Minthara stirred the fire with a stick of glowing fungus, idly watching the spores scatter like embers in the air. Across from her, Shadowheart pretended to clean her weapon, though her hands trembled ever so slightly. Minthara noticed.
"I won't ever do that again."
Minthara didn't answer.
"Did you hear me?" When she looked at the Sharran, the girl was staring with a kind of trembling force.
"Tomorrow," Minthara said softly, "you'll speak only when spoken to."
Shadowheart reacted sharply. "What?"
"You heard me." Minthara smiled, not cruelly—more amused than anything. "You speak often, little Sharran. Too often. I want to see how well you listen."
"Why? No, I won't." Shadowheart's voice came with an edge. "I have as much right as you do to…"
"You don't." Minthara's cold certainty stopped her. "This is not your realm. We travel through more dangerous territory. I want you focused on survival. One foot in front of the other."
Minthara tilted her head, pretending to think. "Call it discipline. Humility. I want to see if you're capable of it."
She let the silence hang. Then, after a beat: "Unless you'd rather test how the Drow treat guests of no station."
Shadowheart's jaw tensed. She said nothing. Minthara's smile widened. Her indignation was so palpable that Minthara could taste it.
That day, they walked through winding tunnels in silence. Minthara pointed, gestured, led. Shadowheart followed—stoic, obedient, but burning beneath the surface. Each time her mouth opened instinctively to ask a question or mutter a thought; she bit her tongue.
Why was she obeying? Perhaps she was afraid. Or perhaps there was something in the way Minthara spoke to her that connected to her Sharran origins.
It was humiliating being expected to hold her tongue like some blabbering acolyte. But that was exactly why Minthara did it. Her 'test' was about making her feel superior. Would she really turn her over to the Drow? Perhaps not directly. But leave her should she fall? Abandoned her if she was lost? Yes. Minthara had shown time and time again on the surface that she thought little of those who couldn't carry their own weight.
But it was still agonizing. They passed through a series of caves and Shadowheart was drawn to strange murals, painted in some past age. Minthara ignored them. Later, as she climbed over a felled tree, a quivering mushroom seemed to whisper to her. Her gaze lingered and she nearly stopped, but Minthara walked on. Shadowheart had followed, teeth set.
When they reached a fork in the path, one branching off higher and affording more light and vantage points, and one descending into a dark and foggy canyon, Minthara took the dark path. Shadowheart couldn't contain herself she put herself in the Drow's path. She opened her mouth, but Minthara only raised an eyebrow. A simple gesture that made Shadowheart avert her eyes.
By nightfall, her lips were dry and sore.
Her mind raced. She burned with anger and frustration. She knew Minthara was cold. She knew Minthara valued strength above all. She'd learned that much on the surface, traveling beside her. But she was also cruel. She had delighted to make Shadowheart kiss her feet.
The memory stirred something in the pit of her stomach.
Why did I do it? Her own mind berated her.
I could take her in a fight, if it came to it.
But Minthara didn't seem to want to fight. She wanted to play with her. To mock her. Was this her disturbed sense of humor? If so, then why deny her the right to speak? Perhaps she was probing her to find more spiteful jabs?
Shadowheart clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. Words crowded the back of her throat like trapped birds, fluttering, dying. She wouldn't give Minthara the satisfaction. Whatever she was after.
Shadowheart wanted to find the Tomb of Dar'umbar Kazek. It was whispered in the halls of Shar. Rumors and tales that arose on cold nights when headmistress retired to her quarters early. Minthara was the best hope of finding it. But I won't be made a fool.
If the Drow wants to play games and tempt her, fine. Shadowheart would have the last laugh when she found the Tomb.
There was something else too. A cavity in Shadowheart's mind. What if Minthara tried… But no. Shadowheart was her match. Minthara couldn't overpower her. That wouldn't happen. She hasn't tried to touch me.
When they made camp, Shadowheart kept her distance. She didn't spare the Drow a glance. She dragged her boots a little louder than needed. Petty. Childish. But satisfying.
Minthara sat comfortably on her roll. Arms folded as she watched the girl's quiet fury. The Sharran's chin jutted up like an indignant child. Yet she said nothing.
She felt the power of it—not just her own, but Shadowheart's restraint. It thrilled her.
Minthara slept well that night.
