Surfacing Ch. 32

Rohenvi herself poured the water into each cup and nodded, waiting while the child— in full view of Shyntre watching— took a small sip from both cups and handed one out to her mistress. Matron Thalluen swapped the pitcher for the cup and offered it to Shyntre, who accepted, and finally claimed her own cup. She drank first, watching him with steady, observant eyes. He was to sip next.

The moment the water touched his lips, he realized how parched he was and he drank the full cup in three successive gulps. Not exactly the best manners, but he didn't care.

Sirana's mother arched a brow slightly. "Would you like more, Consort?"

He held out his cup with a small bow. "Yes, please, Matron."

"Out here?"

"Yes, Matron."

She nodded formally and again traded her cup for the pitcher and filled Shyntre's cup herself, complete with the same bows and gestures. He drank it all, and sighed in relief.

"Thank you, Matron. At your tolerance."

No one at this House thought this visit was a good thing for them, especially with all going on at the heart of the City. It might not be; for all Shyntre knew, he would bring destruction down on this House a lot earlier than he would on everyone else, but not because he wanted to.

He had not wanted any of this.

Matron Rohenvi let him inside her home and according to established custom set him up in guest quarters, giving him the time "alone" to bathe and don fresh clothing approximately his size. They didn't have formal wizard's robes, but Shyntre was glad for the loose tunic that reached to his ankles and his wrists, belted around the middle. The servants would clean and mend his formal wear.

He sat down in a luxurious chair, once again surrounded by Drowish walls, and had to be careful not to fall asleep from sheer exhaustion.

"Will the Queen's Consort see my mistress now?" the same young child asked him after knocking on his door about a mark of the candle later.

Shyntre lifted his head tiredly and studied her. He actually wasn't sure if she was a servant or not; her dress and manners confused him. So young, too; not even thirty, this girl. Wide eyes, decent face but certainly of the common blood. She had to be a servant.

She was confident here, however; she knew and accepted her place, and the Matron did not seem to be abusing her to pathetic brokenness. Shyntre had been on trips with Wilsirathon to Noble Houses often enough to detect the general level of control, cruelty, or punishment dealt from a Matron within the first mark—simply by looking at her personal servants.

Like Sirana as a Red Sister, Shyntre sensed Rohenvi was not quite as miserable to serve as other Matrons. This place felt as though it was conserving energy, resting or hibernating, rather than constantly keeping everyone on their toes.

Maybe it had something to do with the three Daughters; maybe the Matron had given up, losing so much status for her House in such a short amount of time; perhaps she merely waited to see if the Fourth Daughter—now technically the First— would be able to carry on revive the youth of the House. The Matron Thalluen had better have some strong defenses in place if that was the case. Someone would notice the weak spots, if they hadn't already.

But again, it probably wasn't going to matter here very soon. Everything would be changed, or annihilated. No wonder the Valsharess did not give a damn about the Noble Houses lately.

"Yes, I will see her," he said, pushing himself out of the comfortable seat.

To his surprise, he was led to the Matron's own quarters in the front wing, not a neutral greeting room. That could be interpreted that the Matron meant to make a proposition of some kind, but upon stepping inside and reading the body language of a mother tending her newest child, Shyntre changed his mind.

The Matron was required to see to him, but he was interrupting her affairs as much as anything.

Rohenvi sighed slowly and leaned back, her left shoulder bare, her arms adjusting for comfort as the small, two-year-old Drow sucked hard at her nipple for nourishment. He sensed the wards come up, the silence begin just inside the door. Safe and private for the moment.

"Forgive me if I don't stand, Consort."

Shyntre smiled a little. He liked hearing the steady calm; for the moment the Matron did not want to play games. His appearance wasn't something she salivated in considering how to turn it to her advantage. He was just another youth needing her attention.

"Not needed, Matron. May I sit?"

"If you want to watch. Not all Consorts enjoy the competition."

He bit down on a chuckle and took a seat—not quite as comfortable as the first—a safe distance from the nursing Matron, and the servant girl remained in the room.

"Shall I surrender my Guard to the Sisterhood now?" Rohenvi asked bluntly. "Is it time?"

"Not yet, Matron. Though their practice and discipline is well noted."

"I would not have expected such a message to come from you in any case," she said. "I would ask why the Queen's Consort is wandering about by himself, his robes dirty as if he has been in the wilderness for some time."

"And if knowing the answer might get you executed, Matron?" he asked.

Rohenvi narrowed her eyes at him again, clearly not used to Consorts like him. She adapted quickly, however; he could see where Sirana got it. "So you endanger us even as we are required to care for you. I have already sent a message to the Palace, Consort. Not doing so is even less acceptable than asking his business at my home."

Shyntre nodded. So be it. "My time to serve is ending, that is why I came here. You did as you must."

The Matron watched him further, eventually needing to switch breasts as she fed her only remaining Daughter and heir. Shyntre crossed his legs so the erection wouldn't be so obvious. He glanced toward the well-dressed servant who brought a fresh towel and lotion for her mistress. For the life of him, he could not decide why this girl was familiar.

"No word from Elder D'Shea, then?" Rohenvi asked, and Shyntre jerked his eyes back to her, betraying his surprise and cursing himself. The Matron smirked a bit in response. She looked so much like a mature version of Sirana.

The young mage licked his lips, tried to calm himself and think. Matron Thalluen didn't know he was D'Shea's son, did she? He doubted it...she couldn't. No one talked about the Sisterhood's business on the outside, and no one in the City ever knew him as more than a wizard from the Tower and—maybe to those who had seen both of them—Phaelous's son.

His own mother's identity had been kept a secret from him for years; the Nobles never had it as fodder for public gossip, and the wizards themselves were mostly closed up and warned more than once about speaking of Red Sisters to their families back home.

Not even the recent disruption with the Draegloth Kerse to the Priesthood and the Sisterhood was allowed public scrutiny of the details, though most knew that was the point where the Sisterhood had discovered the betrayal of Wilsirathon to the Valsharess and the taint from the Abyss was discovered in the Consorts, which had triggered the Purge.

There was another connection why Rohenvi had asked that question, there had to be! Most likely it was to do with Sirana herself, as D'Shea had been watching her for some time.

*Think!*

Sirana tricked Juarinia to her death...Kaltra tried to kill Sirana but was caught. Sirana was sent to Court, Kaltra was kept but then executed by the Sisterhood...

...within a year of Sirana passing her initiation.

Possibly the right angle but less than Rohenvi had just gained learning that Shyntre had a connection to D'Shea as well. Damn. Fuck.

Goddess, he *still* hated Court politics.

"Ask me a question, Matron," he murmured, "and I'll give you something the other Nobles won't have."

Push and pull. Give and take. He had to ask her for the starting point; she had the high ground.

Rohenvi nodded, still suckling but straightening up in her chair, eager to start. She wanted that; she wanted something that would give her an early warning over the oppressive fear laying over the City ever since the Driders had taken over.

Like mother, like daughter.

"What was the last word from Elder D'Shea to you?" Rohenvi asked.

She couldn't lose with that question, should it be answered at all. Shyntre said he'd give something. He could refuse, or lie. He failed to see the long-term benefit, or any point.

"That I was on my own if I left her protection," he said, and Rohenvi's eyes brightened considerably as her mind woke up a bit more. "Now I ask why Elder D'Shea would have any word at all for you, for which you might be waiting?"

"She wouldn't, perhaps she never will again," the Matron admitted with an elegant shrug of her bare shoulder. "The Elder would appear here when she pleased, disappear again, sometimes offer a deal with my silence attached. Natia here remembers her, too, don't you, child?"

Shyntre followed Rohenvi's gaze to the young girl, who stood tensely, her mouth tightened into a line barely there, as if she regretted ever speaking a word in her short life. The mage felt eyes on him and turned his gaze back to the Matron.

"Did you know Sirana Thalluensareci, Palace Consort?" Rohenvi asked curiously.

"I did, Matron," Shyntre admitted.

"Who was she to you?"

"A Red Sister who courted me at the Wizard's Tower, Matron."

The Matron smirked. "Hm. The Elder watched her closer, there at Court. No one understood why I would make such a decision to send Sirana there after what happened. The truth was, I didn't. It was a trade, long in coming though I did not understand what at the time. Not until I'd proven a reliable resource to the Sisterhood. My Third Daughter and her talents given in exchange for a cleansing of my First and Second's Abyssal illnesses, plus a Fourth Daughter clean of any taint...and another to adopt, if I so wished."

Rohenvi gestured to Natia, beckoning her closer, and the child obeyed, allowing the Matron to touch her hair more gently and familiarly than she would any ordinary servant.

Shyntre felt his stomach chill as he trusted his instinct with what he saw. This child was the daughter of someone in particular...someone D'Shea knew, and the Elder had been looking for a place for the girl when the Matron Rohenvi inherited her.

Natia had to be a Red Sister's daughter. Who? He might know her... he might've been fucked by her. Shit. Like himself, the girl might resemble her sire a bit too much to be able to tell the mother.

"Your First and Second were sired by Sanctuary Consorts?" Shyntre asked.

"Among the first offered to the Noble Houses," Rohenvi said with a nod. "When I was most competitive at Court. I was so proud, at first. Perhaps the taint as it became known now was not yet fully in place but...I am certain that is where the illness in my first two Daughters came from. I could not stop it, I saw it only becoming worse, yet it was like nothing in my family history."

She exhaled, her eyes drifting down to the crown of her child's head. "I sought Sirana's sire elsewhere, not at Court, no connection to the Priestesses as I did not trust them anymore—and we are finally seeing the reasons why. It took some time, and luck, to find him."

Shyntre nodded, sensing a Matron just wanting to confess. It was almost too late to worry about careful secrets like this now. He wondered how many other Matrons might be in the middle of a crisis of purpose...although Rohenvi's had begun some time ago. She had once been known for being so promising, ready to climb up the ladder of status.

And then she had given up.

Rohenvi continued. "The official record says Sirana's sire was some Noble son of the Eleventh House at the time, with whom I briefly shared attentions. But I took him only after becoming pregnant unexpectedly. A falsehood. Sirana's sire was just a common male with a pleasing tongue, handsome enough and healthy, and fertile, apparently. I do not know precisely where the blue eyes came from, he certainly didn't have them. Easy enough to say it was from the Consort lines on the other side, though."

Shyntre remained quiet; it wasn't the first time a powerful female wanted a male to listen to her. He understood it to some degree—in most cases it would be a chain on the male, for he dare not break her confidence. It was a test of loyalty. A torture, in some cases, if others suspected he knew something juicy about a Matron.

But that wasn't the case here. Matron Rohenvi had no power over him at all; she knew it. She was just telling him a secret.

"Most Matrons would have aborted such a 'mistake,'" Rohenvi said with a wrinkle to her nose, distain and revulsion toward her peers in her voice. Shyntre watched as a few graceful fingers adjusted her breast as the babe nuzzled deeper, swallowing and sucking her milk.

"Nobles should be breeding only with Nobles, they say, to keep our magic strong...and yet we've needed to beg help from the Sanctuary for even that. With unbalanced results."

There was a long pause as the Matron reminisced about Sirana's sire, her eyes distant and distracted.

Shyntre gently cleared his throat. "Did he have a name?"

Rohenvi smirked. "Not one that mattered. I'd never seen him in the City before, though that did not mean much for a Matron bound to her plantation. He was careful in his speech, a good actor. But he had an accent. It slipped twice." She chuckled. "Someone in the City is playing an intriguing game right beneath the Valsharess's nose. It was my first hint there might be...others out there."

"Others?"

Rohenvi looked him straight in the eyes. "Other Drow. Other cities. And some of them sneak in with some of the trade. They plant things. Someone high up knows about this. I believed it to be Elder D'Shea, as she contacted me soon after my First Daughter's death."

"I...um...I wouldn't know," Shyntre admitted.

Rohenvi tossed her chin dismissively. "I care not anymore, though my attractive commoner dared to return again, while Sirana was at Court and Kaltra fretted for her own impotence. A mere trader, here and gone again. Kaltra may have been addled, but she could figure it out. She only too gladly agreed with the other Nobles' custom what should be done for it, when she saw my belly growing again."

The Matron stroked the baby's head; the anger was palpable. "She tried to poison us...my own Second tried again to kill a helpless sister. I'd become too lax, or tricked...bespelled. I do not know. That Elder D'Shea sent my own Sirana to deal with her... a strange thing for any mother, but symbolic. My House was cleansed at last at this point. The only living children I wanted were of common blood. Fresh sourced, like a new spring."

That included Natia, Shyntre noticed, as the child received another touch.

"The other Houses are damned to the Abyss for their inbreeding," Rohenvi hissed bitterly, her mouth tight. "How I've hated my position preventing my true choice for male companionship...that what we are as Matrons necessitates every desire being a dirty secret. I have hated it, even knowing I will eventually be punished again for it."

Shyntre swallowed. He nodded in agreement. "I won't tell the Valsharess any of this, Matron Thalluen."

"I do not care if you do." She paused, watching him. She seemed to study him closer than before. "There was a son, too, you know, by that same companion. Before I was seduced by the chanting and pride, before I went to Court to compete for a new Consort, before Juarinia. I could not keep that son past birth. He was male, and no one would claim him as Noble blood—I hadn't even begun sampling among the Nobles for cover, as I would do for Sirana and my newest." Rohenvi looked down again, her voice became quieter. "He had to go with his sire. The record had to be for a stillborn by a common male. A false name."

Shyntre trembled, knowing that rejection all too well. His first thought grasped that pain: would that their mothers had just killed them if they didn't want them...!

Although if that mean that boy—Sirana's older brother, he realized with a start—had actually gotten out of the City, out from beneath the Valsharess...?

How would he have lived? Was he still living?

Possible. This mysterious Drow sire kept coming back to this Matron, and she kept accepting him as he gave her "common" children. Three of them. One of them was anything but common.

Was it true that anyone high up—that anyone at all in the City—knew about this? What was going on?

"What's her name, Matron?" Shyntre asked, indicating the baby finally finishing her meal.

"Vekika," Rohenvi murmured. "His suggestion, if female. He told me it meant 'foreigner.' But no one here will know that." Her eyes teared up, shocking him as she lifted her gaze to him again. "Will we all die? Will the Driders tear us down? Will the Illithids come to our very doorsteps, as they say?"

Weight came down on his shoulders, as if the Underdark's ceiling had collapsed upon him again. Shyntre sighed. "Lolth will try to punish us for what we are about to do. The Illithids will try to wipe us out, to prevent where we are going."

Matron Thalluen swallowed. She believed him; they were talking differently, not sd a Matron Noble to a Royal Consort, but...as a rebellious Drow seeking direction outside of her station, like him. She knew he was different in that same way. She *would* be able to sense it, if she could sense it in the sire of her favored children. The traveler, the trader.

"The other Matrons may have nowhere to go," she whispered. "I do. But...I don't know how to find it. How to find him."

Lethrix's voice came into Shyntre's mind then, abrupt and large, and the mage jumped in his seat.

*Tell her he is closer than she believes.*

*Fuck!...Goddess, don't do that again!* he griped.

Rohenvi gave him an odd look as Shyntre tried to catch his breath.

*Tell her, hatchling. Your Elder Rausery has been keeping a few more secrets than she has divulged even to Elder D'Shea out of necessity.*

Matron Rohenvi was covering up her breasts, standing up as she seemed to be receiving a missive as well. She frowned worriedly. "Another messenger comes."

She rushed over to a small crystal, touching it, focusing. "Someone to claim you and take you where you belong, Consort. A Red Sister."

"Who?" Shyntre gasped.

She shook her head, listened. "We should go meet her. Come, now."

"Wait!"

Shyntre reached out to grab her, to stop her rushing by him, then hurriedly drew back his hand, mortified at what he'd almost done. She glared at him; she was afraid.

"Your chosen sire," he blurted. "He knows there's trouble coming. He's closer than you think. Watch for him, don't run away into the wilderness too soon looking for him."

Now she looked terrified. "How would you know this?!"

The sound of her voice made Natia flinch and Vekika whimper softly.

"I mean no harm, Matron, I'm a messenger, that's all!" he said desperately, worried he'd just made things worse. "We're being watched through your wards. You're right, Elder D'Shea is connected to this, and you are still a reliable resource to the Sisterhood. I-I'm her son! We're giving you this gift now because it won't matter to keep it later."

Sirana's mother swallowed, tried to bring her composure again in line, straightening her back and soothing her fussing daughter. Natia watched and listened with huge eyes and ears.

"Elder D'Shea's son?" she asked, and Shyntre nodded. "But you are...owned by the Valsharess now. You have to go back."

"D'Shea is on the edge of a blade," he said. "It could go either way for us. She chose you because you rejected Lolth early, like she did. I'm being 'told' that the Drow you are missing is nearby. That's all I was to tell you. Now I will forget what I said, I will tell no one."