“Right, but. . she didn’t have a whole lot of choice. Not that I think she should have gotten into that position in the first place. You don’t have to be a master strategist to see making a karshoji pact means eventually a devil’s going to make you do something dumb because you have to.”
Lorcan weighed this, shifted his tack. “There are always possibilities. If you’re clever enough. If you’re determined enough.”
Havilar snorted. “What should she have done then?”
Lorcan didn’t have an answer for that that he wanted to give. Not started that ridiculous argument about Temerity. Not doubted his protection. Not tossed him aside. “What would you have done?” he said.
“Chopped your sister with my glaive,” Havilar answered. “But I’m not Farideh. She would have been more careful-I don’t care if I hit you too.”
Lorcan kept his thoughts to himself.
“Why are you doing this?” Havilar asked. “Going after her. I mean. . I have a guess, but. . well, devils shouldn’t care.”
“She’s my warlock,” Lorcan said simply.
“And?”
“And it’s part of having a pact,” Lorcan said. “Besides I need to pay Sairché back for her little stunt. As you said-it’s her fault.” Hers and Farideh’s, he reminded himself.
“So you’re dragging me across the world to make Sairché mad?” Havilar said skeptically. Lorcan didn’t answer, he just kept staring ahead at the road-let her learn that foolish questions got no answers.
But Havilar wasn’t silenced. “Are you in love with my sister?”
Lorcan yanked the reins and pulled the horse around to block Havilar’s path, studying the tiefling for long, painful moments-long enough she should have time to consider for herself what a foolish question it was. She stared right back, unblinking.
“You shouldn’t assume,” Lorcan said, “that I think anything like you do. That any of us do. Devils aren’t mortals. That’s another way Sairché can claim you.”
“But we think the same when it comes to sisters?” Havilar demanded. “You can’t have it both ways.”
Lorcan laughed. “My sisters have spent my entire life tormenting me, trying to end my life or use me against some other devil. They have beaten me until I could see the swirling mists of oblivion closing in on me. They have thrown me to the mercy of archdevils. To them, I am only half a proper being, hardly worthy of concern.” He gave her a nasty smile. “So to say we would both be better without siblings, I’ll admit, takes some liberties with the details.”
“You’re a devil, you’re not a devil. We’re alike, we’re nothing alike. It can’t be all of those things.”
Lorcan kept smiling at her. “Then you have a very poor imagination.”
Havilar glared at him. “You never answer questions, do you?” she said.
“Not the foolish ones.”
“She doesn’t love you,” she blurted.
Pathetic, Lorcan thought, his patience with Havilar evaporating. She doesn’t listen and she doesn’t learn. “Would she tell you?” he said nastily. “Last I recall you were too busy finding the edges of the lordling’s mouth to have much of a conversation.”
Havilar flushed deeply. “She thought you were dead,” she shot back. “That you were gone and never coming back. And she was glad. We were all glad.”
Did she think that? Had she been glad? It doesn’t matter, Lorcan reminded himself. She betrayed you as soon as she listened to Sairché. “That’s interesting,” Lorcan said. “Since I’m the only one who apparently gives two coppers that she’s in trouble. Go back and sulk over your broken heart if you can’t think past it. I’m sure the lordling will find that more interesting than whatever princess he’s gotten up the skirts of.”
She startled as if he’d punched her, right in the base of the lungs. Lorcan gave her a wicked grin in return and urged his horse down the road once more. He’d pay for that-he’d have to be careful with her and redirect her attention to other matters, which were clearly more important than how much she hated Lorcan or why he was doing what he did. What he thought about her sister.
Havilar’s horse gave a sharp whinny, and suddenly she was pounding past. Lorcan’s horse shied and laid its ears flat as her bay blocked its path, too close for comfort.
“Don’t youever say a word about me and Brin again,” she shouted, her voice shaking. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just being cruel.”
Lorcan held her furious gaze. “And what are you doing?”
Havilar looked away, off at the forest encroaching on the landscape to the west. Leave her, a part of him said. This is never going to suit. He ignored it.
“Shall we stop trying to wound each other?” he asked. “I think even in your sorry state you can see what a poor course of action it will be. Whether you hate me or not, I am your best option at the moment for finding your sister. Truce?”
Havilar watched him as if she’d rather put that battered glaive right through his skull. “You promise,” she said, still raw and angry-sounding. “You promise, right now, you will never say another word about Brin and me. I don’t care what you think. I don’t care how much you hate him or you hate me. I don’t care if you think I’m an idiot or hopeless or what. You don’t say a word about it.”
Lorcan regarded her a long moment. “Fair enough.” He urged the horse forward again.
“You’re not going to ask me the same about you and Farideh?”
“Why would I do that?” he asked, without turning. Let her wonder. Let her be stuck on that nonsense notion. Better than trying to unravel his motives. Better than questioning his dedication. Better than realizing he’d not answered any of her questions.
Lorcan eased his horse to the side of the road as the hoofbeats of a distant rider coming up behind them became distinct. He hoped-for both of their sakes-that it was an overeager highwayman, set on overtaking them. They’d both be more inclined to civility if they could vent their anger on some unfortunate villain.
As the hoofbeats neared, they slowed, as if some wicked god had heard Lorcan’s prayers. And then a voice shouted out, reminding Lorcan why he never prayed.
“Havilar!”
Lorcan looked back, at Havilar, at the rider on a sleek dun mare, prancing to a stop: Brin. “Havi,” he said. “Thank the gods, there you are.”
Havilar had frozen, like a rabbit trying to hide from a hawk. “Yes,” she said after a moment. Lorcan cursed to himself-this would not help things.
“What in the Hells are you doing?” Brin demanded, ignoring Lorcan. “Mehen’s in pieces. You have to come back.”
She’ll agree, Lorcan thought. She’ll do anything he asks. She’s too angry. He scrambled to form a new plan, some way to make her side with him once more, to forgive Farideh a little and get back to following him.
But then Havilar shook her head. “I have to save Farideh.”
Brin stared at her, as if she were a little mad. Lorcan reconsidered. He might be able to use this.
“What do you think you’re going to do?” Brin asked. “Leave the Harpers to it. They know what they’re doing. You’ve been through a lot. Rest for this one-the world won’t end.”
“I can’t,” she said. “Do you think I’m going to sit on my hands while bad things happen to Farideh?”
She would have, Lorcan thought, smiling to himself, if he hadn’t been there to prod her into action. And she knew that.
Havilar looked over and glared at him, as if she knew his thoughts.
Brin followed her gaze. “This is your idea, isn’t it? You convinced her.”
“Well met to you, too. And there was little to convince her of.” He looked at Havilar, who was watching Brin uncertainly. “She’s loyal even when others are. . less so.”
Brin bristled. “The Harpers are leaving the moment they get better direction. They’re better equipped than you two. Or did you tell her you have some magic tool to help you get lost faster?”