Archmage Read Free Page B

leaking breast. Her breathing was quite raspy, Gromph noted, and more than once she glanced at the closed door with an expression that seemed to be clearly approaching panic.
    “She is beautiful, is she not?” Gromph asked, and when the high priestess snapped a surprised glare at him, he added, “Our child.”
    Minolin Fey swallowed hard, and Gromph laughed at her. Whatever her feelings, Minolin would not dare harm Yvonnel. She would do as she was told, as Lolth’s avatar had instructed, because in her heart, Minolin Fey was truly a coward. Even in their previous plotting to overthrow Matron Mother Quenthel—before the end of the Spellplague, before the Darkening, before Methil had imbued Quenthel with the memories of Yvonnel much as the illithid had done with the child in Minolin’s womb—Minolin had slithered in the shadows. She had remained in the background, prodding others into the forefront to hunt for K’yorl Oblodra in the Abyss, and whispering to those other Houses that would bear the brunt of Matron Mother Baenre’s wrath if the plot unfolded badly.
    “You do not understand!” Minolin Fey snapped at him in a voice as shrill as any she had ever dared use with Gromph Baenre.
    “I?”
    “To have your body so invaded . . .” the high priestess said, lowering her gaze and looking thoroughly, pathetically broken. “Those illithid tentacles, invading my flesh, probing me,” she said, her tone hinting that she was barely able to speak the words. “You cannot know, husband.”
    She dared look up, to find Gromph glaring at her.
    “You know nothing of what I know or do not know, Minolin of House Fey-Branche.” His reference to her lesser House, instead of naming her as a Baenre, was a clear and sharp reminder.
    “You are not a woman,” Minolin Fey said quietly. “There is nothing more . . . personal.”
    “I am not a woman,” Gromph echoed. “A fact of which I am reminded every day of my life.”
    “The child . . .” Minolin Fey said with a disgusted shake of her head.
    “Will become Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan,” Gromph stated.
    “In fifty years? A century?”
    “We shall see.” Gromph turned on his heel and started for the door.
    “There remains K’yorl,” Minolin Fey dared remark before he reached the exit, referring to their previous plans to be rid of Quenthel.
    Gromph stopped and stood staring at the door for a few heartbeats. Then he snapped about, eyes and nostrils flaring. “This is not Quenthel any longer, who serves as Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan,” he warned. “Not simply Quenthel, at least. She knows as Yvonnel knew, and as our child Yvonnel is coming to know.”
    “Knows . . . ?”
    “The history of our people, the living truth of the ways of the Spider Queen, the myriad plots and contortions of the many, many Houses that have come before. You would do well to remember that, Minolin Fey. Our union has served me well.” He glanced at the door where the yochlol and the baby Yvonnel had gone. “But if you conspire and connive, and so invoke the wrath of Quenthel—of Matron Mother Baenre—then know that I will not protect you. Indeed, know that I will destroy you, in service to my beloved sister.”
    Minolin Fey could not match his gaze and lowered her face.
    “Treat our child well, my wife,” Gromph warned. “As if your very life depended on doing so.”
    “She demeans me,” Minolin Fey muttered under her breath as Gromph turned once more to leave. And again the archmage spun on his heel.
    “What?”
    “The child,” the high priestess explained.
    “The child demeans you?”
    The high priestess nodded, and Gromph chuckled once more.
    “You understand who that child has become?” Gromph asked rhetorically. “Beside her, you deserve to be demeaned, and mocked.
    “But fear not,” Gromph added. “Perhaps if you treat her well, and feed her well with your breasts, she will not utterly obliterate you with a Lolth-given spell.”
    Still chuckling, though not