The Serpent and the Sorceress - Book 1: Shadows Rising

Chapter 4

After all the students had been packed into the carriages and their luggage charmed away, Snape was taken aside by Dumbledore.

The older man stood erect, but weariness had settled itself around the corners of his eyes. "My office, Severus" was all he said before whisking his wand out and Disapparating. Following suit, Snape pulled his wand out too, and after forming a clear picture of the fireplace in his mind, he whispered the Apparation spell and lurched forward with a sharp crack.

He found himself back in the dingy basement of the Three Broomsticks. Dumbledore had already gone through the fireplace, but the cold coals showed no signs of life. Dipping his hand into a cracked clay vase, Snape pulled out the Floo powder and threw it onto the black hearth. Instantly flames leapt up and he walked through, muttering "the Headmaster's Office."

Instantly he reached his destination, and stepped from the flames, examining the Mark, which, upon closer inspection, was more of a putrid, infectious green.

"I doubt it will turn any other colour until Voldemort arranges his meeting with you," Dumbledore said from behind his desk. Snape looked over at the man and saw that he was writing, his phoenix feather quill scratching as it rapidly crossed the piece of parchment. Dumbledore motioned with his free left hand to the chair across from him, but did not look up from his writing. Quietly, Snape took the seat, wondering who the Headmaster would be writing to with such force. His answer would have to wait though, and for the time being, he contented himself with looking around the office. His eyes passed over the sleeping portraits of Headmasters long forgotten and settled with a greater interest on the shelves behind the desk.

Upon several lay many apparatuses Snape could not even guess the function of. Sparks flew off several, varying in color, while some swung like pendulums and others remained rigidly still in odd shapes and strange materials. Some looked like actual objects, the spyglass in the corner for instance, or the hat known for its ability to sort students into Hogwarts houses. A golden sphere levitated half an inch above another shelf, and a clump of what appeared to be spider's web settled not far from it. His eyes left the shelves of strange objects and moved to the book shelves almost directly behind where Dumbledore sat. Because of this, he was unable to see the books at the lower levels, but higher up sat thick volumes; some bound with dragon skin or coarse leather, some even appearing to be made out of liquid. These were the Headmaster's own personal collection, added to by each that sat in the office, and steadily growing as years went by. Snape would have loved to browse the shelves, but was far too dignified to ask permission. Instead he sat, reading titles, some in languages he could not even recognize, until Dumbledore looked up from his letter.

"My apologies, Severus," he said, before returning to his rapid writing. "Cornelius refuses to accept the information given to him and the proof he's seen first hand, and so does not offer help. Until this very afternoon I had been confident that the students would be safest here, but the events have proven that my beliefs are based only on my own ego. If Cornelius will not aid us, it is in my hands to ensure that another incident like today does not occur." He paused to look up at Snape before continuing his letter with even more vigor, his voice laced with anger. "I'll be enlisting several of the Order to help with this. Expect them to arrive shortly; I'll need you to show them around. Remus and another are already here. They will need to keep low profiles for the most part, and students must think that they're only hired guards. Their parents have undoubtedly made their decisions about who to believe, the Minister, or myself, and people will talk once such a large group arrives. There must be no reason for them to think that the arrangement is any more than business, or Cornelius may impose some of his own upon us, to make sure there is no conspiracy transpiring...beneath his very nose."

A wry smile lifted the corners of Dumbledore's lips as reached the end of his letter, and tapped it with the end of his wand. Immediately a symbol was embossed in gold near the bottom right corner, a sign that only the Order would relate back to Dumbledore, a necessary precaution in case the letter was intercepted. Swiftly he rolled the paper up and sealed it with the wax next to him; likely he'd deliver it on the way to the Feast.

"Now, Severus," he said, steepling his fingers and pressing them against his chin, "about today. I'd like to hear your side of the story."

Anger had lifted itself from his voice, and his blue eyes were intent. Quickly, Snape recounted the happenings of that afternoon: his impression of the area once he'd entered, the state of the Express, the woman evidently healing Potter, and the escape as the train began to fall. Dumbledore said nothing, even when Snape was vague about the details when he'd first seen the woman kneeling over Harry, and waited until he'd finished the tale before responding, though a strange look had come over the man when he'd related what Potter had said about the fire. As he said it though, an unsettling feeling washed over him, as if Potter's words had been an echo of something he'd experienced before. He dismissed the notion, though for an instant, again like earlier that afternoon, it seemed he could feel the very fire Potter had mentioned roiling angrily under his own skin; the sensation vanished as quickly as he'd acknowledged it.

Dumbledore spoke finally, after Snape trailed off into silence. "What you presumed was correct, there was a barrier in place around the scene, a Charm that requires a great deal of power to be wielded for such a large area. Filius was unable to detect a weakness in it, and we only managed to get through once it suddenly vanished. I also agree that it was impervious to all except those who wore the Mark, which explains quite easily how you gained access while the others did not. This was likely Death Eater work, though what purpose it served I cannot exactly tell. You and I both know that Voldemort has lain quite still this summer, though happenings in Eastern Asia cannot be overlooked."

Snape nodded slowly, facts churning in his mind. There had been claims of raids by both Muggles and Wizards alike, of humans and beasts pillaging through towns and cities at night, and disappearing without a trace once dawn broke. Items had gone missing, but no new word had been heard or spoken about what, and no culprits had been apprehended.

"It seems that - He Who Must Not be Named- has chosen a different strategy then," Snape responded, thinking as he spoke. "The East holds a lot of history, and records and objects of magic and lost civilizations that may be of use to him if he decides to approach this from a different angle. But why the attack today then? Why would he allow the train to crash and not have a single Death Eater there to proceed with what he'd planned?"

"There was someone there," Dumbledore said calmly, folding his hands on the surface of his desk. Snape jerked his head up in surprise.

"There was?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Minerva found tracks leading to the train that suddenly stopped and then disappeared, but not quite reaching it. Oddly enough, someone had been there, but only watched, it seems. Or they were called back before they entered the train. It's strange, whatever the reason, but I doubt that it was an accident."

Snape nodded in assent. This new information threw in an unexpected curve, and added more questions to the pile of those already unanswered.

"That will have to be puzzled out later," Dumbledore said, "there are more pressing matters at hand."

It took Snape a moment to realize that Dumbledore was referring to the Mark.

"I believe you are being offered a chance - but you must decide whether it is worth taking."

Snape stared incredulously at the man in front of him. "How can you even consider questioning it?" he asked in disbelief.

Dumbledore's expression instantly grew much graver. "This is your decision, as it is your life that will be risked. Voldemort is shrewd, he will be watching you for error, and if he is dissatisfied with your performance... I have no right to press you into choosing anything against your own will, or against what you are willing to do or deem reasonable. It is you who must weigh the costs; I have no part at this stage except to make you aware of all the possible perspectives. We will proceed depending on whichever choice you make, as it is indeed yours."

Snape met the man's level gaze. "I will do what must be done," he said fiercely, "my choice has always been that. I have no intentions of backing out now, not when it is this close. If he wanted me dead, I would die anyway."

Dumbledore sat silently for a moment. "Then that is that," he said softly, moving a stack of papers off to his left. "We will have to finish this conversation later, I regret. The Feast is due to start shortly. Before we go down, however, I believe we should stop into the hospital wing. I promised Poppy to escort her down tonight, and she may want to have a look at you."

Snape was about to object when Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him.

"I will be quick, I promise."

Snape eyed him warily but nodded his consent. With that, Dumbledore stood and walked out of the office, Snape following at his heels, wrapped in brooding silence.

~~***~~

Arienne gasped and sat upright as a particularly awful smell entered her nostrils. Coughing, she waved a hand in front of her face and only after she made contact with other flesh did she realize she was not alone in the room. An elderly woman stood not a foot from her side, holding out a small jar that appeared to be the source of the smell. Her eyes were blue and her face was creased with gentle wrinkles as she smiled. "It works every time," she said before pulling the bottle out from under her nose. "You, however, provided a challenge even for it. Drink this."

Abruptly she was at Arienne's side again, holding a silver goblet of thick blue liquid. Arienne hesitated before taking it into her own hand. She lifted it to her mouth, then turned and threw a questioning glance at the woman who watched her with lips pursed thoughtfully. "It will help with your fatigue. The salts only work as a kick-start. Muggle invention, you know."

She clucked her tongue thoughtfully as Arienne closed her eyes and allowed herself to sip the thick, slightly frothy, drink. Instantly the tiredness in her aching limbs seemed to ebb away, and she drank more readily, ignoring the vague, yet strange, aftertaste of mint, honeydew, and something more robust that she could not quite determine. When she finished the woman whisked away the goblet and returned with another, full to the brim. "This is the last of it, I promise," she said kindly. "I've never seen a case of exhaustion like yours - not even after the students write their NEWTS, have you been sleeping well?"

Arienne gulped the contents in the goblet down quickly before she answered. "Not as of late, no," she answered watching the woman whisk the goblet away for a second time.

The woman nodded sympathetically as she returned. "Hard times for all of us - these days aren't happy ones. Be thankful to be at Hogwarts, rather than out there." The woman made a vague gesture towards the window.

"I'm at Hogwarts?" Arienne asked in wonderment. The woman pursed her lips again as she studied Arienne, likely trying to assess where else she could be injured.

"Indeed," the woman said, reaching for her wrist.

Arienne stared at her blankly for a moment before saying, "I feel fine, I just don't remember getting here, that's all." As she spoke the words, a flood of images came back to her. The snake dream, the train crashing, the boy - the dark haired boy with glasses, Harry, the figure - a man, she was sure of it - coming into the cabin, cursing her - the healing. The last image gave Arienne a jolt, and she lifted her hands up to the light. They looked no different than they had before - how - what had happened? Could she have imagined it?

No, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind, it's real. You know it's real. You know why.

She shuddered then, repressing the voice and turning her thoughts to the curse - the Acusus curse - and knew she at least hadn't imagined that. The pain had been real. Closing her eyes for a moment, Arienne opened them to find the woman peering down at her worriedly behind a pair of thick glasses she'd put on. "I'm fine...just...a little shaken up, I suppose." Arienne made to stand. "Thank you, um -" she trailed off uncertainly as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and set her feet on the floor.

"Poppy, Poppy Pomfrey, Hogwarts' nurse, and you're welcome, but" the older woman's face creased with concern, "you won't be standing for at least another hour." There was a firmness in her voice, and her eyes glittered as if she dared Arienne to argue. Sighing, Arienne pushed herself back up against the headboard of the bed and placed her hands on her knees.

She didn't have a doubt that Poppy Pomfrey, despite her demeanor, was someone not to be trifled with. Seeing that the young woman was obliging, Madam Pomfrey gave her an approving nod and told her she'd be back with food and would check on her later. Apparently there was some sort of feast about to start below her that Arienne was missing, but her head was too full to worry about her empty stomach. Only two groups used the Acusus curse: the Ministry, who applied it only under strict regulation, and the Death Eaters.

At that moment, however, just as Madam Pomfrey turned to leave, the door burst open and in a flurry of black robes limped a man with black hair that hung below his chin and an expression that would have rightfully sent anyone in it's path running. Poppy Pomfrey whirled around, unmoved by his glare and undoubtedly about to reprimand him for hurtling into a hospital wing like a tornado, but her eyes widened when she caught that he was limping. "On a bed, Severus," she instructed, motioning to a vacant one beside Arienne.

"I'm fine, woman," he said irritably, but as he looked over in the direction she pointed he caught sight of Arienne and he froze. Arienne was staring at him the moment their eyes met, her mind furiously trying to make sense of the man in front of her and hazy images that floated throughout her memory. His eyes were like knives, piercing her own, and it took all her willpower not to look away.

Danger. The feeling formed and evaporated - not quite a thought, not quite an emotion, and certainly not her own. This happened on occasion, and she'd been saved more than once acting on what she'd believed was instinct.

"It is you," she whispered, recognizing the man as her assailant in the train, and then reached for her wand. She gasped in frustration when it wasn't there.

"I don't think you'll be needing it," a voice said from the doorway. All three turned to the silent intruder, and Arienne's eyes widened as an aging wizard with sparkling blue eyes and half moon spectacles stepped fully into the room. He was old, it was true, his age accentuated by the long white hair and beard he wore, but although his movements were tired and seemed slightly strained, his eyes sparkled with the life of a child, though they reflected a much deeper wisdom. Arienne found herself rising to meet the man, but Poppy Pomfrey's sharp look sat her back down. Albus Dumbledore, instead, walked over to her bedside and extended a hand. Arienne shook it, mildly impressed by the man's firm grip.

"Arienne Jacobs," he said as he released her hand, "a pleasure it is to meet you finally. I can't begin to thank you for your presence, but that is unfortunately not why I'm here. You'll have to forgive me for my abruptness on that subject; I shall make it up to you when I can." He smiled and turned towards the other man. "I believe you and Severus have acquainted yourselves, though perhaps not by name? I suppose now would be a good time to remedy that."

His eyes twinkled, and Arienne darted a quick look at the man he'd called Severus. She was disgruntled to find him glaring darkly at her. "Severus Snape, Potions Master," he said coldly, and Arienne introduced herself in what she hoped was an equally disagreeable manner. He made no move to extend a hand for her to shake, so she looked quickly back to Dumbledore.

"I'm actually here, Poppy, to inform you that the students are on their way. Some have minor injuries that need attending to, but overall they were very fortunate." Arienne swore his eyes had flicked over to her when he said "fortunate", but she couldn't be sure.

Behind him, Snape cleared his throat.

"The feast is due to start shortly," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the other man's impatience, "you can come down at any time. Will Miss Jacobs be well enough to join us?" He directed the question to Madam Pomfrey, but looked at Arienne when he said it.

"Certainly not," Poppy said huffily. Dumbledore looked up at her with slight surprise, and then covered it with the addition of, "I'm confident you know what is best. Very well, I shall have something brought up to you. It's a pity that you'll miss it - but..." he trailed off, obviously thinking. "Well," he said, smiling after they'd lapsed into a moment of silence, "it could be worse. What are your favorite desserts? Batty Pumpkin pies? Cauldron cakes? Salamander squares?" He listed several more treats but stopped when Poppy interrupted him heatedly, saying the last thing her patient needed was sugar. "I'll have them send up something good," he assured her as Poppy ushered him out of the wing, Severus following like a shadow, though turning at the last moment to throw a final glance at her, his eyes narrowed in apparent suspicion.

A chill ran through Arienne as she watched him leave, but she couldn't place it, nor could she place what had surfaced in his dark eyes for only a moment before he left - so quickly that perhaps she'd imagined it, though it seemed like recognition. Impossible.

Arienne reclined a little further and stared out the window that opened to the darkening grounds outside. Stars were beginning to emerge in the vast purple expanse to the east. Sighing, Arienne pulled her eyes away and focused on her hands again, but clenched them into fists when she realized what she was doing. After that afternoon, she felt as if a great hole had been made inside her, and things she'd struggled to keep hidden, even from herself, had come pouring out. A yawn sliced her trail of thought in two, and without further consideration she closed her tired eyes, and willed sleep to bring with it no dreams.

~~***~~

Night had fallen thickly by the time Arienne awoke from her enchanted sleep, aided by the blue potion Poppy Pomfrey had administered earlier. Much to her surprise and delight, she felt new energy surge through her, as if she was returning from a weekend mini-break, a sort of relaxed state she hadn't experienced for years. Stretching in the small hospital bed, Arienne pushed herself to a sitting position and looked around, prepared to offer her thanks to Poppy for the cure, but the wing was empty. To her right, Arienne spotted her wand next to a steaming plate of food, but she ignored the meal as she collected the wand and hid it within the secret fold sewn into her sleeve, something she'd done while working with the Ministry. In the time it would take another witch or wizard to extract their wand from their belt or pocket, Arienne could have hers out and be cursing them in one fluid motion - it was a fact that had saved her life more than once.

Climbing out of the bed, Arienne walked over to the window and peered out at the grounds below her. Wisps of fog obscured her vision, but squinting in the moonlight she was able to make out the outline of a dense forest to the far left, skirting around the edge of the grounds. A small black shape dotted with yellow light appeared to be a hut, perched, in her opinion, uncomfortably close to the foreboding trees. Trained to take in every detail, Arienne set out to memorizing what she could see of the grounds from her window. Even in the weak light of the moon she marked out every tree for herself, and each building that stood on the ground between herself and the forest. As she swept the yard again, dark and still in the velvety blackness, her eyes caught a sudden break in the stillness. Squinting furiously, Arienne looked again, but nothing moved except tree branches in the wind.

Believing that she may have only happened on a shadow, Arienne looked away, but not before she missed the flare of light, as if from a wand, behind a wide bush, merely ten paces from the bottom of her window. It quickly extinguished, however, and two figures emerged from behind the plant, heads close together, one clearly taller then the other, though both looked around cautiously from time to time as they made their way towards - the entrance of the school. It seemed odd to her that anyone would be scouring the grounds this late, anyone who rightfully belonged at Hogwarts, anyways. Students would be caught, and if they hadn't been, would still not wander so freely. Staff also had little reason to be out when classes would be resumed early the following morning. Looking out the window again, to see where the two had gone, she found that they had disappeared. Feeling uneasiness creep into her, she withdrew her wand and left the hospital wing.

Before accepting her job at Hogwarts, Arienne had worked for the Ministry, side by side with Aurors chasing down and quelling Dark activity for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She herself had not been an Auror, though could likely qualify if she attempted the test. What she had been was far more specialized, and widely unknown to the wizarding public. A select group had been chosen for their skills in stealth, magical knowledge, and magical strength. They were called "Watchers" by some, fiction to all except those who worked in the immediate area. Watchers had been enlisted and roved the world since Voldemort's downfall some 14 years earlier. They did not fight battles in the field, despite their practical skills, and instead compiled vast amounts of knowledge of their enemies or of magic from times long forgotten. They followed, careful not to impede on the territory of Aurors, and helped only in dire necessity. They still fought, traveling to the most remote regions, sending back their reports to be locked away within the Ministry's vault in special preparation for a war that was predicted to happen.

But something had happened last year that changed the lives of all employed as Watchers for the Ministry. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, had returned from Hogwarts raging about how Harry Potter had finally cracked, dragging the body of a dead boy around, and claiming it as proof of the return of Voldemort. The Watchers were assembled quite quickly following that, from all corners, and told that they were being released, broken. It did not come as a shock to many of them however, because they saw the scenario being set up before them, they'd paid attention to the subtleties and guessed that, with Dumbledore supporting Harry Potter and Fudge and the Ministry denying Voldemort's return, there would be no reason for them to continue their work. They also guessed, through information they'd received from their networks, that Voldemort had indeed returned, Fudge's actions only confirming what they'd heard.

If the population had found out about the group before, they would have been in awe of the power of their Minister. Now, it would play against him, as the mere existence of such a group would underline that there was, in fact, room to believe that Voldemort could return. His excuses for their disbandment were flimsy, and fear marked his words. They'd all been paid off, generously to keep their silence, generously to keep their allegiance, but it was yet another foolish decision of his to let go of such a powerful group. Resentment was high when the meeting ended, and when Arienne had looked at the faces amongst her, set, outwardly impassive, again instinct had whispered to her and suggested that many would turn against the side of good, if Voldemort were indeed back. She understood, too, that it had been Fudge's irrational decision that would allow Voldemort access to the deepest recesses of knowledge the Ministry possessed.

Fool man, Arienne thought, clenching her teeth as she reached yet another dead-end corridor. Doubling back, she chose the descending stairs on the left, moving swiftly and as silently as she could within the dancing shadows.

It had been newly fired that Arienne had received her letter from Dumbledore, asking her to join his faculty in the fall. Upon her immediate acceptance, Dumbledore had written her again, explaining what had happened with the previous teacher, who had actually been a Death Eater masquerading around as an Auror, an Auror she knew quite well - Alastor Moody. It was this connection between the two men that had not surprised her when Dumbledore had - implied - that he knew her as quite capable, not only for the job, but for the protection of the school as well, an invaluable asset. Though she had never met Albus Dumbledore, he had quite a reputation for allowing very little to escape him, and so undoubtedly knew that the Watchers had not only existed, but had been removed from the Ministry as well.

Torchlight flickered as Arienne walked down what she assumed to be the main corridor. She'd passed the fabled Great Hall with its enchanted ceiling lit by forks of lightening, and believed that the entrance must not be far from there. Deliberately slowing her steps, Arienne strained to hear or see any sign of the two figures. As she continued to walk down the corridor, she heard a muffled whispering, and she quickened her step until she reached the corner. "Until tomorrow then, when you have new information. If anyone sees me, I'll..." a woman's voice said, trailing off with a dry laugh. There was no answer, but Arienne assumed that the partner had nodded. With that, she heard the sounds of two pairs of footsteps, one moving away, and the other approaching. Bracing herself, Arienne waited until the figure turned the corner before striking, and in a blink the dark robed person was spread-eagled, hanging suspended in the air.

There was a screech, but it was quickly cut off when Arienne bound the person's mouth.

"You will answer all that I ask once I remove the bind, or you will suffer the most excruciating pain imaginable...I have little patience to be tested. Nod once if you understand."

Undoing the bind when the figure nodded hesitantly, Arienne lit her wand and surveyed the captive. To her astonishment she found herself facing an older woman, significantly shorter than her with a long braid touched with gray falling down her back. The woman's eyes belied the sharp wrinkles etched in her cheeks, and glittered in her wand light with a ferocity in their depths that Arienne felt burning into her.

"You will unhand me at once, child," the woman hissed, glaring down at her.

"That was not the condition," Arienne said coldly, child? "I will be asking the questions. Consider this your warning - next time I will not be so forgiving. Who are you?"

"Arabella Figg," the woman practically spat, her dark eyes livid. "I am a guest here at the school."

"By whose invitation?" Arienne asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. He will have your neck once I'm through with you!"

Arienne whispered a curse she knew well, and watched as Arabella shuddered as it took its affect. The Gelidus curse slowly froze the person until they turned into a human icicle. She'd be feeling it in her feet and ankles now, but if she refused to be co-operative, it would continue to work its way up her body.

"You were warned," Arienne said when Arabella looked at her in wide-eyed askance. "Perhaps this will cool your tongue."

When Arabella didn't respond, Arienne resumed her questions. "Why were you skulking around the grounds this late at night?"

Arabella paused, and Arienne wondered how truthful her response would be if she had to hesitate. "I was going for a walk," she replied. Arienne arched an eyebrow.

"Indeed? Alone?"

Arabella nodded hesitantly.

"Wrong answer," Arienne said coolly, and the icy sensation moved its way to Arabella's middle, causing her to gasp in shock.

"I will know when you lie," she said, her voice soft but menacing.

Just as she was about to ask again, however, she was struck by another thought so hard it felt as if she'd been physically dealt a blow. Staggering back two steps, it was Arienne's turn to look up at the woman in shock. "You cannot do magic."

The woman returned her startled look, but quickly regained her haughty composure. "That's right, you foolish girl. I'm a Squib. Otherwise I would have had you hanging by your hair and let you scream for someone to save you." But her whole heart was not in the retort, and the anger in her eyes had been replaced by curiosity.

With a wave of her wand, Arienne set the woman back down on the floor, disgusted by her own actions against someone who was no threat, and slightly uneasy about the uncontrolled thoughts that continued to impede on her. Again she became aware of the sensation of being ripped open and contents leaking out.

The woman stood there for a moment, eyes narrowed in observation until she finally nodded in apparent understanding. "You are Arienne Jacobs, I presume," she said, moving slightly closer, her eyes sharp on Arienne to the point where she felt extremely self-conscious. "Dumbledore told me about you...the new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher."

Arienne nodded, but stayed riveted to the spot. Good sense told her that she still did not know a great deal about the woman, or why she was sneaking around at night, so she did not move. If the woman tried anything sudden, Arienne could stop her easily. But what would she try if she couldn't do magic? She still wasn't sure how she'd known the woman had no magical abilities, only that it had hit her as obviously as if she had no head.

"I had been hoping to meet you," Arabella said, and sounded sincere; more, she actually sounded eager. "Perhaps not this way, but it is how it is. There has been quite a bit of talk about - you, you know."

Arienne would have wagered that the woman would not have completed the sentence that way if not for her own wary look. She had temporarily forgotten about the Express in her flight down to the main hall, but it all came back, making her nauseous. She would have to sort it out before long, though, and undoubtedly Arabella had wanted to ask about this.

"I suppose it's been a long night," Arabella said softly, her deep eyes suddenly seeming very...knowing...in the fading light. "We'll have to have this chat...another time. Perhaps over tea, and I will do my best to inform you as to why I was 'skulking,'" she sounded amused when she quoted Arienne, "around the grounds. Shall we try the introductions over again?" Firmness had returned to her voice, and Arienne found herself feeling that the woman, though a good shoulders and head shorter, was actually looking down on her.

With a nod, Arienne took her outstretched hand and shook it firmly, feeling as though her gaping wound had gotten smaller, though she couldn't summon any answer as to the reason why.