“When burned, they have special properties. Some osssra clear the mind, while others heal the body. Some purge enchantments, while still others—like the one whose odor lingers on your hair and skin—stimulate dreams and memories.”
“The only thing it stimulated in me was dizziness,” Arvin said, talking around a mouthful of bread. The food was helping; he was starting to feel better already. “It made me as stupid as a slug.”
“Be thankful it only enfeebled your mind. Some osssra are fatal to humans. They are intended for yuan-ti.”
“You know a lot about these magical oils,” Arvin noted between spoonfuls of stew.
Karrell shrugged and continued turning his clothing. “You came from the direction of the palace. Did you manage an audience with the baron, after all?”
“You were watching the ambassador’s residence, weren’t you?” Arvin asked between mouthfuls of food.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Was he just as rude as before?”
Arvin’s fist tightened on the spoon. “Worse. He’s an arrogant, unfeeling bastard. Just like all the rest of—”
Karrell’s eyes narrowed. “All the rest of what?” Arvin shrugged. He might as well say it. This wasn’t Hlondeth; he could say what he liked.
“House Extantinos.”
“Ah.” Karrell walked back across the room and sank onto the bed—the only other place to sit. She toyed with the collar of her dress, which was white and hemmed with intricate turquoise embroidery. The dress was made from a soft, thin fabric unsuited to a winter climate, a fabric that hugged her breasts. She tossed her hair with a flick of her head, revealing her jade earplug and the soft curve of her jaw and throat. Arvin found himself losing interest in his food. He really was feeling better—much better. Even without the benefits of a charm spell, Karrell looked amazing.
She smiled and said something in a low voice. Arvin leaned forward. “Excuse me?” he asked, sopping up the last of the stew with his bread. “What did you just—”
He realized that she’d slid one hand behind her, as if to lean back on it. He caught sight of her fingers moving in an all-too-familiar gesture. Before she could complete her spell, he manifested a charm of his own. The base of his scalp prickled as psionic energy rushed from it. Break her promise, would she? Well he wasn’t about to let her get the better of him this time.
He saw Karrell tilt her head slightly.
Arvin felt a rush of warmth flow through him. He could see, by the sparkle in her dark eyes and the way she looked at him, that she cared for him—really cared for him—as much as he did for her. She’d just saved his life, hadn’t she? Karrell was someone he could count on, trust in, confide in. Setting down the piece of bread, he turned toward her. “He doesn’t care,” he told her.
She gave a slight frown. “Who does not care—and about what?”
“Dmetrio Extaminos.” Arvin shoved the empty bowl away. “I tried to tell him that the woman carrying his child might be in danger, and he just laughed. He’s not even going to try to look for Glisena; he’s just going to walk away. To abandon his own child. Just like….”
He looked away.
Karrell laid a hand on his knee. “Just like what, Vin?”
“It’s Arvin,” he said.
“Just Arvin’?” she asked. “No clan name?”
“My father didn’t live long enough to marry my mother. He died before I was born. Or at least, that’s what my mother told me.”
“Some fathers are not worth knowing,” Karrell said.
Arvin caught the look in her eye, and saw that it would be better not to pursue this comment. He tried to lighten the mood. “The yuan-ti have that advantage,” he said. “Their women lay their eggs all together in a brood chamber. None of them know their fathers.” He chuckled. “It’s a wonder they know who their mothers are.”
“The yuan-ti of Tashalar have a similar custom,” said Karrell. “So I hear.” She flipped her hair back, showing off her jade ear plug. “I am of the Tabaxi, of Clan Chex’en.”
“Check… shen,” Arvin repeated, trying to capture the same inflection. “Was that your father’s clan?”
Karrell smiled. “My mother’s. The humans of Chult, like the yuan-ti, pay little attention to who sired them.” Her smile faded. “In most cases.”
“The Tabaxi don’t have husbands?” Arvin asked. “We do not use that word. We call them yaakuns,”
She paused, searching for the translation. “Lovers.” Arvin nodded. “What about you? Do you have—”
“Brothers and sisters?” she interrupted. “No. And you?”
Arvin had a feeling she’d deliberately misinterpreted his question. He let it drop. “I was my mother’s only child.”
“Was?”
“My mother died of plague when I was six.”
“You must have been very lonely afterward.”
Arvin shrugged. “There were plenty of other kids in the orphanage.” Only one of them, however, had been his friend: Naulg. And Naulg was dead.
“Orphanage?” Karrell repeated. The word was obviously unfamiliar to her.
“It’s something like a brood chamber,” Arvin said, “for human children who have no parents. The priests run it.”
“Priests of what god?”
