"Do you ever miss how we used to be?" Yvonnel asked, accepting a glass of wine from House Duskryn's matriarch. Time had seemed to fly by since the surface's attempted assassination and now they were on the eve of Llolfaen's homecoming. Lirayne was busy making sure the House was running smoothly, a task Siniira had been easing her into for the past thirty years. It was an intricate and well-oiled machine to take care of, after all.

Siniira arched a perfect eyebrow. "Young?" she said with amusement, sitting down next to the head of the Yath'Abban. They were both looking out an enchanted mirror that served as a window looking out over Menzoberranzan. The city's lights glimmered in the darkness along with the illumination of Narbondel, giving the subterranean city's many towers an almost ethereal glow.

"That too," the priestess said comfortably, not even bothering to discreetly check for poison. If Siniira wanted her dead, there had been ample opportunity for it. Besides, she had such a native resistance to toxins with all the effort she'd put into cultivating her immunities that it was probably the worst way to attack her. "I still remember when I first met you. A slave girl full of fire and zeal, ready to take on a Matron Mother."

"And you were a vengeful little bitch hellbent on getting her own from House Baenre," Siniira said. She laughed. "We have come a long way, haven't we?"

Yvonnel matched the Matron's smile with an equal one of her own, enjoying her memories of the pair of them. They had been perfectly matched in every contest they ever entered into, each one propelling the other faster and further forward. And this detente of theirs was even more enjoyable than that rivalry had been. They were never really enemies. "We have. Though I preferred you without a Patron. Zekatar is a miserable little insect that, because of your inexplicable tolerance for him, I can't crush."

Siniira only looked more amused. "You really do hate him."

"Am I the only one who remembers he tried to have you killed and very nearly succeeded?" Yvonnel countered. She looked vaguely irritated as she sipped her wine, probably by the mere thought of Zekatar. Her feelings on the male went far beyond mere distaste into the realms of loathing. "

Such are the dangers of having a consort," the Matron said with a shrug.

"The only good thing to come out of him was your daughters, and even then only two out of three," the priestess said. Her eyes were focused on the skyline of the city. Narbondellyn stood higher than the other districts, though not on the plateau with the Academies, and looked out over Menzoberranzan. It was a beautiful sight, colors and lights breaking up the darkness. They flowed like water and danced like fireflies. It was a far cry from what people expected of the city. But even evil could be beautiful, and drow were still elves in their own way. City of Splendors, they called Waterdeep. What, Yvonnel mused, did the surface know about splendor?

"Lirayne has changed, hasn't she?" Siniira commented in that softly questioning way that meant she didn't expect an answer. "She's still a fearsome creature, still full of anger, but she's calmed so much. The arrogance is gone."

"Children tend to do that. It's why I haven't had any," Yvonnel said. She flashed a smile when that eyebrow inched upwards slowly in her direction. "The paladin she keeps around isn't too bad for her either. Obviously, I can't approve unless she's corrupting him, which I'm certain she is...just not in the way the phrase is usually intended. It's amazing the poor man hasn't gone into shock. Surface women." She rolled her eyes at the last two words.

Siniira laughed. "Only you," she said with a certain fondness.

"Mmm," Yvonnel hummed in agreement as the wine ran down her throat. It was mulled with spices and warmed solely on her account—she'd come in from her excursion into the heretic dens of Menzoberranzan, armor still covered with patterns of frost from a mage's powerful offensive spells. "I admit I'm feeling a bit more charitably disposed towards my own black sheep. Sabal is proving...tolerable. Though she's still wound up with a heretic and it's frankly going to blow up in her face. Rotten to her core, the little mageling."

"Kenafin? I thought you said she was soft." Yvonnel's lip curled in distaste, the sourness blooming across her tongue cutting through the sweet wine. "As all mouldering things are," she murmured. "I can manage a certain respect for people who cling to their faith, even if it is a stupid and feeble one. She has changed her allegiance from the Demon Queen to Eilistraee to this new demon lord. And if any are bound to keep her, it will be the Abyss."

"You sound almost concerned for your inquisitor, Yvonnel. Are you developing feelings in that black, shriveled heart of yours?" Siniira teased gently.

Yvonnel glared. "No." It sounded almost defensive, which set the Matron Mother to laughing. "You care about your daughters. Am I not at least allowed to take a passing interest in the lives of my own family?"

"If you can call a group of fanatical murderers bound together by mutual loathing that."

"Matron, have you met the drow?" Yvonnel asked with a grin. She sighed contently, looking down into her wine even as that old, wistful feeling crept over her. "I've missed this."

"You have been somewhat distant. Dare I inquire as to why?"

"Busy," Yvonnel said, carefully not mentioning that she could have delegated any number of tasks to her peons. It was better to keep busy than give over to flights of fancy. Someone had to keep tabs on cults and root them out wherever they became a problem, which seemed to be everywhere these days. There was also Baenre to watch. Something there was even more rotten than usual. So far she hadn't been able to put her finger on the culprit.

Siniira looked skeptical but politely refrained from pushing. In her experience, Yvonnel would talk about something bothering her when she was ready to and not a moment sooner. A knock on the door stirred her from her brief reflection on the subject.

"And back to the normal world, unfortunately. Will I see you again soon?"

"Perhaps," the priestess said. She reassembled her mental armor, that gleam of ruthless cunning appearing in her crimson eyes. Something in the lines of her face seemed to harden again as she stood up. She was still beautiful, still charming, but beneath that was a frightening ambition and cold, calculating mind forever working like some infernal machine. When the door opened, she did offer Lirayne a smile. The expression was there one second and gone the next. She was on her way that quickly. It was enough to let Siniira know that her not-quite-rival definitely had something on her mind.

"Matron," Lirayne greeted. She looked incredibly tired around the eyes. Siniira knew her daughter hadn't been sleeping well. She was probably worried about Llolfaen. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Of course. I have a surplus of time at the moment," the Matron said, motioning for her daughter to take a seat in Yvonnel's abandoned place. She could already see tension in Lirayne's shoulders and poured another glass of wine. Apparently House business had been less than pleasant, which wasn't that surprising. "Is something bothering you?"

"Not precisely," Lirayne said, massaging her eyes. They felt almost like she had sand in them, scratchy and dry from lack of sleep. She was sure there was red at their corners that advertised that fact. It had been a bad sign when she reached the point where she was too tired to snap at people properly. "I was curious to know why all of this is resting on my shoulders. Some of these duties Zesstra could easily handle. More easily than I, certainly."

"You've managed so far," Siniira said, handing over the glass. Her face and voice were stern. Over the past year, she'd become much harder on Lirayne. Not quite so much that the younger drowess overly resented her, but enough that it was known success was expected and failure was not to be tolerated.

What the Matron's reasons were, Lirayne could only guess. Perhaps her mother was under the misapprehension that she'd been coasting along too easily with her own daughter at the Academy. "As a drowning man handles his swimming," she muttered.

"Lirayne," Siniira warned. She softened ever so slightly when those exhausted eyes focused on her. "Everything I do is for a purpose. That includes your current workload."

The priestess sighed, her eyes starting to ache. She knew the feeling—she wanted to cry but couldn't physically manage it, let alone allow herself to. It was that sleep-deprived overwhelmed sensation. "Yes, Matron," she said, acknowledging the boundary.

"Besides, Zesstra can't be trusted to handle even half of this," Siniira said, taking her seat. "She's already clearly planning something, and that invariably means problems."

"She always is," Lirayne said sourly. "I do not look forward to the day when she becomes Matron."

"Will you allow her to? That sounds very unlike you." Siniira watched her daughter closely now, hunting for clues in her expression. It was a test and not a small one. This would mark how much Lirayne had changed. After all, before the priestess would have taken any opportunity to claw out her sister's eyes.

"Baenre already holds us in contempt. We survive because of a shifting web of alliances and a great number of spies, which is all well and good up to a point. But civil war in the House, if prolonged, would be our ruin. It's no use clambering for a throne just to see it crushed by outside enemies," Lirayne said, native intelligence cutting through some of the fog. "If I knew I had a chance at a quick, decisive victory, I would take it. Short of that? I would be better served going into voluntary exile."

"She wouldn't let you go. Nor would she let Llolfaen."

Lirayne's jaw tensed. "If she has an inkling of what's good for her, she won't touch a hair on Llolfaen's head or I'll raise an army that could shatter Menzoberranzan and march through the Nine Hells to reach her."

Siniira smiled faintly. "Your loyalty to what matters does you credit."

The priestess shrugged. "I learned it from watching you."

For a brief moment, Siniira actually felt herself warm at that. She had always tried to work to secure her family's future. Hearing it recognized at all was certainly welcome. If any legacy was to be passed down from her, she wanted it to be that bond holding blood together. Zesstra lacked the quality, but Lirayne...she had learned. Something had changed in her that moment when she held her daughter in her arms for the first time. Llolfaen was the center of her world. That was something so rare among the ever-infighting drow.

Lirayne sipped her wine. It was still warm, and that soft heat started to spread into her cold, aching, tired bones. It felt like she'd been beaten all over with a club of inordinate size. "Llolfaen comes home this cycle of Narbondel," she said. "I was hoping to be awake to greet her, but at this rate..."

"Go rest," Siniira said. "And don't worry about her so. She's grown and even trained now. She is armed to take on her enemies."

The priestess stood up and felt something in her knee pop uncomfortably. That was unpleasant. "But not any enemy, Matron. The House has enemies that are more than a knife in the dark or a party of armed duergar."

Siniira frowned slightly. That was truer than Lirayne probably realized, even in her less zombie-like state. Perhaps her own concerns were no longer so secret. She would have to question Yvonnel to see if the Revered Daughter had let something slip. "She will do well," the Matron said. She sounded indifferent, yet she was anything but.

"I will be in my quarters if you require anything of me," Lirayne said softly. "That said, I take my leave."

"You will be Matron Mother. All you have to do is have patience," Zekatar said, watching Zesstra pace back and forth almost endlessly. She seemed more frustrated and agitated than usual, lips curving into a cruel frown. The Patron could only hope she would not vent her ire on him.

"Patience? I have had patience," she said tersely, marshaling her thoughts like an army. "Lirayne is only amassing more and more favor. More support. More power. The old woman is grooming her for the throne."

"Lirayne is not the eldest," Zekatar reminded her. "Soon enough, one of them will make a mistake." Zesstra glared at him, disbelief written in her expression.

"The only mistake they will make is one inflicted upon them. I grow weary of waiting. Without the initiative, we have nothing. No advantage and no time to formulate a plan. As long as I am stuck merely reacting, Lirayne has the upper hand."

"But she is preoccupied looking outward, which means she can be caught from behind. No longer does she consider you a problem to be focused on," her father said. His fondness for Lirayne had been poisoned by the Matron's clear favor. Once he might have looked on it as a boon, but his younger daughter had changed. No longer did she look at him as the font of wisdom and a necessary part of her rise to power. Perhaps she had finally sensed that it was still a manipulation, even if one that seemed very much beneficial. Or perhaps she did not want a male claiming the authority to make or break a Matron Mother. Zesstra didn't care any more as long as her goal was reached.

"That is more of a cause for concern than celebration," Zesstra said darkly. "She knows something we do not and is keeping it very close to her chest."

"You cannot expect to simply walk up and cut her heart out, Zesstra," Zekatar pointed out, face settling into a grim expression. Zesstra smiled as suddenly as a bolt of summer lightning strikes ground, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Or can I?" she said pleasantly. "We know where she's weak. Her little human toy and the darling Llolfaen both seem to occupy special places in her heart. If one of them were to be...removed, imagine what that might do to her attention."

Zekatar felt a chill of dread sweep through him. He had been alive long enough to know drow women did not take kindly to interferences with what they considered theirs. "You bait a dragon," he said quietly, imagining the fury that would be Lirayne. "If she were to discover who was responsible, it would be an unpleasant end to your ambitions."

"I managed to remove Valyne, and Lirayne has a far larger chink in her armor. I think it's time our young Llolfaen was introduced to the real world of the drow. Briefly."

Zekatar sighed. If Zesstra really was determined, he knew she could accomplish the task. The problem would be ensuring it looked very much accidental. And that would require his assistance. "She'll be introduced to patrols when she returns. Let us ensure she happens to have the most dangerous ones. Nature will take its course. She did only moderately well at the Academy—her instructors were not impressed with her grasp of spell preparation. Not that she seems to need it."

Zesstra paused thoughtfully, rubbing one of her earrings as she contemplated that little tidbit. "Oh really? And why is that, I wonder. I do believe that is one of the things my darling sister was hiding from us. Llolfaen isn't a cleric at all. Tell me, how is her manner since she left us? Do you know?"

"Withdrawn," Zekatar said. "And a bit...erratic. What are you thinking?"

"That Lirayne's little bitch is a favored soul, and if there's one problem with those connected to the Spider Queen, it is that their minds are weak. Not stupid, but fragile. We don't need to kill her, only drive her over the brink of madness. That will very much suffice to turn her against her mother and keep Lirayne very, very distracted. She won't want to kill her heir, after all. And I know just the creatures that can help," Zesstra said, warming to the idea quickly. This was a task far less likely to draw any attention to herself and Lirayne would probably be distraught rather than furious. Her sister's idiotic fondness for her spawn would be her undoing. And that in turn would weaken Siniira's position without her ally thinking clearly.

Zekatar smiled. "A sound plan. Who were you considering?"

"Only the masters of madness: illithids. There is an enclave not so distant from the city, replacing the one that the Matron razed. No one has bothered to clean it out yet. Why not set that as a task for the girl? If they were to...damage something, that would hardly be construed as our doing," the priestess said smoothly. She was in her element now, plotting away. "I will need you to arrange it with Keldzar, of course."

"That can be done easily enough," the Patron said. He gave her a polite bow. "I will see to it at once."