“Hamdir and Antama will be working at waking us up,” Dahl said, passing the dagger to Oota and readying the sword. “We just have to stay alert until they do. Don’t hit the tiefling. Just don’t let her hit you.”
“And if they can’t?” Oota asked. “You know the best way to get out of this.”
“Give them half a chance,” Dahl said coldly.
Bodies erupted out of the ground two by two, fine lords and ladies turning with assassins and shadar-kai in a gently whirling dance that closed in around the three of them. Dahl reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist again. Adolican Rhand’s revel.
“Your sister wants things well within her reach,” Lorcan’s voice said in her ear. “She never needed help. Though”-and the crowd parted to reveal Brin and Havilar, their arms wrapped around each other, and Sairché beyond them, watching-“that can always change.”
A scream rang over the dancers, and all the gentility vanished as the assassins and shadar-kai drew weapons and attacked. The woman in front of Farideh swatted desperately with a fan at the grinning shadar-kai who’d slashed a deep rent through her bodice and down to her skirt. Farideh hardly thought, throwing up a hand, pulsing with the bruised and dancing magic of the Hells.
“Adaestuo!” But as the blast of energy hit the shadar-kai, he turned into Havilar once more, and it was her sister who took the brunt of the spell, and a heartbeat later, Farideh herself felt the concussion of power, the sharp electric crackle of the spell. It stole her breath and blanked her mind for a moment.
But she had to do it again, she thought panting, taking in the rampant carnage around her. She had to stop this. Stop all of this. Even if it was Havilar at the root. Even if it meant-
Dahl grabbed her and she nearly hit him with a second spell, before he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head against his chest.
“Stop looking!” he said. “Stop. None of this is real, I promise. You have to remember that.”
None of it was real, and yet all of it was real-Farideh’s memories filtered through her very worst fears. That Havilar would be hurt. That Havilar would be lost. That Havilar would be turned into something terrible by sweet-voiced devils promising her easy answers.
“A favor,” Sairché’s voice said, over the screams and the sounds of fighting. “And I’ll protect you and your sister from death and from devils, until you turn twenty-seven.”
Just as they did to you, a little voice said. Something terrible. Something that destroys everything it touches, thinking it knows best.
“That’s not true,” she murmured. Dahl held her closer.
Who do you serve?
The landscape changed with a grinding sound, and Dahl gasped. She pulled away. All traces of the revel, of Arush Vayem, of Waterdeep had burned away, and they were standing at the edge of a hideous landscape-the suppurating ground sprouted tangles of wiry brush, sores of lava, and bony protrusions, watched over by a distant, enormous skull. A scream echoed across the plains, chased by another and another, a chorus of the tortured. Even the sky seemed to loom, ready to crash down on them. Oota was nowhere to be seen.
“Malbolge,” Farideh said, feeling her very core start to shake. “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.”
Bars like thick insect legs burst out of the ground around Farideh, trapping her in place. Havilar eased out of the shadows, glaive still in hand. Dahl set the sword against the cage, reached through the bars, and took her face in his shaking hands. “Look at me,” he said. “Look at me, gods damn it, not at her.”
Farideh drew several long, slow breaths, trying to ignore the glimpses of Havilar she saw from the corner of her eye, and the spikes of panic that came with them-you have to save her, have to save her. The nightmare spun and spun around them, the Hells growing larger and more detailed beyond the terrible cage, hemming them in as surely as the bars.
“This is all my fault,” Farideh said.
“This is that scheming Tharra’s fault,” Dahl said. “Unless you gave her the hamadryad’s ash powder, you’re just as much a victim as the rest of us are.”
But Farideh had made this place, this terrible place-and she couldn’t control it the way she needed to. If she hadn’t taken Sairché’s deal, if she hadn’t ended up in the fortress, if she hadn’t helped Rhand-
“What was yours like?” she asked, making herself look at Dahl. “You said you did this before. What was it like then?”
His eyes flicked to Havilar and back, almost as if he were weighing which was worse. “Embarrassing,” he said. “But not deadly.”
“What did they ask? What did you see?”
“It’s not important.”
“If I have to stay calm, to stop paying attention to all of this, then yes, it is important.”
Dahl scowled at her, still holding her face. “They asked how I got here. And it started with my fall. Followed by every. . shameful, awful moment of my life, and then you jumping in here.” He averted his gaze. “I think I’d gladly trade you.”
Farideh leaned closer, so that she couldn’t see Havilar, her horn ridge resting against the bars. It was as close as she’d ever been to another person-save Lorcan. Dahl’s gray eyes slid back to hers, and belatedly Farideh remembered the dreamscape echoed her reactions. She bit her lip. And Dahl looked down at her mouth.
“You would not trade,” Farideh said quickly. “Watching your. . what do you have? Brothers? I forget.”
“Brothers,” Dahl agreed, looking up again. “Older. But they’re farmers, the both of them. I’m not really afraid they’ll turn on me with blades in hand.”
“I’m not afraid of that!” Dahl gave her a look, and she flushed. “I’m not,” she said. “I’m afraid they’ll turn her. They’ll hurt her.” Her heart squeezed and Havilar darted forward again. Dahl let go, scooping up the sword in time to block the weapon.
“I’d still trade,” he said quickly, blocking a second strike. He glanced back at her. “It’s not real.”
Farideh started to retort, started to tell him it was karshoji real enough-but Havilar’s glaive found an opening, slashing up through Dahl’s belly, into his chest. He gasped. . and vanished. Farideh cried out before she could stop herself. It’s not real, it’s not real-
Havilar turned and gave her a lazy smile. “Are you surprised?” she said, not at all in Havilar’s voice. She stalked toward the cage. “It was always going to come down to the two of us.”
Stay calm, she told herself. When she’d been able to keep herself from getting lost in the fear, things had slowed down. Havilar tossed her glaive from hand to hand, eyeing Farideh like a choice prize.
But it wasn’t Havilar-those weren’t Havilar’s words, and those weren’t Havilar’s actions. What would Havilar really say? she asked herself. If you’re doing all of this for Havilar, what would she actually do?
“Gods,” her sister’s voice said beside her. “You really think I’m a terror, don’t you?” Havilar crouched atop a spur of bone, looking down at her devilself with a wrinkled nose.
“It’s not you,” Farideh said.
“Right,” Havilar said. “Then why do you care about saving it?” She shook her head. “That’s definitely supposed to be me. Only you made me fight like I’m shoveling with that stupid thing. And you couldn’t give me nicer armor? You wonder why I’m angry at you-it’s ’cause you put me in ugly armor that makes me look like I have a ham for a backside.”
“Oh for gods’ sakes,” Farideh said. “I did not.”
“Fine,” Havilar said. “Forget the pothac armor. You’re still convinced you have to save me, and that I’m this big scary something. Do you see that?”
“I don’t, though,” Farideh said. “You’re not.”
“Then why do you have to be in charge of everything? Why is everything sitting on your shoulders?”