She wondered what Sairché had promised him.
A common enemy-that was the deal. The favor would bring down a common enemy. But Sairché hadn’t said who that was. Did Rhand know? Was Farideh meant to turn against him? Was there some fourth wicked source in this arrangement?
But Rhand had given her no sign, and merely bid her good night, saying that he’d send up a maidservant in the morning to help her find her way down to morningfeast. As much as she hadn’t expected to see Rhand again, she’d expected even less for him to make conversation with her like a longlost friend and then walk out the door, leaving it unlocked.
She wondered if Rhand would remember Dahl from before if the Harper got caught. She wondered if Dahl had seen Rhand come down the stairs and if he’d come back for her. Dahl had gotten her away from Rhand the first time, when she couldn’t walk straight let alone say what was happening to her. But the middle of a revel where everyone was at least acting innocent and the middle of a fortress crawling with shadar-kai and devil-dealers were very different.
And, Farideh thought, picking at the embroidery of the coverlet, Dahl only came back for you by accident that first time.
She took a deep breath-again. You can handle this, she thought, staring at the closed door. You are the daughter of Clanless Mehen. You are a Brimstone Angel. .
You are an idiot, a little voice said. You are in well over your head.
As soon as Rhand and his guards left, she’d thrown the nightdress over the mirror. She couldn’t bear to look at her face with all its subtle strangeness, all the minute reminders of what she’d done. In the hardness of her jaw was everything Havilar had lost-including her trust in Farideh. In the slight widening of her cheekbones, Mehen’s broken heart. In the paleness of her skin, there was Brin’s sad expression and the uncertain way he looked at Havilar. In the faint lines around her mouth, there was Lorcan.
Farideh’s throat tightened and she laid her head against her knees, trying to swallow her tears. Do you really think you’re still his warlock now? Sairché had said. Because he was done with her or because Sairché had him locked away? If this was how she protected Farideh, how had she “protected” Lorcan?
It doesn’t matter, Farideh thought as the tears started flowing. There is no reason to think you’ll ever see him again. He wouldn’t forgive you either. She wept and wept for all of them, and without meaning to fell asleep.
The sound of the latch made her leap off the bed, all adrenalin and instinct. The sun had risen, she noted as she caught her breath and tried to slow the hammering of her pulse. How long had she been asleep? She wiped her face as the door opened-long enough all her tears were gone.
So were the rod and the sword.
It was not Rhand who opened the door but a human woman in a threadbare gray skirt and blouse, a black cloth tied around thick auburn hair shot through with gray. She curtsied before entering, trailed by a guard in spiked armor holding a wooden case.
The guard was shadar-kai, and shorter than Farideh by a head and a half, but by the way she moved every ounce of her seemed to be muscle, encased in black leather and trimmed with chains. Her silvery hair was cropped short and stuck out from her head in a wild halo. Piercings of blackened metal pulled at her face, giving her a strange grimace. There were knives at her hips and crossed on her back. The guard looked Farideh over and smiled, displaying teeth filed into points.
The human made another little curtsy. “Well met, my lady. I’m Tharra,” she said, with a familiarity that didn’t fit. “They’ve asked me to dress you for morningfeast.”
“My lady,” the guard added, dropping the case on the table.
“My lady,” Tharra said, smoothly, as if she’d merely paused a moment too long. As if the guard weren’t terrifying.
“What am I supposed to call you?” Farideh said, Sairché’s warnings echoing in her thoughts.
The guard’s eyes were black as Lorcan’s but colder, much colder. She curled her lip, displaying a row of filed, pointed teeth. “Nirka.” She turned to scowl at the maid. “Be quick about it!” Tharra bobbed her head and went to the wardrobe.
“I’m already dressed,” Farideh said. Tharra considered Farideh’s torn and gore-stained blouse, and raised her eyebrows. She looked to the guard who snorted.
“You’ll change,” Nirka said. “He’ll have things to say if you come down wearing that.”
“I’ll suffer them.”
Tharra straightened her apron. “There are lovely gowns in here,” she said, and whether it was her tone or the worry of what Rhand might do, Farideh found herself curious. It wouldn’t be such a concession to change. .
Farideh frowned. That wasn’t like her, not at all. She wondered what Rhand-or Sairché?-had done while she slept.
“There are combs and a necklace, as well.” Tharra opened the case to show a wide collar of jet and rubies that would sweep over Farideh’s collarbones. The combs were decorated with little clusters of lacquer poppies spangled with more rubies and weeping drops of pearl milk. “They won’t suit your current clothes. And Nirka tells me the wizard would like you to wear them.”
I’ll bet he would, Farideh thought.
Farideh thought of Sairché’s cool confidence. She thought of Lorcan’s sly sharpness. She thought of Temerity’s stillness in the face of a Brimstone Angel. She could do this.
Farideh steeled herself and sneered the way she had when faced with Rhand and the dead guards to answer for. “Are the gems what’s making me so interested in dresses?”
Tharra stiffened. “What?”
“What do they do?”
Tharra stared at her, and Farideh had the strangest sensation that she was keeping herself from looking to Nirka. “ ‘Do,’ my lady?”
“How are they enchanted?”
Tharra smiled and shook her head. “They aren’t. Do you prefer they were?”
Farideh touched the gems tentatively-no itch or buzz or tingle. No sense there was anything magical at all about them. She frowned.
“Put her in the dress and come along,” Nirka said. “Your morningfeast is getting cold and Master Rhand is growing impatient.”
The maid pulled several items from the wardrobe-a dark green velvet gown; a gauzy silver one, matched with a long corset; a third, glittering black and red with long, carefully placed strips. Tharra’s amused expression showed clearly through the very transparent red sections.
“That one. A fine gown,” Nirka said, though her disgusted expression showed she didn’t agree. “Put it on.”
“I’m not wearing that,” Farideh said, feeling her stomach knot. “Ever.”
“It will suit your figure,” Tharra said. “You could try it on?”
She could. She could just try it. There was no harm in-
Farideh flinched as if she could shy from the embarrassing, intrusive thoughts. “Hold it up again?”
Tharra had no more than lifted the dress, but Farideh pointed a finger and spat a word of Infernal that carried with it a shiver of energy. The middle of the dress exploded into cinders and tatters of thread. Tharra and Nirka jumped back in surprise, the guard catching the hilts of her hip daggers as she did.
“I am not,” Farideh said again, “wearing that.” She considered the open wardrobe. “Haven’t you any armor for me? Anything with breeches?”
Nirka eyed her impassively. “What do you intend to do, little demon? Fight your way out?”
“I intend to wear what I want,” Farideh said sharply. “Or not leave this room. So you can decide-do you want to explain to him where I am? Or do you want to find me something I’ll wear?”
Nirka looked her over slowly, as if thinking of all the ways she could cut Farideh into pieces. “You will wear the jewels and the combs. And you will tell him what you did to the dress.” She stepped closer to Farideh-close enough Farideh thought about which spells she could cast, which tender spots she could strike if the shadar-kai grabbed her around the throat. “But do remember, it won’t make any difference.” She gave Farideh another horrible grin that bared her pointed teeth. “It may even make it worse.”