The Drow Hath Sent Thee

by Martha Carr

  She forced herself to release her death grip on the door handle, mostly to hide that both her hands were trembling, and lifted her chin. “I thought I made things perfectly clear the last time you and I saw each other.”

  “Oh, yes. You did.”

  Bianca raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing as she fought back the urge to scream and slap the bane of her existence on the other cheek. “Then do enlighten me as to why the hell you’re on my property.”

  L’zar grinned, his eyes blazing with triumph. “She did it, Bianca. Everything I knew she could do, she did.”

  For a moment, she didn’t say anything and opted for simply glaring at the man—or whatever he was—who’d single-handedly changed the course of her entire life. Cheyenne. He’s talking about Cheyenne, and he wouldn’t be smiling like that if she wasn’t safe.

  “I have no interest whatsoever in your world,” she said, her strength and conviction returning now that she knew her daughter no longer faced whatever threat she’d gone off to face with this man. “You’d be a fool to think otherwise.”

  “Naturally.” L’zar looked her over again, his gaze lingering briefly on the edge of the red rune scar peeking out from beneath the collar of her silk top. “We won’t talk about my world.”

  “We certainly will not.”

  The drow thief dipped his head, smiling the whole time, and never took his gaze off his daughter’s mother as he strolled casually across the veranda and sat in one of the iron patio chairs. “Now that the immediate danger’s out of the way, I wanted to take this opportunity to speak to you. If you’ll allow it, of course. We have a lot to discuss concerning our daughter’s future, and I’d much rather involve you in the process this time around.”

  Bianca swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to clench her jaw. I should tell him to go fuck himself. It’s the least he deserves.

  She felt Eleanor creeping slowly up behind her. Fortunately, the housekeeper remained silent while Bianca Summerlin weighed the pros and cons of every possible next move she could make when it came to the most appalling person she’d met in her life.

  But he’s not a person, is he? Just a monster who fathered my child.

  A breeze blew in from the mountains on the other side of the valley, whistling between the iron rungs of the balustrade and wafting Bianca’s unpinned hair away from her face. L’zar’s grin returned, and he gestured at the empty patio chair across the table.

  “Eleanor.”

  “Yes?”

  Bianca blinked and rolled her shoulders back, glaring unflinchingly at the drow on her veranda. “Bring out the good scotch, please. Only one glass.”

  The housekeeper glanced sharply at her, then dipped her head and scampered toward Bianca’s office to retrieve the requested bottle.

  L’zar clicked his tongue and nodded. “Good thinking. It’s probably for the best not to drink right after recovering from a drow curse.”

  “Oh, you mean the one sitting at my table uninvited?”

  He chuckled softly through his nose and spread his arms. “I suppose I deserve that. I do hope it is good scotch.”

  Bianca stepped lightly onto the veranda, entirely composed again now that she’d regained control of the situation. A small, closed-lipped smile graced her mouth, the type of smile others thought inviting and polite but which always felt bitter. “You still underestimate me, L’zar. That glass is not for you.”

  Chapter Three

  What the hell?

  Cheyenne tried to roll over so she could get her cheek away from whatever scratchy, wiry thing that was pressed roughly against it. Her hip screamed at her like it had the one and only time she’d been shot with a bullet instead of magic.

  If I’m chained up to a fake hospital bed again, heads are gonna roll.

  With a groan of effort, she managed to push herself off the scratchy blanket and ease over onto her back. “Fuck!”

  Both shoulders burned, and her hip radiated agony up her side and down her leg into her feet. Black spots danced in her vision until she finally closed her eyes and quit trying.

  A muffled explosion sounded somewhere outside the room, followed by the muted cheers of hundreds of voices at once. More small explosions followed, like bursting fireworks, and she slowly tried to open her eyes again.

  “Well, look who decided to finally wake up.” Ember floated into Cheyenne’s field of vision, grinning and raising her eyebrows at her friend laid out on the bed.

  Cheyenne grunted and turned her head to see the rest of the enormous bed, most of it stretching out beside her. She took up maybe a fifth of it. “Big beds in Hangivol too, huh? And I don’t remember going to sleep.”

  “Well, that’s because you didn’t.”

  “So?”

  “You passed out.” Ember spread her arms. “I got that last dart, though.”

  “Jesus.” Cheyenne closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing against the pain. “Thanks for waiting ‘til I was out.”

  “Well, yeah. I wasn’t about to try it again while you were conscious. How you feelin’?”

  “Like shit, Em.”

  “Huh. He said it would last longer. Hold on.”

  “What?” Cheyenne tried to push herself up onto her forearms but dropped back down again at the blazing protests of the wounds in her shoulder. Instead, she peeled her shirt away from one of the dart holes and tried to focus her blurry vision on the dark crater in her flesh and the black streaks growing away from it. “These are smaller now, aren’t they?”

  “They better be.” Ember returned to the bedside with a thick metal canister. “Took a little trial and error, but we figured out a few things. Narrowed down to how to keep those black streaks from growing and, well, I guess how not to wake you up after you fainted.”

  Cheyenne paused. “How long have I been lying here, exactly?”

  “I’m guessing something like twelve hours. Whatever constitutes as twelve hours in this world, anyway. You went down hard, halfling. We had plenty of time to test a few things out.”

  Twelve hours? Well, I guess it’s better than three days chained to a FRoE bed.

  “You keep saying ‘we,’ Em. Wasn’t cute with Neros. Definitely doesn’t work with you.”

  “Very funny. I mean ‘we’ because I had some help. Couldn’t heal you with my own magic, so I had to get creative. Think outside the solo healer box, ya know?”

  More explosions came from outside the room, and this time, a bellowing roar dampened by layers of stone walls followed. “Can you hear that?”

  “The explosions? Not unless I’m standing out in the hall.”

  “What’s going on out there?”

  “I think it’s like a giant New Year’s Eve party. A New Cycle party, I guess. Pretty sure this celebration is gonna last a lot longer than the last one.”

  “With riots and everything, huh?” Cheyenne glanced at the metal canister in her friend’s hand. “No way that’s hairspray.”

  “Nope. Hold still.”

  “What? Are you gonna…ah!”

  Ember pressed a hand firmly on the center of Cheyenne’s collarbone, then jammed the end of the metal canister against the wound in the halfling’s left shoulder. A sharp thunk and a hiss came from the metal tube, then Ember pulled away and raised both hands.

  “What the hell?” Cheyenne lifted a tentative finger toward her shoulder.

  “Huh.” Ember grinned. “How do you feel now?”

  “Like I just got out of a bath.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, but I guess it doesn’t have to.”

  “What did you do to me, Em?” Cheyenne blinked heavily and lifted her left hand. “No pain in my shoulder, but my head’s spinning.”

  “That, my halfling friend, is a painkiller that works on drow.” Ember set the canister down on a squat table beside the bed, then folded her arms. “You’re welcome.”

  “Pshh.” Chuckling, Cheyenne turned her hand back and forth. “That doesn’t exist.”

  “Y
eah, tell that to your pain-free shoulder and your spinning head. And your seriously goofy smile.”

  Cheyenne pursed her lips, then had to wiggle her jaw around to make sure it was still there. “That stuff is intense.”

  “Just give it a minute. It’s not supposed to make you high all day.”

  “At this point, Em, I wouldn’t have a problem with that.”

  “Ha-ha. I can think of a few magicals who’d have a problem with you being hopped up on darktongue serum.”

  “Wait, what?” The warm, fuzzy, floaty feeling was sucked out Cheyenne’s head all at once, and she propped herself up on her elbows to stare at her friend. “You put that nasty-smelling salve into an aerosol can and injected me with it?”

  “Hey, see? You’re back to your normal pissed-off self.” Ember grinned and folded her arms. “Relax, okay? First of all, not an aerosol can.”

  “That’s the least important thing right now.”

  “And second, I didn’t shoot you up with salve. That would be,” Ember said, frowning and glancing at the ceiling, “highly irresponsible and probably life-threatening. I know that’s nothing new for you, but I’ve stepped into this whole healer role with both feet.”

  Cheyenne cocked her head and gave her friend a deadpan stare. “I’m waiting for you to stop telling me what it isn’t, Em.”

  “Right. Darktongue serum. Didn’t I say that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oil, Cheyenne. Extracted from the plant and mixed up with…I don’t know what. He wasn’t clear on that part, but I’m pretty sure it was water.”

  “He?”

  Ember grimaced. “Yep. Venga put as much as I did into figuring out how to make this work for you. Turns out the necromancer’s something of an alchemist, too, which is really weird to say. Like, alchemy is totally a real thing over here.”

  Cheyenne blinked. “Ember.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You let the necromancer who created the blight touch open wounds on my body?”

  “What? No.” Ember scoffed and rolled her eyes. “He didn’t touch you. Promise. But I spent a lot of time watching that scaleback at work, and I gotta say the guy knows what he’s doing.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “No, really. What he does isn’t that different from the kind of healing I do. I mean, think about it. Put healing and death magic together, and you get ways to heal death magic. Case in point, your thirty seconds of loony-drow painkillers.”

  “Wow.” Cheyenne shook her head and closed her eyes. “I can’t envision you and the lizard-dude working right next to each other, but I guess it’s better than you still hating his guts while we’re all here.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. He’s still an asshole, and weirdly neurotic about some things. Totally pissed off that he didn’t get a chance to fuck with Ba’rael as much as he wanted before she disappeared.” Ember shrugged. “But yeah. I guess he’s not that bad.”

  “And he said to inject darktongue oil into me because that’s what heals the blight?” Cheyenne gingerly touched the hole in her left shoulder again, which was redder now after having been jabbed with the injection canister but didn’t offer more than a brief ache when she touched it.

  “That’s not the blight per se.” Ember peered at the faded black streaks on Cheyenne’s shoulder. “No way to know if Ba’rael meant to do that when she used you as a dartboard, but her magic and whatever else kinda made the blight go rogue in her hands, I guess.”

  “So, this is something new.” Sighing heavily, Cheyenne closed her eyes. You can’t shoot the messenger, especially if she’s your best friend. “And now we have to figure out how to heal the real blight and a mutant strain?”

  “I don’t think so.” Ember straightened again and nodded. “I’m pretty sure Venga can already.”

  The fae girl’s eyes widened, and a vacant expression passed over her face.

  “Em? Hello?” Cheyenne waved a hand in front of Ember’s face, and her friend blinked.

  “What? Sorry.”

  “What was all that about?”

  “I’ll tell you in a sec.” Ember pointed at her. “I was about to say the necromancer can explain it a lot better than I can, but we’re pretty sure this version of the pseudo-blight is specific to you.”

  “Oh, great. She tailored a plague to her own niece.”

  Ember stuck a hand on her hip. “Are you really surprised?”

  “No. You know what does surprise me, though?”

  “That’s impossible to guess.”

  “The fact that none of us has any idea what happened to Ba’rael.”

  Ember nodded slowly. “Yeah. What an exit, though, right?”

  “I’m serious, Em.”

  “I know. Just trying to keep things light ‘cause, like, you still have three magical dart holes in your body.”

  “Well, thanks to you and your serum, I can ignore those a little longer.” Cheyenne slowly pushed herself up the rest of the way to sit on the side of the massive bed. She took a long, slow breath and nodded. “And now I’m remembering things.”

  “I sure hope so. Didn’t think those darts had built-in amnesia, too.”

  “I mean, what happened in the courtyard. Neros swooped in and took out her magic with his own.”

  “And then hugged her.” Ember wrinkled her nose. “Hell of a way to take down the worst drow Crown in O’gúleesh history, huh?”

  “Yeah, but where did they go?”

  The fae girl shrugged. “To the final deathflame, perhaps?”

  They looked at each other and sniggered. “That sounds weird coming out of your mouth.”

  “I know. Just trying a few sayings on for size. What do you think, though? You think the Spider’s gone for good?”

  Cheyenne frowned and glanced at the huge bed and the door. “I don’t know. I get this feeling that the answer’s no. Can’t say why.”

  “Well, I’ve learned to trust your feelings.” Ember smiled. “The responsible-drow-magical feelings, not the pissed-off-goth-halfling feelings. Just to be clear.”

  “Oh, thanks. Glad you made a distinction.”

  “So, what? You think Ba’rael Verdys is living the life back in Nor’ieth with the creepily pale son she sent away forever like a smelly pair of shoes?”

  “Interesting comparison.” They both snorted, and Cheyenne tried to run a hand through her bone-white hair, got her fingers stuck in the tangled mess, and gave up. “Wouldn’t that be the ultimate reward for the old Crown, though, huh? Spending eternity in a hidden realm where she’s the least powerful magical, can’t bend any of the Olfarím to her will, and doesn’t have what it takes to get herself back out.”

  “The last two of the Verdys line banished indefinitely.” Ember’s chuckle cut off abruptly when she saw her friend’s darkening frown. “Yeah, and I meant it. You’re not a Verdys drow, Cheyenne. I don’t give a shit who your dad is. Everything L’zar and Ba’rael screwed up in either world is over now ‘cause you ended it.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for, Em. Not sure how well that’s gonna go over when I—”

  The door to the giant bedroom swung open and bashed against the wall. Corian, Maleshi, Persh’al, and Elarit headed quickly through the doorway single-file, and Elarit closed the door swiftly and silently behind her until it settled into place with a click.

  Persh’al threw both hands in the air. “She lives!”

  Cheyenne raised her eyebrows and stared at each of her visitors. “Uh-huh. And she’s wondering why all four of you came busting in here without so much as a knock.”

  Maleshi grinned at Ember. “You didn’t tell her we were coming.”

  “No.” The fae girl shrugged. “We got carried away with, like, at least three different conversations we almost got to finish.”

  “We kinda booked it from the main hall,” Persh’al muttered. “Lotta hyped up O’gúleesh wanting to burst in here without so much as a knock and get to see you up close and personal, kid. Honestly, I wouldn’t
be surprised if that included a bunch of worship chanting and trying to cut off a lock of your hair or something.”

  Cheyenne wrinkled her nose. “What?”

  “Everyone’s excited, kid.” Corian folded his arms and shot Persh’al a quick sidelong glance. “You did the unthinkable. Ba’rael’s gone, and you turned a new Cycle twice in two weeks.”

  “Technically, it’s still the same Cycle.” Maleshi lifted a finger and nodded at the halfling. “But we can get into the details later.”

  “Don’t worry.” Ember leaned toward her friend and gave her an exaggerated wink. “I left specific instructions for who comes in and out of this room until you’re ready to leave it.”

  Cheyenne snorted. “So, what, you posted a bulletin?”

  “It’s all over the system, kid.” Persh’al pointed at the ceiling. “And I might’ve rigged up a few leftover machines to make sure nobody tries to get cute and sneak in here against your Nós Aní’s orders.”

  “You’re giving orders now.” The halfling turned slowly toward Ember again and cocked her head. “That’s new.”

  “So is this.” Ember slightly turned her head and pointed at the glistening silver-white bar of a new activator behind her ear. “Nice, right?”

  “Upgrades always are.” Cheyenne cracked a smile. “You tapped into the system with that thing to keep everyone away from me?”

  “Well, yeah. Come on, Cheyenne. I might not be the world’s best tech master and hacker of everything. Okay, the best in both worlds.” Ember folded her arms. “But I didn’t think you’d forget that we used to be in the same classes.”

  “I didn’t forget, Em.” Cheyenne flashed her friend a winning grin and nodded. “Glad you’re figuring out how to do more than keep a crawler from throwing you down the stairs.”

  “That was my magic working like shit. It’s back.”

  Elarit studied the activator behind Ember’s ear and shrugged. “It’s not as intricate as the one I gave you, but that happens with short-notice custom orders. The way I’ve heard it, you could make a first-generation sync work as well as anything that counts as top-of-the-line in this city.”

  Cheyenne tried to smile at the troll woman but couldn’t quite get there. There’s no way she doesn’t remember biting my head off. What does she want? “That might be stretching it, but thanks.”