'Come to me, Ardawain.' Without turning to look at her daughter, Miorrel gestured with one long hand for Ardawain to approach.
Stifling a sigh, Ardawain left off studying her shoes- which were of far more interest to her than anything else in the room- and moved as slowly as she dared to stand before her mother. She kept her crystal-blue eyes mostly on the floor, both as a sign of respect and because she had no desire to look elsewhere.
But her mother did not let that stand for long. 'Look at me,' she commanded sharply. 'I can't tell if you're lying if I can't see your eyes. And I want the truth from you.'
Ardawain hastily brought her eyes to meet Miorrel's gaze. The drow whom she saw bore little resemblance to her, and not because Ardawain was only a half-drow. Their faces were completely different: Miorrel's sharp features were refined in their distinction, making her ebon visage, with its dark red lips and deep blue eyes, was the picture of sinister beauty; Ardawain, on the other hand, had all of the sharp bones but none of the grace. Where her mother was elegance incarnate, her strong body was purely functional, and would never be viewed as decoration. Perhaps had she been a priestess as her mother had wanted, that would have been different. As it was, she was a warrior, and it showed.
'How goes your training with Sanret?' her mother asked in a silky tone. Ardawain felt an uneasy feeling settle over her; when Miorrel inquired after her weapon training, it was rarely a good thing. But she did not dare stay silent.
'Very well, lady Miorrel,' she replied as meekly as she could manage.
'Has it been worth my trouble and Sanret's?' the priestess continued in the same manner.
There was almost certainly a trap somewhere in that question. Ardawain tried to find it before her lack of a reply angered Miorrel; when she could not decide which answer her mother wanted to hear, she chose to evade. 'It is not my place to say, my lady.'
Unfortunately, it seemed that Miorrel was not content with this reply. 'I want you to answer me,' she said in a voice that promised dire consequences should Ardawain continue to displease her.
Ardawain took a deep breath and prepared a more specific response. 'It is my belief and hope that it has been.'
To her surprise, this answer appeared to please Miorrel. 'I cam glad you think so,' she purred. 'I would be most upset if it weren't.' She held out her hand. 'Give me your whip.'
Reluctantly, Ardawain put a hand to her belt and removed the coiled whip-dagger that was held there. She dared not ask her mother why she wanted it, though she dearly wished to know. The priestess took the weapon and inspected the small dagger affixed to the end. 'Is this magical?' she inquired.
'No.' She gnawed the inside of her lower lip, wondering if she would be allowed to ask what all this was about. Probably wasn't worth finding out; her mother would tell her if she needed to know.
'I'll be keeping this for a few days,' Miorrel announced, laying the whip down on the table beside her. 'You can use one of Sanret's. Now, Ardawain.' She considered her daughter for a moment before continuing.' You are content as a fighter rather than a priestess, then.'
'I am.' She did not like the direction this conversation was taking.
'Well, I certainly hope it has been the right path for you. You'll be tested next week.' She gave Ardawain a cold smile; while it was not malicious in nature, it certainly was not well-meant either. 'You had better show yourself well.'
'I will try. If I may ask. who will be watching?'
'Sanret, myself. other priestesses and weapons masters.' The weapons masters because they were anxious to see what Sanret had turned out, the priestesses because they were interested in the results of the girl who had distained joining Loviatar's following. Miorrel hoped Ardawain would prove her mettle, not for Ardawain's sake, but to demonstrate to her peers that her decision to train Ardawain in the arts of war had been the food one. Should Ardawain fail, she would never forgive her.
Ardawain nodded. 'I understand. Is. is that all?'
'Yes. Leave me now.'
Ardawain spun abruptly on her heel and stalked towards the door. It felt strange not to have the familiar weight of her whip hanging at her waist; at least Miorrel had not taken her rapier too.
Once outside her mother's chambers, she wandered aimlessly through the tunnels, avoiding those that led to the surface. She did not much care for the heat, and it was considerably cooler down here in the summer. Through chance, she found herself standing at the door to her room a few minutes later. For lack of anything else to do, she turned the handle and entered, intending to forget about her recent interview with- and warnings from- her mother with reading a book, or some such. She did not often summon the patience necessary to read, but if she could find an interesting enough book, it would help her to relax.
What she found instead was Tamakir, busy at work gathering the soiled clothes she'd piled in a heap at the end of her bed. 'Good day, my lady,' he greeted her quickly as she entered. 'I'll be gone in just a minute.'
'No, stay.' Ardawain muttered, throwing herself into a chair. 'I want to ask you something.'
'Yes?' Now that he had seen that Ardawain was not in one of her all- too-frequent vicious moods, Tamakir did not call her by title. He approached his friend, a questioning look on his solid face.
'You've been to the surface more often than me. Have you ever been outside of Dambrath?'
Tamakir shrugged, looking apologetic. 'No, I haven't. I've been here all my life. I'm not really free to travel as I like.'
'No, you're not.' Propping her chin on her hand, she let out a discontented huff.
'Why?' Tamakir inquired worriedly.
'Oh, no reason.' Only that she would be banished should she fail this trial, and wanted some idea of what the world was really like beyond the borders of Dambrath.
Tamakir did not ask further, though he laid one hand on her shoulder in sympathy, understanding that there was trouble. 'I'm sorry I can't help,' he murmured.
'Not your fault. You should get back to work.' She gave the clothes a pointed look.
'Of course.' He turned away, and was soon gone.
Yet his simple comforting had managed to soothe her ruffled nerves somewhat. Tamakir was such a blessing to have around. He might be only a human slave, but he was one of the few she shared her feelings with, on occasion. 'At least you're here for me,' she mumbled to no one as she pushed herself from her chair and wandered over to the other side of the room to choose a book.