Tam shook his head. “There are ways to deter fiends. Don’t you see? You could be so much more than a warlock.”
Farideh regarded him, her temper barely leashed. “Whatever I can be,” she said, “I can be that as well as a warlock. Otherwise, let’s be honest, I could never have been so in the first place.”
“Be reasonable.”
“What do you think, Tam?” she demanded. “That I could renounce the pact and be a Harper? And then when you put me to work with someone like Dahl, then what? He leaves me for dead in a fight because I’m just some tiefling? You be reasonable. You sound worse than Mehen.” She glanced back the way they’d come. “And frankly, if you’re going to act like Mehen, you can start by worrying about your own daughter.”
He frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Farideh colored. “Nothing.” She scooped the Book off its pedestal and started determinedly back the way they’d come. “Forget it.”
Where, the Book asked, are you taking me?
“Back to our camp,” Farideh answered.
Their things packed and ready, the expedition returned down the stunning main aisle, back to the enormous double doors. Tam stayed to the rear of the procession, his eyes sweeping the shadows on either side, ready for the ghosts to strike again, for the illusions to overwhelm someone. He couldn’t shake the sense that someone was watching them pass, and his imagination was full of shadowalking warriors.
We are nearly done, he reminded himself. We are nearly safe. He spoke too soon.
The doors were shut tight at the end of the passageway. For a moment, Tam wondered why Dahl and Maspero at the front of the group had shut them-they had been open when Tam returned from trying to contact the Fisher. But both men were straining at the portal, trying to pull the doors wide again.
“Now we have a problem that trumps Shadovar,” Mira said as he caught up to them.
Green-tinted magic glowed all around the egress, the mark of the spell that sealed tight their only exit from the arcanist’s library.
I did warn you, the Book said, when they’d returned to camp. Tarchamus littered this place with traps to dissuade those who weren’t dedicated to knowledge.
Farideh stood, holding the tome open, so everyone could see the shift of ink. “And sealing the door?”
I haven’t the faintest idea, the Book said. I suppose no one’s tried to leave before they were meant to.
“Are you implying,” Tam asked, “that the arcanist is deciding what’s best for us?”
Nothing of the sort. I’m merely suggesting possibilities. Perhaps one of you did something to trigger a lock. Perhaps these ghosts you mentioned are to blame. Perhaps it’s the work of someone on the outside.
“Perhaps we weren’t meant to take you out of here,” Tam said.
I would have known about that, the Book scoffed.
If they all had been hesitant to listen to Tam’s concerns before, now everyone was watching the silverstar for answers.
He must love that, Farideh thought bitterly-even if Tam had been right. His lecture still smarted, as did the embarrassment that she hadn’t been as subtle as she’d thought she was being. You wouldn’t have to be, she thought, if anyone gave you the slightest benefit of the doubt. If anyone asked what was so dire.
“All right,” Tam said after a moment. “Pair off. No one goes anywhere from now on without a partner.” He set a hand on Maspero’s shoulder with a very tense smile not even Tam could pretend wasn’t threatening.
Farideh set the Book down and started toward Havilar. But she’d hardly taken a step before Havilar’s hand intertwined with Brin’s. Farideh looked away. Pernika moved to stand beside Mira. Farideh shut her eyes and cursed.
“Anyone approaches alone,” Tam said, “assume it’s one of the ghosts. Your partner stops reacting to you, assume they’re caught by one of the traps. Mark its place. Maspero and I will go search the Shadovars’ bodies for clues on what sort of timeline we’re talking about. Mira, you and Pernika go search the lower floor. Find us a rear exit.” And put the Book back, he mouthed. Mira nodded once.
He frowned at Brin and Havilar, hesitating a moment. “Can I trust you two to guard the camp?” he asked finally. “That’s it?” Havilar said.
“Twice the ghosts turned up near the camp. If they want us to stay, it makes sense they’ll be back,” Tam said. “Besides, I thought you’d like the chance to deal with your double.”
Farideh gave a very small sigh. Was Havilar that predictable, or was Tam that smooth? Suddenly her sister was not only determined to defend every inch of the camp, but also not to slack off at it and spend her time kissing Brin.
Hells, Farideh hoped so. It was too easy to imagine a ghost like the one who’d looked like Tam catching Havilar around the throat with his icy hands, because she’d been too busy staring into Brin’s eyes …
She cursed again, angry she was annoyed. Annoyed she was angry.
“You two,” Tam said, considering Farideh and Dahl. He sighed. “Try and fix the door. Farideh, don’t set the place on fire. Everyone meet back at the camp as soon as you’ve found anything. There’s no keeping track of the time, but be sensible. If we have to come find you, there had better be a good reason.” They dispersed.
“What rear exit?” Dahl muttered as he gathered up his sword and haversack. “It’s not a stlarning inn.”
“There’s fresh air coming in from somewhere,” Farideh said, recalling Havilar’s trap. “There are vents under the floor.”
“Excellent,” Dahl said. “We can shinny a thousand feet up a crack the size of a hay straw.” He started off without waiting for her.
Farideh gave her sister one last look. “Be careful.” Havilar folded her arms and turned away. A sick feeling tightened Farideh’s lower back, and her tail started thrashing. She hurried after Dahl.
The magic glowing around the edges of the door had not faded. Dahl dropped his haversack on the floor and prodded the gaps with the tip of a dagger. The green light seemed to have completely filled the space between the doors.
“I might be able to jump through it,” Farideh said. Dahl looked back at her as if she were insane. “Humor me,” she said, “and rule it out. We’re going to both feel like fools if it turns out the door could have just been opened from the other side.” He stepped out of the way.
Farideh drew the powers into herself, enough to make the little tear in the world that would let her leap through space and even the thin stone of the door. The pulse of Malbolge surged, the shadows around her deepened … and nothing happened. The magic broke around her with a crack and fell back, through the planes to its faraway source.
“There we are,” Dahl said. “Tarchamus had a little more power than you.”
Or her link to the Hells was damaged, she thought, and the spell weakened. Could it work that way? The urge to pull all the scrolls and notes from her haversack and attempt the cobbled-together ritual of the Book was strong. She quashed it, burying it down under more pressing worries. She couldn’t attempt anything with Dahl watching, anyway.
“I never said he didn’t,” she replied. “It was just supposed to go around his spells.”
Dahl broke off. “Never mind. You were right. It needed to be ruled out.” He stared at the door, silent for a long moment. “I don’t suppose you were eager for this assignment either.”
She folded her arms, doubting anyone was eager to be matched up with Dahl. “I expected to be left back at the camp with Havilar.”
“I take it,” he said, pulling out his ritual book, “that means your sister and the lordling have some kind of understanding? Not pleasant being abandoned, is it?”
She laughed. “Oh, what in the Hells would you know about that?” His expression closed, and he looked down at the tome in his lap. Sulky henish, she thought, but her ire softened slightly. She didn’t have to coddle Dahl or coax a reason out of him not to find him impossible. But she didn’t want to be a henish herself.