The emptiness always had a way of creeping back in.
And the last part? How heartbreakingly close she had come to having it. For the first few days, maybe even weeks, the anger had managed to blind her to pain. The shock of her world suddenly collapsing kept her focused on her next breath, her next meal. She would always be grateful to the Underdark's wilds for dragging her relentlessly out of her own head just to struggle for survival, for always offering her a choice when she had no others. Life or death. It made things simple, even in their impossibility. But eventually it had hit and she all but crumbled. And even the pain of betrayal was a paper cut in comparison to the knowledge that she had willingly stripped off her armor and done everything short of driving the knife in herself. All that just for him.
Magic and binding couldn't make it go away, but they gave her the power to inflict what she was feeling on others. And when they couldn't fill the gaps, Malcanthet had stepped in to help her stoke the fires of hatred and resentment rather than succumb. A demon could not heal a wound, but they could teach you to salt it yourself, to revel in the bitterness of pain and use it as a weapon. The problem with that was that the wound stayed as open and fresh as the day it had been given. No peace, no forgetfulness, no forgiveness.
"Valyne." Her name was a plea now, so soft it was almost lost even in the silent hallway.
She meant to keep walking, to forget she had ever been unfortunate enough to run into the Weapons Master, to ignore him completely until she left for the inevitable battle with Shami-Amourae. Her body had apparently not received any message about her intent, however, because her feet were slowing to a stop with heavy steps. I don't need this. I don't want this. Light take him.
"Valyne, please. Just talk to me," Keldzar said with a little more volume, a little more confidence. At least she seemed to be listening to him. That was an improvement even if it was a small one.
It was wholly within her rights and power to send him away, preferably running. But she felt too much to dare speak, knowing that it probably wouldn't even come out in her native tongue. The hate, the pain, the rage would come pouring out in Abyssal, a language far better equipped than even drow to explain just what she was thinking. Her pulse was roaring in her ears even as the skin of her face tightened in a silent snarl. She was managing to choke the growl down, desperately hoping to maintain some semblance of her drow nature. Val didn't turn towards him or make any gesture so inviting. She just stopped in the hall.
Goddess, but she wanted to hurt something. Anything...anything except him. Because the heart wanted what it wanted and even demonic urges had to acquiesce to its wishes. As much as she loathed herself for it, she knew she still cared about Keldzar. Just seeing his face was enough to agonizingly remind her of that, like claws jabbed straight into the deepest part of an injury or a twist of the knife.
"I know I hurt you, Val, and that I betrayed your trust. But I never meant to. I just...please give me a chance to fix this. That's all I want."
Val stared at the far wall. She could feel her teeth grinding against each other under the force she was using to keep from speaking until she was positive her voice would come out normal and controlled. Why was this so difficult? She had offered a chance to start over to Lirayne and their animosity stretched back much further. Hells, she wasn't even certain that the priestess wouldn't revert back to her old self now that they were in Menzoberranzan again and beneath the scrutinizing eyes of the drow (particularly her family). The right thing to do, and more than that, the practical thing to do, would be to offer him an olive branch as well. The more people she had behind her, the better.
Unless they're holding knives. Would you forgive him if it had been someone else that he hurt? Cessair, Lirayne, the Matron, even Galen, or Storunn? a voice in the back of her mind asked unbidden.
The answer was an unequivocal no. For all her violent tendencies and abrasive comments, she had always made it a point to protect the few people that were close to her. It was that strange sort of possessive nature that was so common in drow, mingling freely with jealousy and envy. The rest of the world could burn for all she cared, but the parts of it that felt like home, like belonging? She would die for those a hundred times over if it came to that.
Then why are you willing to give in when it's you that you need to protect?
No matter which way Val twisted herself, she couldn't find a good answer for that.
Lirayne was easy: there had never been any trust between them before to betray. Her sister, despite her status as a priestess and a Matron's daughter, was not a really manipulative creature when she gave someone her trust. Her temper ran hot, not cold. Lirayne would raise her voice and her fist in an instant, but she tended to do it to the person's face. She growled and snapped, but she was (though she would deny it in a heartbeat) loyal. If you were her enemy, her rival, you damn well knew it. It was the fundamental difference between Lirayne and Zesstra, likely what made her unsuited in Siniira's eyes for the position of Matron. Ruling a House required a certain level of duplicity or at least diplomacy, not that drow really made a habit of distinguishing between the two.
Val didn't feel ready to forgive and forget, nor was she certain that she would even if she could. After all, he could have told the Matron the truth. He could have refused Zesstra's offer. But when it came down to a choice between her and power for Keldzar...
"I want to be more than just the Weapons Master to you. Please, Valyne. I know I have a lot to prove, but I want to try."
The arcanist ran her fingers through her hair, exhaustion sweeping up through her body to begin to displace the anger. It was the hurt that lingered. And disappointment. When she dealt with demons, even when she hadn't been clear on the terms, she had always tried to make certain that she was the one paying the price. It would have been easier, safer, to damn other people instead of herself. Diabolists were certainly known for doing so even though they usually went down in flames themselves. Just not her, less out of any high moral principle and more from a feeling that defied explanation that twisted violently in her stomach at the idea.
Pragmatism dictated that she give him the chance even if she had no intention of ever actually forgiving him. However, leaving that door open even an inch was allowing a hope to take root in her heart that she couldn't afford. Not knowing how much it hurt to have those feelings crushed. Was it fear? Certainly. But just this once, she was alright with giving in to it.
"I am not interested," Valyne said, every syllable perfectly clear and crisp. Her tone was cold but not angry. Instead it was that relentlessly calm statement of fact people could never discard as being a snappish comment in the heat of the moment. "I am not your enemy, but I am not your friend nor will I ever be. If you need me for House business, Weapons Master, I will be in my quarters."
She left Keldzar standing in the hall with his lips still parted, whatever words that had been on the tip of his tongue dying as she walked away. Somehow it felt strangely appropriate.
"Val," Galen greeted her near the door to her quarters. "How'd it go?"
"The Matron understands the situation, at least," she said, grateful that the human leaning against the wall was refraining from a rant about the innumerable sins of both herself and Menzoberranzan in general. Of course, the night was still young. "Now there's just the matter of actually gathering forces. We likely won't get a full commitment from the Houses since they have to defend themselves from each other as well, but it's still a substantial force. We may be able to pull reinforcements from Gracklstugh. Durna Thuldark owes us a favor."
Only the paladin could look relieved and worried at the same time. "Sounds like good news to me. How are you and Lirayne holding up?" he asked. When she arched a delicate eyebrow, he shrugged. "I know, I know. What can I say? You're part of the group. Also, Cess has been practically tearing our rooms apart with nerves since we were separated from you two. Must miss girl time."
Val's lips quirked into a small smile, but she couldn't quite bring herself to laugh even though that really did sound like Cessair. "About as well as can be expected." It was strange, but despite all the fighting between the two of them, she still trusted Galen more than most. During all that time in the tunnels, in combat together, under the constant threat of danger, she had gotten used to relying on him. Even when he bitched and moaned about her lack of moral scruples, he would still put himself in the line of danger on her behalf. Certainly on Lirayne's behalf.
He winced. "That good, huh?"
"We knew this wasn't going to be easy as soon as we realized what we were up against," Val said, opening her door. She paused in the doorway and turned, her gray eyes flickering as she scrutinized his face. "You know, you don't need to come to me for an excuse to go see her."
Galen's face flushed in that way that Lirayne found endlessly amusing. "I-what?"
"Good luck, choir boy. And do try to keep that foot out of your mouth. It's a lot easier to talk without the boot leather in the way," she said in the dry, amused voice she'd come to reserve for their little group. "I'll be here if you need any more scintillating conversation."
She stepped into her quarters and closed the door. It was both a relief and an ache to see that nothing had really changed or been moved since the day she was imprisoned. Obviously someone had dusted, but beyond that there was little difference. She didn't even want to look in her bedroom, so instead she went to her study. People had been in here-probably just Mourndar and the Matron-to peruse her books, but they had all been put back in order. The smells of aged tomes and spell reagents and that faint, dark perfume of the Abyss mingled together into a soothing scent that spoke of quiet comfort. It was not really nostalgia, since it reminded her of the parts of her present and more recent past that she happened to be fond of.
Val sank down in to her chair and flipped the volume on her desk open. She wasn't really interested in the words. It was the feel of paper against her fingertips, the rustling of pages, that eased her mind. Even as an arcanist who didn't need a volume of spells, she had always connected with books. They were remarkably free of judgment and expectations, offering their everything and demanding nothing in return except time and patience.
It was probably half an hour before she heard the softest creak of the door's hinges. No footsteps, not even the outer door opening. She had laid her head down on the open pages and closed her eyes by that time. Not that she needed to see to know who it was. A lack of noise could be as distinctive as its presence.
"Hey you," Cessair said gently, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her ankles. She felt almost guilty for disturbing the drow, but Galen had told her on his way to see Lirayne that the mage looked unhappy. "Want to talk?"
"Not particularly," Val said, eyelashes fluttering as she debated whether or not to open her eyes. In the end, she decided she should look at the rogue and actually be a part of the conversation even if she couldn't put words to all the things churning in her head. Cessair was still disguised, clearly aware that it wasn't safe to give anyone any chance to see her without her tiefling features.
Cessair understood when she saw the hint of uncertainty and heart-sickness in those gray eyes. Most people didn't regard her as a particularly bright creature, but she could read the silence and all the things in it left unspoken. Val didn't want to talk: she wanted someone else to talk, just to make it feel like she wasn't on her own. It was vaguely reminiscent of the nights they'd spent on watch together out in the tunnels where hours would go by without a word, comfort enough in the presence of a friend that nothing needed to be said.
"You know, I really like the Underdark. Weird to hear from me, sure, but I was always more of a city girl than a woodsy type. And it's not just the pretty architecture and the interesting people," Cessair said, moving to the chair closest to Val's. She dropped down and pulled off her boots before curling up and tucking her feet beneath herself. "On the surface, I was too elvish for the humans and too human for the elves. Here, aside from the little drow-elf thing, people really only care about what I can do. Yeah, my skin's pale and my ears are a kinda pointed. But they barely get a second glance once people figure out I can pick locks, disarm traps, and stab the shit out of people from the shadows."
Val leaned back in her chair. "What about where you grew up?"
"You can never go home again, my stepfather told me when I started wandering. He wasn't throwing me out. It was really more prophetic than anything. Whenever my feet take me down those old roads, I find that the places I was so used to have changed terribly. And even where they look the same, it's still not home because I've changed. It's like trying to put on clothes you used to wear that don't really fit any more," Cessair said with a shrug, resting her chin on her hand. "Not that they ever really fit great to begin with, you know? Galen always melds right back in because he has our family and his order, but I can't."
"So where do you go when you can't go home?" the drowess asked thoughtfully, turning over the half elf's words in her mind. She was beginning to understand the feeling.
"Well, I hear the Abyss is nice this time of year," Cessair said impishly. "I'm even rocking the horns and tail for it."
Val rolled her eyes with just a hint of an easy smile touching her lips, fixing her friend with that look of amused exasperation she seemed to save up just for the rogue.
"There's my girl," the half elf said, all but beaming at the little expression. It was a sign that her words were actually starting to ease whatever turmoil was bothering the arcanist. "Anyway, it's not that I can't go home. It's just that my home is a different place now. It's with my friends on the road. Galen's a tree and I'm a tumbleweed. It's how I roll."
The drowess laughed, shaking her head. "I feel like you told me all this just to get to that little pun."
"Maybe," Cessair said smugly. "I have been saving it up. Keep me around a bit longer and you'll see how many short jokes I also saved to use on Storunn once we hit someplace where I could hide from him without volunteering to be the first course on an Underdark buffet."
"Cess, never change," Valyne said with a touch of gratitude and admiration in her tone. Something about the way the rogue put things and looked at the world made the path ahead a little bit lighter, a little bit easier.
"Careful what you wish for, Val," Cessair warned in her playful way, plucking at her leather bracer when she realized she had a stray thread of stitching starting to come undone. "Can I be serious for a minute? Nothing bad or anything."
"Depends. It might kill you to try."
The half elf looked up, affecting a mournful air. "Oh, I know. Just reanimate my corpse for the funeral and make it sneak up on Galen. I'll go to the afterlife knowing I at least scared the shit out of him one last time," she said, blue eyes gleaming with mischief at even the thought. She settled down a little and let her thoughts stray to weightier matters. Serious talks were never her forte. "I just wanted to let you know that we're gonna see this through to the end, Val. Galen, Storunn, and I. I know we could leave now that Menzoberranzan is gearing up to handle it, but we're your friends and we know what this means to you. So if we have to fight a demon lord or jump into the Abyss or dance the remigold in a flower dress to summon forces of light or whatever, we'll be there. I know you're not used to having someone watch your back, but I plan on doing it anyway."
Val didn't say anything, but her whole expression seemed to soften at that little declaration. The tension in her jaw relaxed and she felt a sort of lightness settle in her chest. "Why?" She felt more gratitude than she had words for, so asking for some reason was the best she could do.
"You'd do it for us. Hell, you already fought for all of us this long even when it wasn't the smartest or easiest thing to do. You went claw to claw with a succubus for Galen and you can barely stand him half the time," Cessair said with a shrug and a lopsided smile. "I don't think you can really see it because of the dark magic and the demon blood, but behind the mask and the temperament of a really pissy pit viper, you're worth fighting for too."
"I..." Val struggled to think up a response to that. "Just...thank you."
"Eh, don't thank anyone yet. It means you're stuck with us," the rogue said, the conversation moving back to more comfortable territory. The mage looked a little overwhelmed at the moment, but at least this time it was in a good way. "So, later will you come play cards? Storunn and Galen are in as long as we don't use my cards because they're apparently marked. Hopefully Lirayne will agree too. We know that drow nobles can't really mix with us in public, but Storunn was just saying how he misses the bickering. He's worse than a mother bird with an empty nest. It seemed like a good compromise."
The arcanist laughed, shaking her head. Somehow, the gruff dwarf admitting something like that didn't surprise her in the slightest. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. I have some research to start first, but I'll be there. After Narbondel sets?"
"Is that the glowing thingy? Works for me," Cessair said, springing up from her seat and pulling on her boots. "I'll leave you to your books until then. I'm supposed to be acquiring drinks anyway. Found the kitchens, so the cellars can't be too far away."
Galen took a deep, satisfied breath and let his head tip back as the sound of the cleric's voice washed over him. He was sitting on the couch in Lirayne's quarters listening to her read aloud. The priestess herself had settled next to him, her back against the arm of the couch with her legs across his lap. She looked better, relaxed, now that she wasn't alone trying to deal with the knowledge of how much was at stake and how much might be lost even if they won. The paladin's aura of good was strangely comforting even to a priestess of Lloth, if only because it was as far from a demon's unholy aura as one could go.
The human could only pick out a handful of drow words that he understood, but he recognized it as poetry by its flow and meter. Lirayne had told him a little bit about the story of the verses: it was the history of Lloth and her faithful in the early days, trying to create a new homeland after being cast out, and the struggle between the gods of the Dark Seldarine. Even below the surface, we have heroes, she'd said, hiding behind her book as though she was admitting to something mortifying. He'd done his best to just nod in quiet acceptance rather than smile and laugh lest he set off her temper.
And now, he was glad he had asked her to share it. Because even if he was missing the story, he was allowed into a quiet, peaceful moment just for the two of them. Well, three, he supposed. Her pregnancy wasn't really hidden any more now that the Matron knew. Galen closed his eyes, perfectly content to just stay this way for the rest of the evening.
"Galen, are you still awake?" Lirayne asked, glancing up from the page. She was more amused than irritated. For all of the paladin's pigheadedness, she appreciated that he'd turned up to check on her despite her thorny attitude since they arrived back in Menzoberranzan. And he hadn't pushed while she found her center again after the turmoil that was earlier with the Matron.
"Mhmm. I was just thinking."
She closed her book on her finger to hold the page, studying him intently for a moment. Galen looked comfortable despite being in a drow city for the first time, his posture open and unguarded. "What about?"
"Whether or not your daughter will do that eyebrow thing that Duskryn women apparently do," he said with a chuckle, rubbing at the stubble on his chin that was rapidly turning into a short beard. He didn't mind that it was growing out, but he would probably need to neaten it up if he was to keep looking well-groomed.
"I presume you have a preference?" Lirayne said, raising an eyebrow. It was the exact expression he had been thinking of and the paladin grinned despite himself.
"I hope so. It's very fetching on her mother."
Lirayne pursed her lips as if in disapproval, but her eyes were bright with amusement. "So paladins can be charming after all. Who knew?" she said, opening her book again even though she had completely forgotten where she was on the page. Galen's compliments were endearing despite her best efforts to shrug them off, likely because he offered them without expecting anything in return. A lot of times the lack of hidden strings left her off guard, but she was slowly learning to appreciate it for what it was.
Sometimes it was hard not to wonder if he found it frustrating that things could never go beyond this. Not when they were each standing in the middle of opposing worlds that had happened to collide in a less violent way just this once. But so far she had left the issue alone because they were both aware of the boundary and neither was stupid enough to try crossing it.
"Oh, so I'm charming now? Here I thought I was an idiot."
Lirayne hid her smile behind the book. "You say that as if the two are mutually exclusive," she drawled, meeting his gaze with a wink. Here, behind closed doors, she could get away with saying and doing things that she would never dare to do in front of an audience. No one would believe Galen if he told them anyway.
He feigned an injured look. "Cess and Val are rubbing off on you."
She just hummed her acknowledgment, tracing her finger along the binding as she buried her nose in the slim volume again. The book was well loved, its leather cover worn and plenty of pages dog-eared from holding places when she couldn't find something to slip between the pages.
Galen had been about to respond when a harsh, military knock sounded on the door. Both of them started at the sudden intrusion of reality and Lirayne's whole demeanor changed. She snapped the book closed with a sharp movement, her relaxed posture and content smile vanishing in favor of the tenseness of a woman ready for combat. "That's the Patron," she said, rising and heading for the door.
The paladin steeled himself for a fight, knowing that a visit like this was probably not a good thing. Lirayne certainly didn't look thrilled. He didn't have his armor on, but he had his sword and shield with him. They were on the low table less than a foot away. Granted, he didn't necessarily need them. Even the Patron, who was unquestionably a brute and a large man for a drow, had nothing on Galen's tall, broad-shouldered build.
The priestess crossed her arms in irritation when the Patron stepped in as soon as the door opened. He hadn't even noticed Galen, clearly too absorbed in his own towering rage. "Yes, please, come in," she muttered under her breath. It was better to push this straight into a confrontation than let it build on his terms, so she raised her voice to an audible level. "Did you want something, Zekatar, or is this because you missed me?"
As grim and perpetually displeased as ever, the scarred male glared at his daughter. With Lirayne he did not fear retribution nearly as much as he did with Zesstra and Siniira. "What in the Demonweb were you thinking, bringing Valyne back?" he demanded, clearly struggling to keep his voice down at an appropriate level. "Do you have a death wish?"
"I could ask you the same thing, male," Lirayne snapped, tension coiling in her muscles as though she was preparing to lunge at him. Her hand had fallen to her snake whip which was writhing and hissing to express its mistress's displeasure. She might have slipped into inexplicable fondness near a worshipper of another god, but that did not mean she had lost her backbone. "Would you care to continue in that tone?"
He took the not so subtle hint and pulled in a deep, growling breath to calm himself. "She is your rival, Lirayne, your enemy, and you have all but handed her the throne," he said in a much more measured tone.
As much as she had always wanted his approval, this was a particular area where she was not about to budge. Not after everything that had happened over the past few months. And there was going to be no way to change his mind about the situation, not when he was so fixated on the idea of one of his daughters taking the throne. "I have no obligation to justify anything to you," she said harshly, matching his glare with an equally ferocious one. He might have stepped off his assault, but he hadn't backed down.
"You-"
"I am a priestess of Lloth and you will remember that when you speak to me," Lirayne all but hissed, a spell crackling to life in her hand. That got his attention in a way the snake whip hadn't.
Grudgingly, Zekatar lowered his burning eyes to the floor. If looks could kill, the flagstones would have been dead a thousand times over. "Did the Matron order this?" he asked.
"No, I did it out of the kindness of my heart," she said with a biting sarcasm. A lie, of course, but she wasn't going to tell the Patron that it had been her idea even though she almost enjoyed the idea of sending him into an apoplectic fit.
"Do you know why?" he probed, his tone and posture far more respectful.
"The demonic army building at Niar'hannenlyn probably has something to do with it," she said, her tone positively acidic as she kept her glare focused on her father. If she hadn't been so relaxed with Galen, she might have actually used the spell that was still at her fingertips. Her patience was exceedingly thin at the moment. "And I was all too happy to agree. The position of Matron is less appealing with Menzoberranzan and the House are burning down around it. But if you disagree, I'm certain Zesstra would welcome your support. She so adores you."
Zekatar's lip curled, but he allowed the rebuke to go unanswered. Lirayne's temper was not something to be toyed with. Particularly not with the change that had come over his daughter in the past few months. She was not quite a stranger, but there was something jarringly unfamiliar about the way she was speaking to him now. Lirayne was...controlled. Her anger was no longer directed at anyone and everything. Clearly she had made an effort to restrain and focus it, which made her even more dangerous. He did not fancy being on the receiving end.
"You're pregnant," he said after a pause, still not looking up.
"Congratulations, you noticed," Lirayne said flatly. She knew it surprised him even if he wasn't showing it. After all, she had never expressed any interest in a consort or children before. To suddenly have a child on the way was at the very least disconcerting. And she would never, ever tell him how it had come to happen. The less he knew, the better.
Zekatar had no problem with estimation. Lirayne was clearly far enough along that she had been with child and probably aware of it before she left. That at least explained part of her strange behavior from before she left. "That's all you intend to say on the subject?"
"To you, certainly," the cleric said. Her jaw was beginning to ache from clenching her teeth together. "Leave, Zekatar. Now."
"You cannot become Matron without me, Lirayne. I am not leaving until I receive an explanation," he said, head jerking up. One of his hands moved forward and then suddenly he was slammed back against the door by a bulky human warrior, a pale-skinned arm across his windpipe.
"The lady told you to go," Galen ground out in Undercommon, a good head taller than the powerfully built drow and certainly more muscular. He was glad he had the element of surprise and that he at least understood Lirayne's order to the Patron. The paladin knew a bully and a brute when he saw one. He had no problem leaning on the scarred male's windpipe a little when Zekatar looked like he was about to lash out.
"I will leave, rivvil, but this isn't over," Zekatar rasped out, a little winded from how hard they'd collided with the wall.
"It is between you and Lirayne. Between you and me? We're just getting started, Patron," Galen said roughly before releasing the drow male.
Zekatar left without a word, his crimson eyes communicating silently that the challenge was very much accepted. The paladin dusted himself off and turned around to see Lirayne smiling ever so faintly at him. "You okay?" he asked anyway, as if needing reassurance that she was actually fine. He didn't like anyone forcing her to suddenly revert to the hateful, vicious woman that he'd seen just now. As far as he was concerned, the priestess was always lovely, but he much preferred her without the bitterness.
"Charming and useful. I knew I kept you around for a reason," the cleric said. She looked him over, silently checking for injuries. There were no visible ones, which meant Zekatar really had been caught off guard. "You didn't have to intervene."
Galen shrugged, a hint of color staining his cheeks when he saw her expression turn appreciative. "Seemed appropriate. He'll be trouble later."
Lirayne sighed. "Trust me, I know."