Farideh looked down at the other woman. “What makes you think I’m looking for something?”
Mira chuckled. “Please. It’s your business, and I certainly don’t begrudge you that. But I know all too well exactly what it looks like to be consumed by something you’re not keen on sharing. We’re not that different, you and I.” She grinned. “And, I’ll bet you’ve heard that before. I know I have. But let’s just talk about this case in which we’re similar. After all, are you planning to sign up with the Harpers when this is through? Or are you still looking for something else?”
“At the moment,” Farideh said, “I’ve got enough to keep me busy. But I’ll think about it.”
“Do,” Mira said.
Farideh watched her head off into the deeper stacks, turning over the strange offer in her mind. She’d never thought of being a historian, and couldn’t imagine what made Mira think she ought to consider it.
Are you planning to sign up with the Harpers when this is through? There’d been a bite to that, a reminder she wasn’t welcome in those ranks. A reminder Farideh ought not to be choosy-it rubbed her the wrong way.
Then again, Mira had gotten Farideh the protective circle spell, and she appreciated the gesture. She unrolled the parchment again-gods, that made everything a lot easier. And Mira had been right without Farideh telling her that she needed the spell. Maybe there was something to her assertions …
She frowned. She knew the handwriting, and it wasn’t Mira’s. The steeply slanted letters were the same ones that made the reports Tam had written on the way back from Neverwinter. The silverstar had copied the ritual. She pulled the sheaf flat-the left-hand edge made a gentle curve instead of a straight line. As if someone had sliced it from the book that bound it.
Farideh shut her eyes and cursed: Mira had stolen it straight out of Tam’s ritual book.
Later, she told herself. Later she would have to confront Mira. Later she would have to give it back and hope that Mira did the right thing. Later she would have to decide if she would tell Tam.
Right now, she thought heading into the Book’s alcove, she had a ritual to unravel.
Brin composed himself as Pernika stalked toward him, as if he weren’t already rattled, as if he weren’t already sure she was trouble. As if she hadn’t just called him ‘Lord Crownsilver.’ ”
“Well, well,” Pernika said, stalking toward Brin. “I hear you’ve been holding out on us. Hear you’ve got some … royal roots.”
Brin stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t. But let’s pretend we’re past the part where you lie to me, and we argue, and then I point out I heard it from your idiot girl’s own mouth.” She smiled and Brin’s stomach clenched. “Let’s get to the part where we all agree you’ve got some deep pockets behind you.”
“I also have some friends with sharp blades,” he said, all cool and courtly. Gods damn it, Havi, he thought. Even after he’d told her Pernika wasn’t to be trusted, she’d just blabbed away. How much had she said? How much could he deny?
“Calm down,” she said. “No one’s got their knives drawn. I’ve just got a little offer for you. A … partnership.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Hear me out. Sounds to me like there are people who are awfully concerned about your well-being, seeing as you’re … ‘a secret prince.’ Hmm? People who might be willing to pay a goodly amount to secure your safety?” She waited for him to say something, but Brin knew better than to give her the satisfaction. “I’ll demand a ransom. We’ll send them one of your fingers or something for effect. Then they’ll gather up the coin, and we can split it. You don’t even have to get hurt.”
“Aside from the finger,” Brin said dryly. Cool, he thought, calm. Like you’re in audience with Helindra. Pernika won’t do a thing while you’re down here. His stomach was twisting all the same, and when he tried to move past her, she blocked his path.
“We can always send someone else’s finger,” she said, “if you’re too faint of heart.”
“I believe I’ll pass.”
She leered down at him. “Don’t believe I gave you the option,” Pernika said. “After all, I can always carry on without your permission once we’re out of this miserable place.”
“Hey!” a voice called. Pernika turned, and Brin could see past her shoulder, Havilar and her glaive looking perfectly deadly. “Try that again.”
“Which part?” Pernika asked, unconcerned, as Havilar stormed across the space. “Did you want in on it too?”
“The part,” Havilar said, “where you assume you’re going to get away with that rot. Leave him alone, if you know what’s good for you.” She set herself, toe-to-toe with the mercenary. “He said he passes.”
Pernika smirked at her. “You only got by me twice. Don’t think you’ll do it again.”
Havilar didn’t budge. “That was sparring. I was going easy on you.”
“Were you, little girl? You know how many people have threatened me? Cemeteries worth. Sparring’s one thing. Blood’s another.”
Havilar snorted. “I’ve brought down devils and orcs and a whole room full of cultists. In the last month. One mercenary past her prime will be nothing.” She leaned a little closer. “You leave your guard open on the left when you do that silly lunge. Doesn’t matter sword to sword, but a glaive … a glaive goes a lot farther. And next time you’ll wish I broke your wrist.”
Pernika’s smirk seemed to flatten out, as if she were no longer convinced Havilar was just a stupid, overconfident girl. She stepped back and tossed a glance Brin’s way.
“Consider it,” she said, and she backed out of the camp, her dark eyes once again locked on Havilar, and her smirk still mocking, despite the changing odds.
“Stay away from him!” Havilar shouted after. “Karshoj,” she said to Brin. “The gall of her! I thought we might be friends, but now … ooh!” She stomped her foot. “Tiamash. Are you all right?”
Brin could not have wished harder for the floor to open up and swallow him. Gods damn it, she thought he was too weak to do anything. She thought he was a coward too. And worse-she’d spilled the only semblance of a secret they’d had.
“Perfectly,” he said coldly. “Only I’m getting fed up with trying to convince you that I can take care of myself.”
“I know that,” Havilar said.
“Then stop rescuing me. I don’t need it.”
Havilar looked at him-surprised and hurt and confused. “You want to have that madwoman bothering you?”
“Well,” Brin said, “she wouldn’t have bothered me at all if you hadn’t told her who I was.” His cool failed him. “How could you? Didn’t I say it was private?”
“I didn’t. I’ve hardly said a word to her that wasn’t about traps since we came down here.”
“She was pretty clear she’d heard about my family from you,” he said.
“Why would I say anything about you and your family …” Havilar waved her hand vaguely. “See, I don’t even know what I’d say. You won’t tell me a thing about them unless I find out by accident, and you haven’t said a word to me since we got down here that wasn’t about pothac books.”
“Well someone told Pernika I’m ‘a secret prince,’ ” he said. “Which doesn’t sound like anyone else I know.”
Havilar’s cheeks colored. “Oh.”
“So you admit it?” he demanded. “You told her?”
“No. I … I said that to someone else.”
Gods, it just got worse and worse, he thought. “Who?”
Havilar looked as if she would have liked to vanish into the floor as well, and Brin feared the worst. “That book,” she said. “The one that everyone’s asking questions of. I know you said it was private, but I thought-”