Arvin was thankful that Karrell didn’t ask him to elaborate.
“What other psionic powers does Zelia have?” she asked.
Arvin gave her a sharp look. “Don’t even think about it,” he snapped. “Zelia’s dangerous. And untrustworthy. She’s as slippery as a—” He realized what he was saying, and stopped himself just in time.
Karrell’s eyes narrowed. She yanked her hand out of his. “As what? A serpent?”
Arvin’s face flushed. That was exactly what he’d been about to say.
The giant, seeing that they had stopped walking, halted. “Is something wrong?” he rumbled. Tanglemane lifted his head slightly; his face looked pale.
“It’s nothing,” Arvin said. He pointed at the wagon, only a few hundred paces from them now. Behind the driver sat two soldiers and a third man, identifiable as a cleric of Helm by his eye-emblazoned breastplate and deep red cloak. “Get Tanglemane to the wagon. We’ll follow in a moment.”
The giant shrugged then continued with heavy footsteps toward the wagon. It pulled to a halt as he drew near it, and the cleric hopped out. The giant lowered Tanglemane to the ground. The cleric crouched beside him and started removing the centaur’s crude wound binding.
Arvin turned back to Karrell. “Zelia’s dangerous,” he repeated. “Perhaps as dangerous as Sibyl herself.”
“And she is Sibyl’s enemy. And she has mind magic beyond what you possess. Magic that may force Naneth to tell us where Sibyl is.”
“True,” Arvin agreed, bristling. “But she’s the last person I’d ever ask for help from. As soon as she found out I’m alive, she’d kill me. Quick as spit. It’s bad enough that Windswift knows what I look like. The next time he reports to Zelia….” He shook his head, amazed at the complicated net he’d managed to weave around himself, hoping he could keep it from drawing any tighter.
“I was not suggesting that you speak with Zelia,” Karrell said. She raised her right hand and nodded at the ring on her finger. “And she will not learn that you are alive. Not from me.”
Arvin shook a finger at her. “Don’t do it. Gods only know what Zelia will do to you. She’s dangerous,” he repeated again, grasping at straws. “She’s—”
“—yuan-ti,” Karrell said. “As am I.” She glared at him. “And do not presume to give me orders. I am not human, and you are not my….” She paused, searching for the word. “Not my husband. Even if you did quicken my eggs.” Tossing her hair angrily, she turned her back.
Arvin’s mouth gaped open. “Your what?”
She touched her stomach. “My eggs,” she repeated softly.
Arvin stared at Karrell. “You’re pregnant?” he asked in a strained whisper. “But it’s only been”—he did a quick tally in his head—”two days—no, three—since we first….” He shook his head. “How could you possibly know so soon?”
“My scales,” she said. “They are shedding out of season—it is one of the early signs.” She touched a hand to her belly. “And the way I… feel. I know.”
Arvin was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. What to think. If Karrell was right, he was a father. Or soon would be. The thought terrified him; he knew nothing about children. “How long until….” He swallowed hard, and rubbed his forehead. His wound was bothering him again.
Beside Arvin, someone cleared his throat hesitantly—the cleric. He had completed his healing; Tanglemane was back on his feet, his color restored. The cleric had walked over to where Arvin stood without Arvin even noticing.
“Are you Arvin?” he asked.
Arvin nodded. Eggs, Karrell had said. Plural. How many eggs?
“I’m to convey you to Ormpetarr at once,” the cleric continued. “The baron needs your mind magic. There’s someone at the palace who’s… not well. Will you come? You must be willing, in order for me to teleport you.”
“I don’t have any healing powers,” Arvin protested. Absently, he rubbed at his forehead. The itching was getting worse.
“The baron needs you to… listen to some thoughts,” the cleric said.
“Whose?” Arvin asked absently. He stared at Karrell, realizing he hardly knew her. Yet she bore his child. His children.
“A… demon’s,” the cleric whispered, shooting a worried glance at Karrell.
Arvin rubbed his itching forehead. No, not itching. Tickling. The flutter was back—had been back, for some time.
Naneth was listening.
“It is all right,” Karrell assured the cleric. “I know all about Glis—”
Arvin sprang forward and clapped a hand across her mouth. With his free hand he signaled frantically, jerking two V-splayed fingers over his shoulder.
Karrell’s eyes widened.
Pretending that he was worried about the cleric overhearing, Arvin whispered fiercely at Karrell in a voice he hoped was loud enough for Naneth to hear. “The cleric isn’t one of us. Don’t say anything that will give the game away. Don’t mention Lord Wianar. Or the fact that it’s not… not really Glisena that Foesmasher has, but a… an illusion. If they find out Glisena is really in… in Arrabar, they might find her.”
