“What am I to do with them?” the woman asked with exaggerated exasperation. She turned back to Drizzt, smiling again. “I cannot make a drider of Artemis Entreri, but I am certain I can find other ways to torment him.”
“Do you think to impress me, or disgust me?”
“Do I disgust you, Drizzt Do’Urden?” she asked in a very innocent voice, and she moved up right in front of him again and ran her hands lightly about his face and chest. “Is that what you feel, truly?”
“What do you want? And who are you?” he demanded.
She slapped him across the face, and he could hardly believe the strength behind the blow. He felt his legs go weak beneath him and knew that the only thing keeping him upright were the ties that bound him.
“Whatever I want from you, I will take,” she warned. “And who am I? I am Yvonnel the Eternal. Do you not understand? I am Matron Mother Baenre, whenever I choose to be. This is my city, and these my subjects. My city, Menzoberranzan, which you have betrayed.”
“Never.”
“Never? Shall I recount the many treacheries of Drizzt Do’Urden? Shall I speak of the dwarf you befriended who split my head in half?”
That remark hit Drizzt as hard as the previous slap, and he looked upon this young drow woman with deep confusion. Was he lost in time and space, meandering through his life rewound as if in a dream, again?
“I raised no army against Menzoberranzan,” Drizzt answered, little strength in his voice or in his heart, so overwhelmed and confused was he at that dark moment.
“Neither did you help our cause. Indeed, you fought against your own people.”
“Bruenor is my friend. The dwarves were my own people-by choice, and not by blood.”
“And so you admit your treachery.”
“I admit my free will. Nothing more.”
She laughed. “Ah yes, your choice, your free will, that led to the chop of a dwarf king’s axe.”
“Upon the head of your namesake,” Drizzt said, trying to make sense of it all.
Yvonnel laughed again. “Oh, much more than that!”
Drizzt could only look at her with confusion.
“Enough of this,” Yvonnel said with a dismissive wave, her voice calm once more. “What is past is past. Now tell me, what am I to do with your friends?”
“Whatever you please.”
“You don’t believe that. You cannot believe that. I asked you a question.”
Drizzt looked away.
“If you do not care, I will bring them in here, lay them before you, and cut them up into little pieces,” Yvonnel said. “Is that what you want?”
Drizzt refused to look at her, refused to give her the satisfaction of an answer.
“Or I could let them go.”
“You will never do that,” Drizzt replied, still not looking at her.
But then she moved up to him again, grabbed him by the chin, and forced his head around. Her stare held him as surely as had her hand, and she ran her fingers over his flesh, igniting little fires in their wake. She was so close, her breath sweet on his face, her eyes stealing his soul, it seemed, and holding his stare.
“Love me,” she whispered.
Drizzt sucked in his breath and fought to turn his gaze away.
“Love me and I will let them go.”
“You won’t.”
“I shall! They are nothing. You are the prize.”
“No,” Drizzt said, and closed his eyes.
She grabbed him and kissed him hard, forcing her tongue into his mouth. He felt such a sensation of power and intensity he couldn’t even gasp.
She stepped back and laughed-and slapped him again, nearly knocking him unconscious.
“Love me and I will let your companions live!”
“No … I cannot.”
“You can.”
“I cannot!”
“Then show me fealty.”
“I cannot.”
“Even for the sake of the three you claim to love?” Yvonnel asked. “You would let them die?”
“You offer me no choice, because what you ask is not a choice.”
“I am the Chosen of Lolth and you are the Champion of Lolth.”
“No, never!”
“Yes, Drizzt Do’Urden. There is no choice in that matter for you. Love me! Show me fealty.”
“I cannot,” Drizzt replied, but his tone was broken, less defiant. He sighed and moaned and fell limp against his bonds.
Again Yvonnel grabbed him by the chin and made him look her in the eye, but it was a gentle touch now. “Who is your god?” she asked quietly, and he felt her sympathy and believed it sincere.
“What would you have me say?”
“Just the truth.”
“Mielikki was the closest I found.”
“You name Mielikki as your goddess?”
Drizzt found himself sinking into emotional quicksand. It wasn’t even as if he was speaking to this strange drow woman at that point, but more that he was being forced to admit the truth to himself, honestly, emotionally stripped.
“She was the closest, a name that I put upon what was within my heart. But even of that I have become unsure. So, no, I do not.”
“You claim no god?”
Drizzt shrugged.
“You will not even say it, will you? Do you claim that you are your own god then, miserable mortal?”
Drizzt steadied himself and found some solid ground then. “I claim that what is right is in my heart,” he answered. “That I do not need to be told right from wrong, and if I am weak, and when I am weak, then I know that I have chosen wrongly. And that error is my failing, and not that of any external god.”
The woman’s demeanor shifted visibly then, and her smile returned.
“Then be weak,” she said, moving forward to kiss him.
He turned away.
But she grabbed him again. He could not resist that strength, and she kissed him again. With her lips and with her tongue came that intensity, a hot fire all around his body, to the very edge of pain, promising excruciating agony and unbearable ecstasy all at once.
But it never quite got there.
“You wish your friends to live,” Yvonnel said, pulling back. “In truth, I would take little pleasure in killing them. They showed great courage in coming here for Dahlia, and I must admit that I admire such daring, even if I believe it stupid.”
“Not stupid,” Drizzt said through gritted teeth.
“Truly?”
“No, it cannot be, else what is the point?”
“What point?”
“Of anything. Of life itself. What is the point of anything without honor and loyalty and friendship and love?”
He knew her smile to be sincere then, and she nodded slightly, as if digesting and considering his words. That surprised him.
“Perhaps there is something to your claim,” she admitted. “But I cannot simply allow your friends to leave, of course. Nor you, though murdering you would be much like throwing blood on the most beautiful of paintings.”
“You would prove a most fitting matron mother to do exactly that,” Drizzt replied.
Yvonnel slapped her hand over her mouth to catch her own laughter. “Oh, the spirit!” she said. “You beautiful, stupid drow.”
Drizzt stared at her hard.
“I offer you a deal.”
“I cannot show you fealty.”
She held up her hand to stop him short so she could clarify. “A great prince of demons has been loosed upon the Underdark. The beast loiters in the tunnels nearby, and will soon enough return to Menzoberranzan. You will serve as my champion and as my instrument.”
“Instrument?”
“Defeat Demogorgon and I will let your friends leave, without injury, without pursuit, without any future retribution. I will even return to them all of their belongings, and that is no small hoard of treasure, you well know from your time with Jarlaxle. All of it, including the rescued Dahlia, without future retribution. Free and successful in their mission.”
“I am to believe …”
“Upon my word,” she said, moving very near and staring him in the eye. Drizzt tried, but could not disbelieve her in that moment.