“It’s ridiculous as you’re using it,” Lorcan said. “Finding Chosen is a very odd little side effect Sairché decided to exploit.”
She opened her eyes again and found him watching her with an uneasy expression. “What’s it for then?”
“You see the state of mortal souls,” Lorcan said. “How corrupted they are. How easily they would be claimed for the Hells.”
“Karshoj,” Farideh spat. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m never doing that.”
“Never say never, darling,” Lorcan said. “It may come in handy one day.” He hesitated. “Is that all? The soul sight?”
“Yes.”
His wings twitched in an agitated way. “It seems inadequate. Unlike His Majesty.”
Farideh felt the Chosen of Shar’s powers and her own worry twine around her chest. “So what comes next? I kill with a touch? I steal souls with a glance?”
Lorcan made a face. “Lords of the Nine, you’re dramatic. No-I don’t know what comes next. I only mean you should be on guard for more. Asmodeus only knows what will trigger it, after all. In the meantime, you need spells. Something to show Rhand and Magros what they ought to be afraid of.”
“I’m nothing to fear.”
“You are a Chosen of Asmodeus. The whole world will fear you, if you give them the opportunity. Here.” He took her hands together and filled the bowl of them with a darkness that sloshed back and forth like ink. The magic seeped in between her fingers and ran up her arms.
Farideh swallowed. “What is it?”
“Another spell,” Lorcan said grimly. “Face your foe. Hold the rod parallel to the ground and pull up. Say chaanaris as you do. You’ll want to be some distance back. It doesn’t. . discriminate.”
Farideh looked down at her hands, still cupped in his. “All right. Shall I practice?”
“No,” Lorcan said quickly. “Not this one. Don’t use it unless you have to.”
“Why?”
He regarded her for a long moment. “There are spells I can give you,” he said, “which might as well come from a wizard’s study. There are spells that acknowledge their nature in subtler ways-the rain of brimstone, the word of corruption.” He closed her hands in his. “And then,” he finished, “there are those spells that are undeniably the gift of the Nine Hells. It is one of those. I don’t want you to be afraid to use it when the time comes.”
“Have I been such a coward before?”
“The pact has been gentle on you so far. There’s no room for that anymore.” He looked down at her hands in his. “Why didn’t you listen?” he asked. “We would have been all right. I could have handled Sairché. I’m not worth this trouble.”
Farideh pressed her mouth shut. It was the Nameless One’s powers. It was just what happened to Lorcan when Shar’s emptiness rushed over him. It didn’t take away what he was, deep down. “She was going to kill you,” she said after a moment. “And as you said, I can’t do much with a corpse.”
Lorcan let go of her hands.
Farideh turned back to the waters and scattered another pinch of petals over the surface. “Show me where Clanless Mehen was a quarter hour ago.”
The waters took only a moment to show a group of people scaling the slopes of a densely wooded mountain. And among them, Mehen, hauling himself over a fallen tree, up onto the path where the others waited.
“Harpers,” Lorcan said, coming to stand behind her once more. “Brin said they’d be following.”
Farideh sighed and shut her eyes. “If I survive this, I think I’ll never leave Mehen’s side again.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Is that. .? Gods be damned. The Thayans.”
Mehen stopped beside a creature out of Farideh’s nightmares-a corpselike thing with long, bony arms and talons like scythes. “What are they doing with Mehen?”
“A very good question,” Lorcan said, leaning nearer to the water. The smell of him-musk and brimstone and strange spices-taunted Farideh, and the Chosen of Shar’s powers seemed to catch hold of it, wielding it like a tool to dig into her heart.
“I need you to find Mehen,” she said.
“He won’t be happy to see me. You might end up with a corpse despite your best efforts.”
She turned to face Lorcan. “Not if the first thing you say is that I’m all right. Give him some sign.”
He didn’t move back. His eyes flicked over her face as if he knew her anger had a chink in it, and he smiled. “What sign is that?”
Without breaking her gaze, she reached across and pulled the long blade from his scabbard. He stepped into her, so that the knife stopped halfway out, and Farideh stood pressed against the icy basin.
“Cut a plait of my hair,” she said, remembering the vision in the pools. “Give it to Mehen. He’ll know what it means.”
“That’s a lot of blade for a little lock.”
And despite everything that had changed, Farideh blushed at that, and Lorcan’s smile spread. She let go of the knife and separated out one of the small braids Tharra had left at the nape of her neck, hidden in her loose hair. “Here.”
He drew the knife, and wound the plait around one finger and pulled it, hard enough to draw a gasp from her and force her head back. He hesitated, the sharp blade too close to the golden column of her throat. Farideh shut her eyes.
“Magros gave me this,” he said. “He thought I might kill you with it.”
“Would you?”
“I might have,” he admitted. “But not anymore.” He sliced through the lock of hair in one quick motion. “Remember?” he added silkily. “I have a slate to wipe.”
Farideh rubbed the back of her skull and looked away. “You need to get the Harpers here as quickly as possible,” she said. “I need to check on Havi.” She reached for the petals.
“Don’t bother,” Lorcan said. “We should go and I can find her myself.”
Farideh bit her lip. “If you can keep her away-”
“Don’t even ask me to do that,” Lorcan said, tucking the braid into a pocket. “You know I can’t. Besides, she has a way into the wall-that necklace Sairché left you. The Harpers will need it.”
Farideh looked back at the basin. “Then just one more.” She tossed another pinch of petals over the water. “Show me Dahl Peredur, where he was a quarter hour ago.”
The waters shivered and showed the camp, and the wet splattering snow. Dahl leaving a crowd of prisoners, looking furious and hurrying down the road toward the south. Farideh bit her lip, hunting through the vision for clues.
“Dahl,” Lorcan said icily, “is your friend in the camp?”
“Not now,” Farideh said, marking a clothesline, a missing patch of thatching, a stone half-buried in the ground. The vision disappeared and she blew out a breath. “Yes, it’s Dahl. If you’re going to rage and moan over that, at least consider he’s a bit better than Adolican Rhand.”
“You didn’t tell me about him either.”
“Because I thought that trial was over,” Farideh said. “I thought I didn’t have to worry about him anymore.” She met Lorcan’s dark eyes. “I didn’t want to worry about you getting into trouble, with some human’s blood on your hands, trapped in the middle of Waterdeep-or what would become of me if that happened. Though I suppose you’ll say it wouldn’t have mattered. It’s not as if Asmodeus would just let me go to waste, right?”
She left him standing beside the basin and collected the components Dahl had asked for-not caring if their absence showed. She went to the window and looked down-the snow had stopped, and the world beyond was dark and wet and moonless. Lorcan moved up beside her and brushed the hair from her cheek. She flinched.
“I am sorry,” he said again. “And. . not just because I wish you’d stop being angry. But you couldn’t have stopped the king of the Hells from choosing you, and neither could I. You were born for this.”
Farideh’s throat closed around a fresh set of tears, but she only nodded, unwilling to cry again. “Come on,” she said, hardly louder than a whisper. “We need to go.”
Much as she hated the sensation of flying, and the mockery of an embrace that was holding on to Lorcan for dear life, the drop from the tower to the camp below wasn’t nearly long enough, and when her feet touched down on the sticky mud beside the hut with the missing thatch, her pulse was racing and her throat still tight. Lorcan pulled her into an alleyway, peering out into the street.