The dark, endless void spread out on all sides of the priestess with its sharp chill and the smell of something bitter mixed with a faint perfume. Yvonnel looked upward. She could see a graveyard glimmer of light sifting down through innumerable, silver webs of immense size. The faint screams of the damned echoed down to her, here at the bottom of the pit. She was caught in a trap of adhesive silk that tangled with her limbs and left her suspended in space. A sudden vibration moved through the web—her hunter was moving towards her.

"Poor little insect, all alone. And weak. So weak," a female voice purred, faintly familiar as if they'd met before such a long time ago. "Here because of sentiment. A foolish little emotion that corrupted a lifetime of power."

Yvonnel knew when to stay silent. She was no fool. Whatever was speaking to her, wherever she was, it was not to be trifled with. She could feel the power here, radiating from every mote of dust and strand of web. The world around her practically hummed with divine energy so dark it threatened to blot out even her memory of true light. Never in her life had she felt so helpless. Her involuntary struggles against the web proved utterly useless.

"Squirm all you like, little insect," the voice said, sweet as honey and sharp like a knife. "You are going nowhere. And no questions? Surely, so many must burn in your feeble mind."

"None, Mistress," Yvonnel said. She searched her memory. The last one she had was of pain, unbelievable pain, and radiant flame. Barely she could make out a bronze face grim with determination. Why did it seem so far away? She was clinging to memories of her life now as they bled through her fingers.

"Such manners. Delightful! Do you feel it, the darkness creeping over you until it is all that remains? The world will know that day soon. It will crash over the heavens like a wave and topple the gods from their golden thrones. Long, long, long after you have shuffled off your mortal coil." A long, sharp-looking spider leg like that belonging to a black widow passed over her and plucked at the strings holding her. "But what to do with you? Shall I keep you here, little insect? Would you like that?"

Yvonnel took a deep breath. "No, Mistress," she said even though she knew this voice was not one accustomed to being gainsaid. In reality, the entity speaking to her would do as it pleased and what she wished had nothing to do with it.

"No, Mistress," it parroted back before dissolving into laughter that rang like clear bells through the shadows. Something in it was not quite sane, just a little hint as the nearly girlish giggling faded away in echoes. At least she had amused it. "Ah, what a delightful little insect." The leg plucked the strand of webbing again, making Yvonnel twitch and twist to its pleasure.

The Revered Daughter was beginning to realize where she was and knew in that moment that if she ceased to amuse, she would be in a very, very unpleasant situation. Whether she was dead or this was a vision, she did not know. What she did know was that somewhere in her misty, quickly evaporating past, she had seen here or been here before. The Demonweb Pits, home of the Spider Queen herself. And then there was her host here. She was positive in every fiber of her being that this was not a yochlol or a bebilith or one of the damned souls from up above her. This had to be the Goddess herself who toyed with her like a spider playing with its unworthy prey. She stayed very quiet like a good little cleric, waiting to hear what was in store for her.

"You were weak," the voice hissed with a sudden venom, maybe a fraction of an inch from her ear. In the darkness, even a drow could barely perceive anything. "I should make you suffer for that as only I can make a soul suffer. I would make you beg, but I have no interest in that waste of my precious air."

"Leave her, my Lady. There is more interesting sport to be had," a voice smooth and silver like mercury said in Abyssal, cutting through the darkness. "Elohis is dead, which means Torm will have suffered quite the blow. That was his champion. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say you enjoyed yourself."

Yvonnel turned her head towards it, seeing a faint light. The longer she was down here, the more she easily she could see. And this was a person not trying to remain hidden. On a webbed outcropping of rock sat a giant sava board covered with intricately carved and faintly glowing figures. Currently, she saw a flickering little carving of a priestess held between the claws of a powerful, powerful demon. It looked almost like a succubus except for the aura and the fact it looked like— "Valyne?" Yvonnel said softly, not certain if she could trust her eyes. Not the way the features were cast all in shadow. She could just feel the burning gaze on her skin, nearly making it burst aflame. It was not hateful or malefic. Just...interested.

Lloth plucked the web again. "Hush now. We're speaking," the deity said as if an adult chastising a little child. Then the goddess turned her attention upon her guest. Val was often here as a go-between for Malcanthet since the Lady of Sacrifice was appropriately deferential and almost reverential when handling Lloth. She seemed to navigate the goddess's mercurial moods with ease. "You were wrong. The Matron is still in play. All because of the little insect here."

"It is odd, how choice upsets the balance," the demon lord said idly, still holding up Yvonnel's piece. The flickering seemed to grow fainter and fainter. Her light was going out. "But beneficial."

"You think I should return her," the Spider Queen said, amused. Her broad smile displayed long, lethal fangs. Another leg came to rest gently over Yvonnel's right shoulder, prepared to pierce down and through should the fancy take her. Unlike in the Material Plane, here the priestess would not die. She would just enjoy an eternity of suffering. "Shall I reward weakness?"

"She is a better servant alive than dead. There is still work to be done," Valyne said casually. She didn't seem to care strongly one way or the other despite the case she was laying out for Lloth to consider. "Besides, don't you want to see how the story ends? The Revered Daughter and the House of Duskryn. It makes for a lovely little tale."

Lloth started to press down, driving her spider-leg slowly through Yvonnel's shoulder. The priestess screamed out, unprepared for the burning agony that tortured every sense. It didn't mesh with the reality she was used to. A being couldn't take this pain and not pass out, yet here she was. "I'm listening," the goddess said. She cocked her head slightly, watching Val with dark, glittering eyes. "But make it good."

"Your vessel needs a guardian. While the others are good, they are not sufficient to keep Menzoberranzan at bay. A priestess of her station can offer that protection."

"I can find another among the Yath'Abban," Lloth said, unperturbed by Yvonnel's writhing and struggling. She dug another leg into Yvonnel's hip and pressed just as hard, tearing open flesh and puncturing bone. The screams of agony were delightful. She could play the priestess like a harp this way.

"Not like the one you have there. Her weakness is the same thing that makes her so valuable, so willing to throw away everything just to save your vessel and all the little mortals around her," Val said smoothly. "And that, my Lady, is irreplaceable."

The Demon Queen of Spiders seemed to weigh this in silence for a long moment, then withdrew her legs from Yvonnel's body. She'd found that the demon lord sitting across from her was a useful ally and an intelligent one. While Lloth was quite definitely insane, that hardly made her stupid. This was a very well reasoned argument and said persuasively. She had to give Valyne points for eloquence. It was easy to see how she'd been Malcanthet's pupil. She wasn't overfond of the Queen of Succubi, but their alliance was mutually beneficial at this particular moment. "I see your point. Very well, the little insect goes free. This time."

Yvonnel gasped in relief when she was released by the Spider Queen and the legs were withdrawn, the pain falling back to a manageable ache even though she could feel blood dripping from her body where it was tangled in the webs. "You are making a wise decision, I assure you," Valyne said. She turned to look at the priestess. "Yvonnel. Yvonnel!"

Yvonnel heard the voice calling her name subtly change from the demon lord's voice to a different sounding one. Was it...? Siniira, it sounded like Siniira.

Her vision swam and darkness overtook her as she almost passed out from the pain. Her eyelids felt like leaden weights as she tried to open them and for some reason she couldn't possibly divine, her tongue was wearing a sweater. Had that been a dream or had it really happened? "Sin..." she choked out, eyes flickering open. She was staring straight up into Siniira's worried grey eyes. Her shoulder was finally almost completely mended, bone cracking back into place in a wave of fresh agony.

Siniira arched an eyebrow and Yvonnel almost laughed at the familiarity of the expression, her newly healed lung burning in pain at the paroxysms. "There you are," the Matron said, leaning back on her heels and swiping her hair out of her face. "We thought you were going to die the way you were flailing during those healing spells. Sabal had to hold you down."

Yvonnel tried to wet her cracked lips and failed. "Sabal is here?" she rasped out as Siniira hunted for a waterskin.

"And her pet heretic," Alystin said with something approaching cheer. She wasn't a fan of the Revered Daughter, but at the same time she wasn't one to wish that kind of pain on anyone. Except maybe for Drisinil Baenre, but that was over and done with. "I apologize. Neither Siniira nor I could heal wounds this severe gently. And it may take you a while before you can use that arm again."

Yvonnel reached across and touched the wound with her good hand. It was just where Lloth's leg had stabbed into her. The same with the wound to her hip. Maybe it really was just a dream. Still, she couldn't shake the words she had heard. That she lived only by the good graces of Lloth and the intervention of the Lady of Sacrifice, that Lloth's time was coming and her charge was to protect the Goddess's vessel. Which she was more than willing to do anyway, come to think of it. "What do you mean?" she said before trying to move her injured arm. Her fingers twitched, but that was all. The more effort she gave it, the more it seemed immobile. It was frustrating and terrifying at the same time.

"It will come back, Yvonnel. You just have to give it time to heal," Siniira said with a soothing air, letting the wounded cleric have a drink of water.

"I'm weak. She was right," the Revered Daughter muttered.

Sabal didn't know who 'she' was, but she knew it was in no one's best interest to let Yvonnel think less of herself. "You're stronger than any other drowess I've met. You didn't die from the wound," the wilder said in that unshakable tone she used for things she truly believed. It pierced the darkness of doubt at least a little, because their wounded member managed a small smile.

"How long have I been out?" she asked roughly, moving like she was going to try and sit up.

"Slow down," Siniira ordered sternly, pinning Yvonnel by her good shoulder with a hand. "It's been about four days. None of which you should have survived, by all rights, but thank the Goddess you did."

Thank the Goddess indeed, Yvonnel thought. Sabal must have caught it, because she gave the priestess a strange look. "Sabal, you seem less grim and growling than usual. What's going on?"

"I was released from my vows," Sabal said with a smile, still feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. Her mind was so much freer now. She hadn't realized that using her powers before had been like trying to dance in a body-cast.

Yvonnel nodded gingerly. "So what will you do now?" she asked. Siniira stood, probably to go refill the waterskin. It'd been almost empty when Yvonnel finished it off.

"I'll stay an inquisitor, of course. What else could I do?" Sabal said. She reached out, twining her fingers with Aly's. "Maybe I'll be at House Druu'giir more often, but I can still perform my duties just fine. Maybe even better."

The wounded cleric grimaced a little when she tried to lift her arm again. With all of her focus, her hand rose slightly. "Just try not to blow up Menzoberranzan now that you're off your leash. And you might as well stay at House Druu'giir, Sabal. You and your pet are clearly an item anyway and the two of you are always sleeping together already," she said sourly, the pleasant veneer she always wore stripped away by pain. Beneath it was an undercurrent of something almost approaching fondness. "It's what I should have done when I was in your position."

Alystin looked startled and opened her mouth, but closed it again as soon as Sabal shook her head. This wasn't something the Revered Daughter was inclined to expound upon, apparently. Besides, the last thing she wanted to do was give Yvonnel any reason to think she objected to the arrangement. Having Sabal closer would be well worth unsatisfied curiosity. "We need to move soon to catch up with Lirayne and Llolfaen," the wizard said instead. "Your leg should still work. We'll bind that arm to your side so things finish reattaching without you fidgeting and damaging them again. Don't think I can't see you moving your hand."

Yvonnel glared. "Watch your tongue," she growled out. It was substantially less intimidating now that everyone knew she was as weak as a newborn kitten.

Siniira came back over and just smiled, full waterskin in hand. "Yvonnel, would it make you feel better if I said it instead?"

"No," Yvonnel said almost petulantly. Goddess, but she hated being told what to do like a disobedient child. Was this how Sabal felt all the time? If so, no wonder she seemed so perpetually discontented. Except when it was Aly telling her to do something, probably. The wizard was most of Sabal's exceptions to her own personal rules.

"Don't sulk," Siniira teased. Yvonnel twitched her wounded leg out in a kick, nailing the Matron Mother in the shin. It was weak but still effective enough to make Siniira wince. "Alright, withdrawn."

"Just help me sit up," Yvonnel growled. She decided she would make no mentions of the vision she'd had of the Demonweb. Even if—and this was a large if—it had actually happened, perhaps it was better to keep the contents to herself.

Zesstra pulled in a hiss of breath when she saw Lirayne slip the iron crown into her bag. Siniira was dead, then. That was the only way the bitch could have come into possession of that prized piece. She had just started to scry on her sister. What treachery had Lirayne worked out in those tunnels to have scored such a victory? It seemed she and Llolfaen were the only survivors of the truly important that had gone on their little trip—the Revered Daughter was missing as well. The priestess worried at her lower lip and utterly ignored Zekatar's hovering at her elbow. "Now is not the time to hesitate," the Patron advised. "She will take command if she is allowed to return. You cannot hope to match her popularity with the soldiers or her power if she has Llolfaen at her side."

For a moment, Zesstra stilled and considered what she had to work with. Her nails drummed a staccato rhythm on the edge of the stone basin. Finally, she said, "They're almost here in Menzoberranzan. We have less than a day, at my best guess. Assemble the House's influential—the matriarchs of the greater families, the officers of the army, whoever. Just get it done, Zekatar. Have Keldzar help you."

"Of course," he said with a small bow before heading out.

Out in the tunnels, Llolfaen smiled slightly as she watched her mother put the circlet away. It had been her first chance to look it over, even to reach out and touch what had always been an impossibly distant symbol of power and unity. "It's hard to imagine the Matron as a slave," the young priestess admitted, looking to Lirayne. "Or anything other than Matron Mother, honestly."

"She rose to power long before even Zesstra was born. It's more practical to secure your position before having children," Lirayne explained. "And the more heirs the better. The Matron only has three right now, and she can't simply go have more. For one thing, she'd have to tolerate Zekatar in her presence for more than a few seconds." She left the truth unspoken, well aware that Llolfaen had heard it from the Matron herself in a story warning of caution. The assassination attempt that had come closest to ending her life had left her unable to bear children. Valyne had come very close to that loss, likely surviving due to her demon blood.

"So what does that mean?" Llolfaen asked. It was the pair of them on watch now, the soldiers around them all soundly asleep. They could speak freely like this, or at least as freely as they dared outside of private quarters.

"It means Zesstra needs a consort and a couple of children whether she likes it or not. Or I...should have another," Lirayne said. She hesitated at the last part. She knew she wasn't ready now for another lover and wasn't certain if she ever would be. There was of course necessity and the forced couplings that might involve, but not a consort.

Llolfaen was wary despite herself. The sibling relationships she'd seen weren't the healthiest. The only good example she had was Cessair and Galen, but they were only half siblings. She admitted there was a part of her that almost looked forward to the day when her mother decided to have another child, but she also knew that when they grew up, they would likely seek to kill her or otherwise usurp her position. It was the nature of drow. "Perhaps Zesstra is just waiting to secure her position. I'm sure she feels threatened by you."

"Well, she hasn't killed me yet, so she can't be too threatened," Lirayne muttered. There was truth to Llolfaen's words, though she knew another part of it was Zesstra's general distaste for children, particularly since she couldn't pawn hers off like the Matron was able to. Honestly, the priestess was almost glad—her older sister would make a terrible mother, even for a drow. She doubted a child would be able to survive it. Unfortunately, that meant the burden fell on her. "Though I suppose not for lack of trying. Anyway, that's enough to think about. Is your curiosity satisfied?"

"Yes," Llolfaen said, tipping her head back against the stone. She was quiet for a long moment, letting the peaceful silence wash over them. Then finally she asked the question that had been nagging her the whole time they walked back. "Why didn't Galen come with us?"

Lirayne felt her whole body tense, throat instantly knotting as her eyes threatened to spill over with tears. She had to consciously force them back and keep herself composed as befit a Matron's daughter. "He's gone, Faen," she said quietly. "He...died." She had to force it out.

"What?" the girl asked quietly. It felt like someone had just yanked the floor out from under her and she was falling. Even as a human, Galen was the closest thing she'd had to a father. She felt that sensation of shock ripple through her body. "Why didn't you tell me? What happened?"

"I couldn't talk about it, Faen. And how could I tell you that before sending you into battle?" Lirayne said softly. She reached out and found her daughter's hand without looking. "As for the what...he's gone. Nothing else matters."

"Someone killed him, didn't they?" Llolfaen said softly, reeling.

Lirayne knew her daughter would understand the truth, but that didn't mean she was ready to hear it. Though it would probably have been a very instructive lesson on the dangers of caring too much for another person—and crossing the Church—the Matron's youngest was clinging to the good things that she'd learned from Galen. "A demon did," she said quietly, remembering the statue of the demon lord. She could almost see Cessair's body laying at its feet. Lady of Sacrifice indeed. "Both him and Cessair." She heard the soft, sharp sound of suddenly indrawn breath from her daughter.

"Aunt Cessair too," she said. It wasn't a question, not really. She knew her mother would never lie about whether or not they were gone.

"I'm sorry, Faen."

"You aren't the one who killed them," Llolfaen said a little thickly. She could feel a tightness in her own throat now and a sickness in her stomach. "What happened to the demon?"

Lirayne took a deep breath. "Yvonnel killed it," she said, knowing the Revered Daughter would accept that line and keep what had happened their little secret. Maybe someday she would tell Faen everything, but that day was not this one.

They passed the rest of the watch in silence as each struggled with their grief quietly and kept their eyes focused on the darkness. When watch ended, they both practically collapsed into their bedrolls. It had been four days of forced marches until everyone was ready to drop, just to reach Menzoberranzan in time. They were less than half a day away now, but that didn't honestly feel close enough. They would relax again when they were safely ensconced behind city walls. Victorious or not, heavy losses did nothing for anyone's morale.

By the time the next cycle started, both priestesses were already up. They were still quiet. Llolfaen seemed to be managing her grief through the tried and true method of generations of drowesses: bottling it up, to later unleash on some unsuspecting soul. "When we get back to the city, what happens?" Llolfaen asked once they started moving.

"We head to the House. And then? That depends on whether or not Zesstra is being well behaved," Lirayne said grimly. She wasn't overly optimistic about the chances of her older sister being patient and obedient. "If she's really wise, she won't even let us enter the city. Just send guards to kill us and take the crown off our bodies. But if she feels insecure in her position or she wants to have a better chance if Siniira comes back, she'll have to kill me for it inside the House. That's the only way to demonstrate her power. And that means she'll be stacking the odds in her favor as much as she can."

"What do you need from me?" Llolfaen asked her mother as they marched. This was serious, but she knew that there was little she could do. This was ultimately between the older cleric and her sister.

Lirayne smiled fondly at that. The automatic loyalty and concern that phrase had been said with was foreign to most drow, and here it was very much welcome. She hoped it would always be that way. "I need you to make sure no one interferes, Faen. And whatever you do, don't kill Zesstra. Even if her little coup fails."

"I thought death was the price of failure," the young priestess said with a frown.

"As much as I would enjoy having a claim to the throne without having someone stomp on my fingers as I climb towards it, it's a luxury we can't afford. The Matron needs all the heirs she has. The line must continue. On the bright side, Mourndar and Zekatar will be in massive amounts of trouble and they are, in fact, expendable. Mostly I just want to see them squirm."

"Because they wriggle to whoever looks like they'll win?" Llolfaen asked, amused despite everything that had happened at her mother's hopeful anticipation.

"They should pick their side and stick with it. Like Keldzar, for example. He's on Zesstra's side quite firmly even though he hates her. He hates me too, so it's not really counterintuitive. He just wants to be left alone," Lirayne said. She was more than a little distrustful of Mourndar and Zekatar both, knowing they couldn't be relied upon in a crisis to take her side and only her side. Both tried to play each side for what they wanted and these days that gained them very little ground with Lirayne. "Not that it's working out for him. He's Zesstra's favorite toy."

"Because he hates her," Llolfaen said softly. She had a fairly good working knowledge of Zesstra's mindset. "I feel bad for him."

"Don't feel too sympathetic," her mother said dryly, cinching the straps on her pauldron a little tighter. She could feel her armor slipping and she wanted everything as well-fitted as possible for when they arrived. "He had his chance to become consort to a female that treated him well, and he got her exiled."

Llolfaen saw the movement. "You think this is going to end in a battle, don't you?"

"Not think. Know. I know it will. Whereas I will stop on the House's behalf, Zesstra will have no problem with killing both of us." Lirayne turned her eyes forward, towards where the city would appear in a few hours. She could almost see the empty throne now, the worked ivory dragon bone shrouded in white spidersilk. She could imagine the faint glow of the protective enchantments placed on it so that it would never break, no matter how much force was applied. Would her sister be sitting in it upon their return? Or would even Zesstra hesitate to ascend those sharply cut stairs that generations of Matron Mothers had walked up? The unworthy did not sit in that throne. At least, not for very long.

There was only one way to find out.