Exile (The Dark Elf Trilogy #2)(6)

“Matron Mother, I will accompany you through the city,” offered Dinin, standing at the gate.

“You will remain here with the rest of the family,” Malice corrected. “The summons is for me alone.”

“How can you know?” Dinin questioned, but he realized he had overstepped his rank as soon as the words had left his mouth.

By the time Malice turned her reprimanding glare toward him, he had already disappeared into the mob of soldiers.

“Proper respect,” Malice muttered under her breath, and she instructed the nearest soldiers to remove a section of the propped and tied gate. With a final, victorious glance at her subjects, Malice stepped out and took a seat on the floating disk.

This was not the first time that Malice had accepted such an invitation from Matron Baenre, so she was not the least bit surprised when several Baenre clerics moved out from the shadows to encircle the floating disk in a protective guard. The last time Malice had made this trip, she had been tentative, not really understanding Baenre’s intent in summoning her. This time, though, Malice folded her arms defiantly across her chest and let the curious onlookers view her in all the splendor of her victory.

Malice accepted the stares proudly, feeling positively superior. Even when the disk reached the fabulous weblike fence of House Baenre, with its thousand marching guards and towering stalagmite and stalactite structures, Malice’s pride had not diminished.

She was of the ruling council now, or soon would be; no longer did she have to feel intimidated anywhere in the city.

Or so she thought.

“Your presence is requested in the chapel,” one of Baenre’s clerics said to her when the disk came to a stop at the base of the great domed building’s sweeping stairs.

Malice stepped down and ascended the polished stones. As soon as she entered, she noticed a figure sitting on one of the chairs atop the raised central altar. The seated drow, the only other person visible in the chapel, apparently did not notice that Malice had entered. She sat back comfortably, watching the huge illusionary image at the top of the dome shift through its forms, first appearing as a gigantic spider, then a beautiful drow female.

As she moved closer, Malice recognized the robes of a matron mother, and she assumed, as she had all along, that it was Matron Baenre herself, the most powerful figure in all of Menzoberranzan, awaiting her. Malice made her way up the altar’s stairs, coming up behind the seated drow. Not waiting for an invitation, she boldly walked around to greet the other matron mother.

It was not, however, the ancient and emaciated form of Matron Baenre that Malice Do’Urden encountered on the dais of the Baenre chapel. The seated matron mother was not old beyond the years of a drow and as withered and dried as some bloodless corpse. Indeed, this drow was no older than Malice and quite diminutive. Malice recognized her all too well.

“SiNafay!” she cried, nearly toppling.

“Malice,” the other replied calmly.

A thousand troublesome possibilities rolled through Malice’s mind. SiNafay Hun’ett should have been huddling in fear in her doomed house, awaiting the annihilation of her family. Yet here SiNafay sat, comfortably, in the hallowed quarters of Menzoberranzan’s most important family!

“You do not belong in this place!” Malice protested, her slender fists clenched at her side. She considered the possibilities of attacking her rival there and then, of throttling SiNafay with her own hands.

“Be at ease, Malice,” SiNafay remarked casually. “I am here by the invitation of Matron Baenre, as are you.”

The mention of Matron Baenre and the reminder of where they were calmed Malice considerably. One did not act out of sorts in the chapel of House Baenre! Malice moved to the opposite end of the circular dais and took a seat, her gaze never leaving the smugly smiling face of SiNafay Hun’ett.

After a few interminable moments of silence, Malice had to speak her mind. “It was House Hun’ett that attacked my family in the last dark of Narbondel,” she said. “I have many witnesses to the fact. There can be no doubt!”

“None,” SiNafay replied, her agreement catching Malice off her guard.

“You admit the deed?” she balked.

“Indeed,” said SiNafay. “Never have I denied it.”

“Yet you live,” Malice sneered. “The laws of Menzoberranzan demand justice upon you and your house.”

“Justice?” SiNafay laughed at the absurd notion. Justice had never been more than a facade and a means of keeping the pretense of order in chaotic Menzoberranzan. “I acted as the Spider Queen demanded of me.”

“If the Spider Queen approved of your methods, you would have been victorious,” Malice reasoned.

“Not so,” interrupted another voice. Malice and SiNafay turned about just as Matron Baenre magically appeared, sitting comfortably in the chair farthest back on the dais.

Malice wanted to scream out at the withered matron mother, both for spying on her conversation and for apparently refuting her claims against SiNafay. Malice had managed to survive the dangers of Menzoberranzan for five hundred years, though, primarily because she understood the implications of angering one such as Matron Baenre.

“I claim the rights of accusation against House Hun’ett,” she said calmly.

“Granted,” replied Matron Baenre. “As you have said, and as SiNafay agreed, there can be no doubt.”