Viper's Kiss

by Lisa Smedman

  Arvin took a deep breath. “Does the name Haskar mean anything to you?”

  The baron’s eyes blazed. “Haskar!” he growled. “Is that who has my daughter? By Helm, I’ll have his head.”

  Arvin raised a hand. “Haskar doesn’t have Glisena. But he knows that she’s missing. He’d like to find her so he can sell her to Lord Wianar.” He turned to Marasa. “So you see, lady, it appears that Lord Wianar doesn’t have Glisena. If he did, Haskar wouldn’t have made him the offer.”

  “How do you know all this?” the baron asked.

  Arvin told him about the events of that morning. He emphasized the reward he had been offered, adding that he’d rather receive “honest coin” for his work. He was careful, however, to avoid any mention of his ability to listen to others’ thoughts, making it sound instead as though he had tricked the man into giving him the information. The baron seemed like a straightforward, honest man, but there might come a time when Arvin needed to know what he was really thinking.

  Marasa listened carefully to Arvin’s report then shook her head. “The fact that Haskar’s rogues want to offer Glisena to Chondath means nothing,” she said. “Lord Wianar might have kidnapped her without the rogues’ knowing it.”

  “The fact remains,” the baron interrupted, “that there have been no demands. Chondath is silent.” He turned to Arvin. “You’ve done a good morning’s work, but now comes the true test. Can you find my daughter?”

  Arvin took a deep breath. “Of course, Lord Foesmasher,” he said in a confident voice. “But I need to know just a little more about what happened on the night of her disappearance. Did you entertain any guests that evening?”

  The baron’s eyes bored into Arvin’s. “If you mean to ask if Ambassador Extaminos was here, the answer is no. Nor were any other guests present. It was a … quiet evening. Just Glisena and myself.”

  “And the harpist,” Marasa noted. “She may have been a—”

  “The harpist is a regular guest of this household and well trusted,” the baron growled, “as are the servants who attended us that evening.”

  Arvin knew little of royal households, but he’d spent two months in the home of the wealthy uncle who had cared for Arvin briefly after his mother had died. There had been a constant flutter of servants around his uncle—servants to help him dress and undress, to carry his parcels, to turn down his bed and place a draught of fortified wine on his bed table each night. In summer a servant stood over his bed while he slept, waving a fan to keep him cool. Arvin’s uncle had little privacy—a princess of a royal household would have even less.

  “Have you questioned Glisena’s servants?” Arvin asked. “The ones who attended her bedchamber that night?”

  “No servants attended her on the evening she disappeared,” Foesmasher said. “Glisena’s head pained her. She said she could not bear even the slightest noise and dismissed them from her chamber.”

  “Her head pained her?” Arvin echoed. A wild notion occurred to him—that Zelia might have planted a mind seed in the baron’s daughter. Arvin had stripped that power from Zelia six months ago, but she may have regained it since. That would explain what she was doing in Sespech—she may have been stopping at Riverboat Landing on her way back from Ormpetarr, rather than on her way to the city. It would also explain Glisena’s sudden disappearance.

  Then again, he reminded himself, it might be a simple elopement he was dealing with, after all. No need to jump to conclusions … yet. “Was this the first time your daughter complained of a headache?” he asked.

  Foesmasher shook his head. “Glisena had been feeling unwell for several days.”

  “How many days?” Arvin asked sharply. A mind seed took time to blossom. If her headache had begun seven days before her disappearance …

  “Several days,” Foesmasher repeated. He gave an exasperated sigh. “What does it matter? Her illness had nothing to do with her disappearance.”

  “Glisena had been unwell for nearly a month,” Marasa told Arvin. She turned to the baron, “You should have summoned me.”

  “Her illness was minor,” Foesmasher said. There was a testy edge to his voice. It sounded, to Arvin, that the baron and his advisor had gone through this argument at least once before. “It was a slight upset of the stomach. Nothing that required magical healing.”

  “A stomach upset?” Arvin asked, confused. “I thought you said she had a headache.”

  Neither the baron nor Marasa was listening to him. Marasa bristled at Foesmasher. “A simple laying on of hands would have saved Glisena much discomfort.”

  “The headache was an excuse to dismiss the servants!” the baron growled. “Glisena ran away.”

  Marasa glared right back at him. “How can you be so sure? Wianar’s agents may have infiltrated the palace and kidnapped her. Whether the headache was feigned or not, if you’d summoned me that night—”

  “That’s enough, High Watcher Ferrentio!” Foesmasher shouted. He looked away, refusing to meet the cleric’s eye. He glared at the far wall, visibly composing himself.

  Marasa gently touched his hand. “You and Glisena were arguing again, weren’t you?”

  Foesmasher sighed. “Yes.”

  Arvin’s eyebrows rose. A “quiet evening,” the baron had said. Given the baron’s propensity for shouting, it had probably been anything but. No wonder Glisena had fled to her chamber. “So the headache had only come on that evening?” he asked.

  The baron turned to Arvin, a suspicious look in his eye. “Why are you so interested in my daughter’s health?”

  Arvin paused, considering whether to tell the baron about Zelia. Foesmasher was a powerful man, with an army at his disposal. That army included clerics of Helm—clerics who had proven themselves capable of dealing with the yuan-ti. They could arrest Zelia and throw her in prison. On the other hand, Zelia’s presence in Sespech might be mere coincidence; she might not be searching for Arvin, after all. If she was hauled before the baron for questioning and was able to probe his thoughts, she’d be alerted to the fact that Arvin was alive, and in Sespech. If she later escaped….

  Arvin decided it was worth the risk. Perhaps Zelia would resist capture, and the clerics would kill her. The thought made Arvin smile.

  “There is a power that psions can manifest,” he told the baron, “one that plants a seed in the victim’s mind that germinates slowly, over several days. During that time, the victim suffers head pains and experiences brief flashes of memory—the memories of the psion who planted the seed. On the seventh day….” He paused, revisiting the dread he’d felt at slowly losing control of his mind. For six days and nights, Zelia’s mind seed had warped his thoughts and slithered into his dreams, turning them into nightmares. Under its influence, Arvin had lashed out at people who tried to help him, had even killed an innocent man. Only on the seventh day, when he’d been within heartbeats of having his own consciousness utterly extinguished, had the mind seed at last been purged.

  “On the seventh day?” the baron prompted.

  Arvin chose his words carefully; he was about to impart what might be very bad news, indeed. “On that day,” he said slowly, “the victim’s own mind is destroyed, and replaced it with a copy of the psion’s mind, instead.”

  Marasa’s face paled. “Helm grant it is not so,” she whispered.

  The baron leaned forward, his eyes intent on Arvin. “You know someone who can cast this spell,” he said. “Someone here, in Sespech.”

  Arvin met his eye. “Yes.”

  “Name him.”

  “It’s her, not him,” Arvin answered. “Her name is Zelia. I spotted her three days ago, at Riverboat Landing. She’s a yuan-ti.”

  Arvin expected the baron to immediately demand a description, but Foesmasher seemed disinterested. Beside him, Marasa looked visibly relieved.

  “Aren’t you going to arrest Zelia?” Arvin asked. “If she planted a mind seed in your daughter—”

  “She couldn’t have,” the baron said. �
�Glisena has had no contact with yuan-ti for … some time.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Arvin asked. “Yuan-ti can assume serpent form. Zelia could have slithered into the palace undetected and—”

  Marasa interrupted him. “Tell him, Thuragar,” she said, giving the baron a hard look.

  Baron Foesmasher sighed. “You will, no doubt, have heard that I disapproved of Ambassador Extaminos’s courtship of my daughter?” he said.

  Arvin nodded.

  “A little over a month ago, I forbade my daughter from seeing Ambassador Extaminos again. I took precautions against him … contacting her. It is no longer possible for a yuan-ti to enter certain sections of the palace. The hallways, doors, and windows—every possible entrance to those parts of the palace that Glisena would have any cause to enter—have been warded to prevent serpents from entering. All serpents. Even yuan-ti in human form.”

  He gave a heavy sigh before continuing. “Glisena has not … had not,” he corrected himself, “set foot outside those sections of the palace since this was done. She’s had no contact with serpents since that time. That is how I know this Zelia person could not have planted a mind seed in my daughter.”

  “I see,” Arvin said. He understood, now, why the baron was so certain his daughter had run away. Anyone would, after being placed under what was, essentially, a prison sentence, however sumptuous and comfortable the prison might be. Arvin was starting to have second thoughts about the baron. If he ruled his own daughter with such a domineering hand, how did he treat his hirelings?

  “You’re certain the wards were effective?” Arvin asked.

  It was Marasa who answered. “I oversaw their placement myself.” The look she gave the baron suggested she’d been unhappy with this task.

  Arvin nodded. Even if Zelia had relearned the mind seed power, it wouldn’t have been possible for her to plant a seed in Glisena—she wouldn’t have been able to get close enough to the princess.

  Marasa leaned closer to the baron and spoke, interrupting Arvin’s thoughts. “This ‘mind seed’ could be used to create the perfect spy,” she told him in a voice that was pitched low—but not quite low enough that Arvin couldn’t overhear.

  “Yes,” the baron agreed. “It could.” He gave Arvin a level stare. “Is that why you told us about Zelia? Is this a warning from Lady Dediana—that she has ears within my court?”

  Arvin met the baron’s eyes. “I didn’t come to Sespech to play at politics, Lord Foesmasher,” he answered. “I’m here for one purpose only: to find your daughter. Whether Zelia has seeded anyone in your court is a question that’s best put to her. But be careful; Zelia’s dangerous. This I know, from personal experience.”

  “She’s your enemy,” the baron observed. “Yet you serve the same mistress.”

  Arvin took a deep breath. Now was the moment he’d been waiting for, the moment to make a commitment—one that would affect everything that was to follow in his life. He reminded himself that this wasn’t like his incarceration in the orphanage, or his obligation to the Guild. He was choosing this alliance.

  “I don’t serve Lady Dediana,” he told the baron. “I’m a free agent; I choose who I work for. It is my belief that working for a human—especially a man of your stature—will be much more … rewarding.”

  The baron gave a low chuckle. “I see.” He exchanged a look with Marasa. “I think that, after Arvin has found my daughter, he and I will have a chat about mind seeds and spies … and rewards.”

  “Will you arrest Zelia?” Arvin asked.

  “That wouldn’t be expedient at the moment,” Foesmasher replied. “There was an … unfortunate incident a few days ago. It seems that the new ambassador from Hlondeth had an altercation with one of the less reputable citizens of Mimph—an altercation that resulted in his arrest. If I simply order his release, it will appear that certain people are above Helm’s law. Yet if I allow the Eyes to place Helm’s mark on him, it may fracture the alliance. I have to tread carefully, where yuan-ti are concerned. I can’t afford to ruffle any more scales.”

  Arvin realized at once who the baron was talking about: the yuan-ti who had attacked the young pickpocket. He shook his head in disbelief. The yuan-ti had a lot to learn about diplomacy.

  Foesmasher continued speaking. “If you provide me with a description of Zelia, I will see to it that she is watched. If she comes to Ormpetarr, you’ll be alerted.”

  Arvin murmured his thanks. It was time to get back to business. “You said that, on the night of Glisena’s disappearance, she retired to her chambers and dismissed her servants. Presumably after that, she slipped out her door—”

  “No,” the baron said. “The guard in the hall was questioned under Helm’s truth. He did not see her, and he was awake all night.”

  “Did she climb out a window?”

  “Her chamber has no window.”

  Glisena was sounding more like a prisoner by the moment.

  “Does your daughter know any magic?” Arvin asked.

  Foesmasher shook his head. “Not so much as a cantrip. Yet she must have used magic to flee the palace. Someone aided her.”

  “Or kidnapped her,” Marasa muttered under her breath.

  Wanting to stave off another argument, Arvin interrupted. “I’m ready to manifest my power,” he told them. “Could I see Glisena’s chamber?”

  “High Watcher Davinu already examined it,” Marasa said. “There was nothing—”

  “And now the psion will examine it—with mind magic,” Foesmasher told her sternly. “Come,” he said to Arvin, rising from his chair. “I’ll take you there.”

  Glisena’s bedchamber was even more ornate than Arvin had imagined. The bed, side tables, and wardrobe were painted white and trimmed with gilt. The rug on the floor was also white, with a border of prancing centaurs. Arvin’s feet sank into its softness as he entered the room. The windowless walls were divided into panels, painted with scenes of noblewomen waving silken favors at jousting knights. The ceiling was of molded white plaster, the pattern an ornate spray of bouquets and tree boughs.

  The chamber gave the appearance of still being occupied. A fire crackled in the hearth, and a brazier filled with scented oil perfumed the air. A gown had been laid out on a clothing rack and fresh water stood in a pitcher beside a floral-print wash bowl. Next to these were a comb and brush. The bed was turned down for the night.

  “I felt it wise to keep up appearances,” the baron explained. “None of the servants know that Glisena is gone.”

  Marasa, standing a little behind him, shook her head sadly but made no comment. “What do you hope to find here?” she asked Arvin.

  “There is a psionic power that allows me to view emotionally charged events that have occurred in this room,” Arvin explained. “Whether Glisena ran away or was kidnapped, she’s certain to have been highly emotional at the time. I hope to catch a glimpse of something that will provide some clue as to where she went.” He glanced around the room, wondering where to begin. “The manifestation will take some time,” he told them over his shoulder. “Please don’t interrupt until—”

  The baron placed a heavy hand on Arvin’s shoulder and turned him around. “You said you were going to use mind magic to track her—not to spy on her private moments. What my daughter does in her chamber is her own affair.”

  “What are you so concerned about, Thuragar?” Marasa asked. “That he might catch a glimpse of Glisena undressing for bed?”

  The baron’s face flushed. “He will not cast that spell.”

  “Thuragar!” Marasa said in an exasperated voice. “Your daughter is missing. Surely a chance at finding her, no matter how slim it might be, is more important than—”

  “Lord Foesmasher,” Arvin interrupted. “Be at ease. I assure you that, whatever I might see, I will be … discreet.”

  “For Glisena’s sake, Thuragar,” Marasa said. “Let him cast the spell.”

  Arvin smiled to himself. Marasa, so doubtful of his powers
at first, now seemed willing to believe in them.

  The baron stood in silence for several moments, conflicting emotions in his eye. At last, reluctantly, he nodded. “Very well.” His hand fell away from Arvin’s shoulder. “Begin.”

  Arvin looked around the chamber, sizing up its contents. Though the power could provide glimpses into the past of any event that happened in the immediate area—up to three dozen paces away from the mani-fester—it was most effective if it was concentrated on a specific item—a bed that an angry young woman might have flopped down onto after an argument with her father, for example.

  Touching one of the lace-trimmed pillows, Arvin manifested the power. Psionic energy awoke within two of his power points: his throat vibrated, and a coil of energy slowly unwound within his abdomen, tickling the area around his navel. The baron and Marasa glanced uneasily at each other as a low droning filled the air—part of the secondary display. As the power manifested fully, Arvin felt the pillow dampen with ectoplasmic seepage where his fingertips touched it.

  The vision came almost at once. Suddenly the bed was occupied by two people thrashing against one another—a man and a woman making love. The figures were transparent, almost ghostly, and seemed to be writhing on the neatly folded-down sheets without ever mussing them.

  The woman was young and somewhat plain in appearance; her face was a little too square to ever be pretty, though her naked body was sensuously curved. Her head was thrown back in rapture, her long loose hair splayed against the pillow Arvin was touching. Arvin felt a blush warm his face as he realized he was looking at the baron’s daughter, soon to peak in her passion.

  The man on top of Glisena had his back to Arvin. His lower torso was hidden by the bedding. But when he tossed back his long, dark hair, Arvin caught a glimpse of slit pupils and snake scales, and a face he recognized at once. Dmetrio ran the forked tip of his tongue along Glisena’s breast, and as her mouth fell open in a low, shuddering moan, he began to laugh. The look in his eyes was harsh, triumphant. He suddenly withdrew from her, levering himself up off her body, and spoke in a sneering hiss. “If you want more,” he taunted, “you’ll have to beg for it.”