~4. Kindness Bites~
Rismyn
The more Rismyn determined not to think about the faerie the more she haunted his thoughts. It didn’t matter what method he tried to distract himself. No amount of hard labor or quiet meditation could chase her burning eyes from his mind. She was like a vein of mithril in his head; beautiful, delicate, and unyielding.
He desperately wanted to speak with her again, and that desire was frightening. She was a faerie!
But it was like that fact didn’t matter. His feet developed a habit of walking him into her path every chance they got. Of course, he knew better than to try and interact with her in the open. They would both be beaten for that. Still, it was nice to catch glimpses of her. Even for a moment.
This couldn’t be natural. She had to have enchanted him.
It was the only explanation that made sense. He’d thought long and hard about it, about everything he knew to be true about faeries. They were wicked, evil liars. They tricked the drow into leaving the paradise where all elves once dwelled together and trapped them in the Underdark. They only existed to foil the dark elves.
And Kitty was one of them. She lied to him about kindness. It wasn’t an unconditional, good thing. It was a snare. She’d let him take the balm from her, the balm she cursed with her enchantment. And now she had a hold on his soul, and he didn’t know how to shake her off.
Worse, he continued to use the healing balm, even though he knew what it was doing to him. But he didn’t like hurting, so he succumbed to the temptation of healing his bruises every single time.
It was vitally important that he figure out how to free himself of this affliction. If his sisters or mother found out, they would give his heart to the Spider Queen. They would have no choice, for he had been tainted by the faerie.
Most disturbingly, he wasn’t convinced they wouldn’t enjoy it.
Rismyn shuddered. He had seen more than his fair share of sacrifices in his eleven years. Matron Xatel wanted to be the Fourth House, so she spared no expense to invoke Lolth’s favor to get her there. Even if that expense was drow life.
He didn’t want to be bound upon the spider-shaped altar, with a jagged, eight-bladed knife thirsting for his blood. He wanted to bring glory to House Tear with his warrior skills, not his agony. He needed to figure this out. Alone.
“Rismyn!”
The sharp snap of his elder sister’s voice jarred him from his thoughts. His blood turned to ice as he cut his eyes down. Had she read his thoughts? Were they lighting the braziers in the chapel even now?
Mindra strode towards him, the long hem of her priestess robes swishing as she went. “What are you doing, boy?”
“Sweeping,” he mumbled, pointing to the broom he had been idly ignoring against the wall.
“Do that later,” she snapped. “Attend to me in my study. I’ll be there in a moment.” She never broke pace as she swept past him into the heart of the chapel.
He should have been relieved. He wasn’t in trouble, after all. If he was, she would have made it very clear.
Instead, he was disappointed. He had been lurking by this alcove in hopes of catching sight of Kitty. Now he had to make his way into the house proper, far from the slave halls where he might steal a glimpse of her. Mindra would probably keep him all day, too, copying notes for her.
It was boring work. Nothing but nonsensical prayers and spells in languages he didn’t read. Rismyn didn’t care if the runes he inscribed had the power to shape the world; magic was utterly uninteresting to him. It was the sword he wanted to learn.
But Mindra was female and therefore superior. He had no choice but to obey her.
So, resigned, Rismyn went, keeping his eyes carefully down all the way even as he bumped shoulders with goblins and gnolls. Although as page prince he was little better than a servant himself, the other slaves shied away from him and bowed.
At least there were some creatures lower than himself.
Like Kitty. She was beneath him, though she had dared to look him in the eyes even when she was so plainly afraid. Some part of him knew that she ought to have been punished for the audacity, but he hadn’t been able to look away, either.
It was that stupid enchantment! And now he was thinking of her again. He needed to stop that before Mindra read his mind and gave him to Lolth.
At last, he made it to the door of his sister’s study and stepped inside to wait. He chanced a glance around the room and groaned.
The office was trashed. Broken glass littered the floor, books and paper were shredded and shoved aside. There were great rends in the tapestries hanging from the walls.
Sadly, this wasn’t an unusual sight. When Mindra lost her temper, everything around her suffered for it. Rismyn picked his way carefully over the rubble and stood against the wall to wait, wondering what the evidence of her foul mood meant for the rest of his day. It could be anything, but he was sure it would be nothing good.
His sister said she would be right there, but as the minutes ticked on Rismyn felt his attention span wandering. He drifted between imagining what had set Mindra off this time, to Kitty, to whether or not he had to clean this up, and then back to Kitty. He slid down to sit on the floor and winced as a piece of glass pricked his hand. Muttering a curse, he swept the shard away and put the wound to his mouth.
Maybe he ought to just clean it up for her.
The thought caught him entirely off guard.
He’d never once considered doing something without being told to do it before. At least, not like this. He was male, which meant he was less intelligent and prone to mess everything up. That was why obeying was so important. Mindra had told him to wait for her, so he needed to just wait.
But she couldn’t want her study to look like this. Of all his sisters, Rismyn knew her best. She had raised him until he turned ten. He knew she valued tidiness and organization. She’d beaten the lesson into him herself.
No. He needed to obey. For all he knew, the broken glass was a ritual he didn’t understand. Maybe Lolth wanted Mindra to destroy her study, and his tampering with anything might lose their family favor with the Spider Queen.
The idea had barely taken root in his head before Rismyn dismissed it as ludicrous. But it was quickly replaced by an even more ridiculous thought. One that refused to leave.
What if he gave Mindra a kindness? What if he tidied up her study while he waited for her to come back. Then he would save them both time by not having to do it once she returned. She would be pleased with his initiative because it meant she could start her dictation sooner.
Kitty said it felt good to do a kindness. He thought he knew what it meant to feel good–until he touched her skin and worked healing into her pain. The wondrous feeling that came from watching her suffering ease by his hand had redefined what feeling good meant. It had been a beautiful, fleeting moment, gone all too soon.
He craved that feeling again. Like he craved Kitty’s presence and voice. Somehow, he’d come to associate the feeling with her. Maybe if he did a kindness now for Mindra, he could divorce the feelings and keep the good parts without the tainted infatuation.
If it would save him from the Spider Queen’s altar, it was worth a try.
So, Rismyn started to clean. He gathered the shards of glass and straightened the books. He took the time to collect all the torn pages and put them in order so Mindra would only have to use her magic to mend them. He had only just learned to use his innate ability to levitate, so he appreciated the practice as he tucked the corners of the torn tapestries back up so they looked less ragged.
All in all, he was quite pleased with the results as he stood and surveyed the room. It wasn’t perfect, but Mindra’s magic would fix the rest. It wouldn’t take more than a moment, and she would be glad for it.
Or so he thought.
“What. Did. You. Do?”
The icy voice from behind Rismyn choked the warm feeling that had been stirring in his heart. Slowly he turned to face his sister, who surveyed her study with astonishment.
“I…” he began, but his voice died in his throat. He had only glanced at her face, but she didn’t look happy.
“Speak up, boy,” Mindra snapped. “I told you to wait for me. What did you do?”
“I...tidied up for you,” he confessed, hoping she wasn’t reading his mind.
“Why?” She stalked further into the room.
Rismyn backed away instinctively, but she closed the distance. He was nearly as tall as her now, which he knew was unusual by the way people muttered about it, but he was still a hundred years younger. Her presence loomed over him, a dread shadow even in the darkness.
“I thought it would make you happy,” he stammered. There was no point in lying. “I was trying...kindness…”
“You what!?” She snatched him by the hair and yanked his head up. “Where did you learn that word?”
Though Rismyn was frightened of a beating, he was even more frightened of being given to Lolth if Mindra learned the truth. “From a book,” he lied.
“In our library?”
He nodded furiously.
“Which book?”
“I don’t remember,” he said. And to his humiliation, his words came out as a sob. “Please, I don’t remember. It was a while ago.”
The priestess’ gaze bore into his as she held him firm. Rismyn could almost feel her clawing through his mind. Desperate, he imagined himself in the library, looking through vague books and scrolls, trying to think of anything but Kitty.
That was the first important lesson Rismyn learned that day. Lolth’s clerics could read minds, but they could be fooled. After several long moments, Mindra released him. He staggered back from her, out of arm’s reach.
“Stupid, useless, boy,” she muttered. She stepped towards him. “Have you forgotten everything I taught you? Who are you?”
The answer came quickly to his lips, a litany he had been taught since he could speak. “I am Rismyn Tear, second son of Matron Xatel.”
“And what is your purpose?”
“To bring glory to House Tear and Matron Xatel.”
“And how do you do this?”
“By...by being obedient,” he said, and in that moment he knew he should have stayed against the wall and waited for Mindra’s orders.
“Correct.”
The slight hiss was the only warning Rismyn had to duck his head before the snake-headed whip crashed over him.
Thwack!
“Not by thinking!”
Thwack!
“Not by taking initiative!”
Thwack!
“And not by being kind!”
Rismyn fell to his knees, his arms bloody from protecting his head. He let them fall to his side, unable to keep them raised anymore.
**“Do you understand me, Rismyn?” Mindra growled, her whip writhing in her hand. The snake heads lifted and reached for him, fangs dripping with blood and venom. “There is no room for kindness in this world. We are the Fifth House of Menzoberranzan, and one day we will be First. We cannot afford such weakness. Never, ever try it again.”
“Yes, Mindra,” Rismyn said. “I’m sorry, Mindra.”
Thwack!
The blow caught him on his right cheek and he collapsed as the numbing venom sank into his skull, his body paralyzed. He was stunned, and not just literally. No one had ever struck his face before. He couldn’t stop the tears welling in his eyes from spilling onto the floor.
Mindra stood over him. “You’re forgiven,” she said. “Now get out. I must go purge the library.”
Rismyn wanted to obey, but the numbness hadn’t worn off yet. Thankfully, Mindra was already on to the task ahead of her. She stepped over him and left without a second look.
When at last the feeling returned, Rismyn scrambled to his feet and fled into the chapel, to the dark corner alcove where it was safe to cry.
Except that it wasn’t safe.
Kitty had found him there, which meant it wasn’t as far removed from the rest of the house as he thought. He hadn’t considered that when he fled there now. But he didn’t know where else to go. If Mindra or anyone found him weeping, he’d get beaten even worse than before. They might even consider him defective. And if he was defective, they wouldn’t bother to give him to Lolth. They’d just kill him.
This was all the faerie’s fault. She had tricked him, just like her ancestors had tricked his. And now he was tainted and enchanted and would be dead before long, slaughtered for the Spider Queen’s pleasure. His pain and humiliation blended with rage and fear, all of it spilling down his cheeks as his tears mixed with the blood on his face.
He was going to die. There was nothing he could do. Sooner or later Mindra would realize there was no book that spoke of kindness in their library. She would torture the truth out of him and learn about the balm and the faerie and then that would be it.
Unless…
Unless he killed Kitty first.
The thought stilled him.
Yes, that was it. It was the only way. If he killed her, he would be free of her and her infectious weaknesses. He had no choice. He had to do it. Toloruel would understand. No! Toloruel would never know. He’d make it look like an accident, he’d—
“Prince Rismyn?”
The soft voice made his heart stampede around his rib cage. He quickly scrubbed the tears from his face and whirled about, a snarl on his lips, which subsided unexpectedly when he found himself staring once more at the faerie.
Kitty’s eyes were not demurely averted but glowing softly as she stared into his, not more than two paces between them. She gasped when she saw his face, and her own eyes welled with tears.
“Oh, no, what did they do to you?” she whispered, stepping forward. She fished in her apron pocket and raised a clean white cloth to his wounded cheek.
Rismyn jerked back but found himself pressed against the wall and unable to escape. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed, raising his hands defensively. “This is all your fault!”
The girl only looked more pitying, and though she didn’t touch him, she didn’t lower her hand either. “I was afraid this would happen,” she said. “I knew my master would know you visited me. Oh, Rismyn, I’m so sorry.”
Sorry? She was sorry? He pressed back against the wall, trying to get away from her poisonous compassion. “It wasn’t Toloruel,” he said, not sure why he was explaining himself to her.
“I’m still sorry.” She seemed completely unphased by his anger. “I know it hurts.”
She stepped forward again, close enough now that he could feel the heat from her body. It occurred to him then that this was his chance, but he was frozen in her lavender gaze.
She brought the cloth to his cheek, and he was helpless to stop her. Her power over him was too strong. He needed to kill her now, while he had the opportunity. His hands trembled, his fists clenching. How would he do it? Could he strike her hard enough? Or strangle the life out of her?
“Do you still have the balm?” Kitty asked, oblivious to the fact that these were the last few moments of her life. She pulled the now bloodstained cloth away from him and folded it neatly back into her apron.
Completely against his will, Rismyn nodded, and then wondered at his hand’s disobedience in producing the tin from his pocket.
Kitty took it from him.
Rismyn flinched when she raised two fingers to the wound on his face, though her touch was velvet soft. His whole body tensed, determined to fight off her witchcraft with every ounce of his will.
Then, she began to sing, and he was undone.
Rismyn had never heard such a beautiful sound before in his life. The hymns to Lolth were more like rhythmic chants, the only instruments were the pounding of war drums. This was lovely, lyrical, and smooth. It was like all that good feeling he had been searching for wrapped up into one melody. He didn’t understand the words, but he didn’t need to. He knew he was doomed.
The pain receded, and his skin healed. She moved to working on his arms, singing all the while. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he felt like the balm worked better when she applied it. He felt stronger than before, rejuvenated past what had been needed.
She massaged his forearms well after the flesh had mended, but Rismyn couldn’t bring himself to tell her to stop. Then, abruptly, she fell silent and let him go, blinking as if coming out of a trance.
There wasn’t a trace of pain anywhere in his body. Kitty offered the tin back to him, and he took it absently. All his anger and hate for her were gone as if she had somehow sung it out of him. He had to get it back so he could strike her down and save himself.
“I tried your kindness,” he said.
She jumped like a startled mouse, looking around suddenly as if she just realized where she was. A trace of fear returned to her eyes.
“This is what it got me.” He pointed to his now healed cheek. “Just like it got you slapped. It doesn’t work, and you’re weak for believing it does.”
Kitty only looked at him, her shoulders sagging, and he was surprised at the way her sorrow made him feel. He didn’t hate her; he hated himself.
“Oh, Rismyn,” she said again, and he suddenly realized she was addressing him as an equal. When had she found the courage? “I’m so sorry. But if you were truly kind, then you did a good thing, and no one can take that from you. It’s not your fault if they aren’t worthy of it.”
Then, she attacked him. At least, that’s what he thought she had done. Her body pressed against his, and her arms wrapped around his torso, holding him tightly. He staggered back, confused. Was she trying to crush him like a snake? She wasn’t strong enough if she was. What a foolish endeavor! And now he could easily grab hold of her and thrash her bones to powder.
In fact, that was exactly what he ought to do. One quick jerk of her head would end his suffering forever. He would be a pure drow again.
“I’m sorry,” Kitty breathed, her words warm against the flesh of his neck. It sent tingles in every direction, like the start of the snake venom from his sisters’ whip. Unlike that merciless toxin, though, this sensation made him feel alive. He became acutely aware of the blood rushing through his veins.
He didn’t know what made him do it. Perhaps the enchantment compelled him. He’d long since stopped caring about it, no longer sought to fight it. She devoured his soul, and for better or worse, he couldn’t hurt her now. His arms wrapped around her in a similar fashion, holding her tight without the least bit of murderous intent left in him. It just seemed like the right thing to do. He didn’t know what this thing she was doing was, but he knew it wasn’t an attack. It felt good. So good.
Better than being kind to Mindra had felt, even before Mindra had discovered it.
He didn’t care that he was weeping anymore. Kitty was weeping, too, and for some reason that made it all right.
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