Brimstone Angels (23 page)

F
ARIDEH STARED AT
B
RIN’S BLOODIED HANDS
, H
AVILAR’S WORDS
bringing her back to her senses like a slap to the face.

I didn’t know you could do a priest’s magic
.

It
had
been divine magic. There was no disguising it, no excusing it. The prayer to Torm. The flash of light. The sound of the sword on the whetstone.

Brin’s face was pale, and he was holding his breath. His eyes watched Farideh’s, flickering like candle flames as he tried to discern something—anything—in her gaze.

“You lied,” she said.

“Yes,” he admitted. Then, with a nervous smile, “Well, no. You didn’t ask if I knew any divine magic.”

“I didn’t think I had to.” All this time she’d been afraid of Tam finding out, and she’d revealed Lorcan to not only a priest, but a priest of Torm—in all the Heavens, there wasn’t another god so opposed to the path she’d taken as the god of duty and law.

“I’m not …” he started to say. “I’m … certainly not the sort … to …” He sighed. “What is it? What are you afraid of?”

She blinked at Brin. It couldn’t be true. “The caravan. You didn’t use it on the caravan.”

“Look, I know what it seems like. But I’m not—truly—I’m not a priest. I’m not even a paladin, and I … I had lessons, with holy champions. They taught me some things. But not everything.”

“But this.” She looked down at Havilar, at the wound that was only a scratch and the drying pools of her sister’s blood. “They taught you to heal.”

Brin squirmed. “Sort of.”

“Did you use it on the caravan?” She shook her head. Tam didn’t know. He mustn’t have done anything.

“It … doesn’t always work,” he said. “I told you before. I’m not cut out to be Tormish.”

“But you didn’t even try. ”

“I would have been in the way. I would have—”

“You didn’t even try,” Farideh said. The shadow-smoke swirled around her as she surged to her feet. “You guess at my virtue, and look down on my choices, when you lie about
everything
, because …? Because you didn’t want your tutors tracking you down? Is that it?”

“You kept your secrets!” Brin said, raising his voice. “And I kept mine.”

“No one
died
because I kept my secrets,” Farideh said.

“And you don’t know anyone died for mine,” Brin said. “Besides, if I’d told you I knew a little divine magic, you wouldn’t even have spoken to me! You made that very clear in the woods.”

“I said I never met a priest who gave me a reason to trust them,” Farideh said, “and you’re just proving me right.”

“I’m not a priest!”

“Could you both just shut up?” Havilar said, still a little dazed. She pushed herself up. “I’m not dead. Who cares if he’s a priest?”

“Mehen, to start with,” Farideh said. “Lie down. You’re not dead, but you’re still hurt.”

“Mehen’s not going to care,” Havilar said. “Probably. I mean, he let Tam come along. Tam’s more of a priest than Brin.”

“Lie down!” Farideh said. “Gods, please, lie down before you rip what’s left of your wound open.”

She did so, but added, “Is this what you meant when you said I was getting upset because I was scared? I think you’re doing the same thing.” Havilar lifted her head, her speech a little surer, her eyes a little more focused. “If this is a lesson, you’re still a
henish
and I get it. You win.”

Farideh nearly shrieked in annoyance, “No one’s
winning
anything here,” but she gritted her teeth instead and covered her face with her
still-bloody hands. They were shaking and her breath was uneven. She wanted more than anything to throw up, as if doing so would rid her body of the fear and the shock, and the virulent magic that churned through her, boiling up, looking for an outlet—

With a great, infernal shout, she flung her hands toward the woods, away from Havilar and Brin, away from where the archer had flown. The air cracked and a great gout of roiling flames streamed from her into the night.

She turned on her sister and Brin, panting. They were both staring at her.

“Fine,” she said. “Havi, you’re right. I was frightened. Watching you nearly die, almost being killed myself, and then having to cut arrows out of my sister’s bleeding gut is exactly the same as you feeling left out. I’m sorry. And you,” she said to Brin, “I’m still angry at you. You can say a hundred times you’re not a priest, but when Torm just handed you a miracle, I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t have to,” Brin said. “But it’s true.”

Havilar chuckled, half to herself. “Do we have to call you ‘Brother Brin’ now?”

Brin wrinkled his nose. “If you do, I’ll never buy you whiskey again.”

Farideh frowned. None of this was making sense.

“You’re not a priest,” she said, “or a paladin, but Torm grants you magic? Even though you know good and well you stole that whiskey?”

“And I ran away from the orcs?” he added when she did not. Brin shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, to be honest. I told you, I make a terrible holy champion, but sometimes … it works.”

Her heart was racing now. “Sometimes? You had me pull arrows from her gut for a
possibility?
”

“I had you pull the arrows because they were poisoning her,” Brin said. “If I couldn’t do it, I would have run for Tam.”

“And if the archer’s killed Tam?”

Farideh looked out into the woods. She’d said it only because it might have happened, because both of them were too reckless and she was already so used to pointing these things out to Havilar. But Tam and Mehen were still not back.

How far could the fire have thrown the archer? She turned back and realized Brin was watching the forest as well.

Gods, what idiots, she thought, snatching up the rod. Brin grabbed his short sword, and they stood over Havilar. The orc could have easily doubled back and followed the sounds of their arguing. He could have killed them, all three, while they shouted.

And it would be all her fault.

“Brin,” she said, so quietly that even Mehen couldn’t have faulted her. “I’m sorry. You’re right. We all have secrets.”

“I’m sorry too.” He paused. “Have you told all of yours?”

“Yes,” she said. “I swear.” She swallowed. “Have you?”

The portal opened with a great gust of smoke and heat. The campfire swelled briefly as Lorcan stepped through. His gaze swept over the trio, but locked on Farideh. Whatever smugness, whatever gall had been in his expression fled and he ran to Farideh. He seized her by the arm and wiped at the streaks of Havilar’s blood that now smeared her face.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Get off your feet.”

“I’m fine,” Farideh said. She looked down and realized there was blood all down the front of her, soaked into the leather. “Oh. It’s Havi’s,” she said, but at those words she started shaking.

Lorcan let out a long sigh and gathered her up in his arms. “Heavens to Hells, I thought you were hurt.”

For a breath, Farideh let him. She was tired, her nerves shattered, and she just wanted to hide from the world.
I won’t let anyone catch you, darling
. For a breath, it felt like the safest place in Faerûn, and she was so glad someone had asked if she was all right. This close, he didn’t smell like the portal. He smelled faintly musky, and like some exotic spice she didn’t know—

No—she pulled away, nervously smoothed her bloodied jack. “Havilar … Havi’s fine as well. Now.” Lorcan’s expression seemed to close, and he looked away.

“Of course she is,” he said, cool and unconcerned. “If she weren’t, you wouldn’t be nearly so calm, now would you, darling?” He crouched down on the ground beside Havilar. “Besides, you’re a tough one, aren’t you?”

Havilar’s mouth had fallen open. “Yes?” she ventured.

Lorcan looked over at Brin, his wicked smile turning into a sneer. “I see
you’re
doing perfectly well. Good to know you take your divine duty so seriously.”

“He saved Havilar,” Farideh said.

“He ought to have stopped the arrows in the first place,” Lorcan said.

“That’s enough,” Farideh said. “I told you to leave him be.”

“Or
you’d
leave, yes?” He looked her up and down. “And if you’d cast me aside, where would you be now? Cradling your sister’s dead body, I think. If you were a lucky little fool.”

Ignore him, she thought. You’re not a fool. But the shift from embracing her to calling her names was abrupt enough to remind her to be nervous. She held out the rod, her hand shaking only a little.

“What’s this do?”

Lorcan looked from her to it. “I told you,” he said, after a moment. “It helps you cast your spells better.”

“Much better, apparently,” she said. “I tried to make a fire bolt and I threw the orc who attacked us so far that Tam and Mehen haven’t come back from looking for him yet. What does it do?”

“It protects you,” he said smoothly, “when I’m not here to.”

“So if I use it against
anyone
it’s going to make a wave of fire that throws them a hundred yards away?” She pointed it at his chest. “What does it do?”

“I told you,” he said hotly. “It protects you. Improves your spells. Perhaps you need a little more practice with it.” He shoved the rod to the side, away from him. “Far be it from me to ask for a little thanks when that trinket is all that kept some mad orc from murdering your sister.”

Farideh narrowed her eyes. He wasn’t telling her everything, not by a long shot. But he was also furious, the throb of her scar told her that.

Her scar … which hadn’t so much as twinged before the portal opened. If Lorcan had been watching her, if he’d come because he’d seen the blood, it would mark the first time he’d appeared without irritating her brand first.

He’d known where she was already. He’d come for some other reason.

Some other reason he wasn’t keen on sharing.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t bother if you’re going to be so ungrateful,” he said.

She kept her gaze cold and lowered the rod. “Thank you.”

“That’s better,” he said.

Mehen crashed back through the underbrush and into the campsite, his jaw wide, displaying the full array of his teeth for any threat to see. He tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth and snapped it shut. “
Karshoj vir henish,
” he cursed. Then he froze and swung his head around to face Lorcan.

“What is he doing here?”

“I came to help,” Lorcan said silkily.

“Havilar was hit,” Farideh said. “He—”

In the chaos and the wall of Farideh’s flames, Mehen hadn’t realized Havilar had been hurt—Farideh could see it in the way his eyes widened, the way he suddenly ignored the fact that Lorcan was standing there, plain as the moon in the sky, and raced over to Havilar.

“You cut the arrows out?” he bellowed.

“They were—” Brin started, but Mehen cut him off.

“You cut the arrows out?” he said to Farideh. “What’s the first
bloody thing
I taught you about arrow wounds?”

“They were poisoned,” Farideh said. “She was dying.” Her voice slid into a tremble. Lorcan set his hand on the middle of her back, and she could only imagine how it looked: her devil protecting her when she’d put her sister in danger.

“You should have packed it and waited for the priest! The apprentice could have managed that much, if you weren’t capable. You could have killed her.”

“She was already
dying!
” Farideh cried. “She couldn’t have waited.”

“Did
he
tell you that?” Mehen said. “Did he tell you to kill your sister?”

“Lorcan had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m all right now,” Havilar said. “Look.” She pulled up her shirt. Blood still smeared her skin, but the wound was only a shallow cut.

Mehen scrutinized the wound. “If it was minor enough to be cured with your healing potions, it was minor enough to not mess around with cutting into her gut.”

“But …” Havilar started to say. Farideh shook her head, and her twin stopped. For all Farideh was nervous about priests, Mehen had less use for them in principle than he did Lorcan. He didn’t trust Brin for being a boy and a priest’s apprentice—revealing Brin had also secretly been a priest of Torm while Mehen was this angry might mean Mehen would never trust Brin.

“But …” Havilar said. “Everything’s all right. Next time we won’t cut out the arrows.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Lorcan said, and the promise of violence in his voice sent a shiver up Farideh’s spine. He was still a monster.

Mehen snarled. “Farideh, put him away before Tam gets back, or I’ll let my sword do it for you.”

She heard Lorcan’s wings stiffen and spread. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

“You heard me, devil,” Mehen said. “Take your useless self off.”

Farideh turned and set her hands on Lorcan’s chest, pushing him back from the fire. “Lorcan, please. Go. You’ll just make it worse.”

Lorcan narrowed his eyes. He took hold of her wrists and shoved them away.

“I’m going to find that orc.” He glared at Mehen. “Perhaps then I’ll be useful enough.” A few ungainly flaps of his wings, and Lorcan was airborne and flying into the wood.

Farideh watched him go, not wanting to face Mehen or Havilar or Brin. Her pulse hadn’t slowed, her hands were still shaking. She didn’t think she had it in her to soothe Mehen on top of everything else—especially if he was going to tear into her about Lorcan. Lorcan, who hadn’t done anything wrong this time.

Except … he’d come as if from nowhere, without the slightest twinge to her scar. And the rod that made a wave of fire, a strengthening of the spell she knew into something entirely different, something Lorcan wasn’t willing to explain.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Mehen said to Havilar.

“Yes!” Havilar said. “I just need help bandaging what’s left.” Farideh finally turned back to see Havilar watching her. Worried.

“Where’s Tam?” Brin asked.