Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

4

At four and a half years old, Kallian knew all the best hiding places in the temple. Sceleritas always said it was a shame that as a halfling, she’d never be taller than him even when she was grown up. But Kallian liked being small enough to fit into all the cracks and holes her cultists were too big and stupid to find.

The crack in the wall of Helena’s room was too small for even Kallian to fit into, but she could still see through it, crouched in her secret, special room. She came here to play usually, to make as big a pile out of all the bones as she could, or to sort through looking for the head-bones, with their funny empty eyes and smiley teeth. This time, though, she wasn’t looking at the bones, peering through the crack with a hand over her mouth to stop herself giggling, because Helena and Sarevok were naked and doing something strange with their bodies.

“There you are, Master!”

Kallian shushed her butler without looking round, eyes fixed on her brother and sister pushing their bodies together, Sarevok’s hand grasping Helena’s bottom, even though Helena kept telling her that it was rude to let people see your bottom. Even when your clothes were all slimy with blood and you really wanted to take them off.

“You must stop playing in the old oubliette, Master. There’s a much nicer one in the east wing.”

“This one’s my place,” Kallian mumbled, as Sceleritas crawled over to join her. Even he was too tall to stand up straight in Kallian’s special room, which only went to show it was special and just for her.

“Oh dear, not again,” Scel tutted, kneeling down to peer through the crack in the wall himself. “Lord Sarevok will keep trying to prove his import. Oh, I do wish he’d realise his time is long since past. The very idea that he and that weak-blooded mongrel could make anything to rival your divine atrocity! Ha!”

“What is it?” Kallian whispered back, pointing towards Sarevok and Helena, almost drowned out by a sudden yelp from Helena. Their bodies looked strange, with too much hair and sticky out bits--but Kallian’s cultists looked a bit like that too, when she’d caught them changing or bathing, and Scel had said grown ups just looked like that. Whatever her brother and sister were doing looked really silly though, and grown ups weren’t supposed to be that silly.

“It’s called sex, Master,” Scel explained. “When two people love Bhaal very much and wish to honour him, they join their bodies together as an expression of that love, and grow a new little sacrifice to offer up to our Lord.”

“Oh.” Kallian frowned, thinking that over. She definitely loved Bhaal and wished to honour him--Scel and Helena and Sarevok and her cultists were always telling her so!--but still… It was funny to watch, but not something she wanted to do herself. “I’m not gonna do that!” she exclaimed, loud enough that Sarevok and Helena might have heard if they weren't so busy doing sex. She put a hand over her mouth, trying to quieten herself again. “It’s weird!”

“Of course not, Master,” Scel agreed, “you won’t be ready until you’re much older! And then, oh, what perfect, terrible children you will grow.” He smiled, poking at Kallian’s stomach. “Divine flesh begetting divine flesh, so much more pure than Lady Helena’s pitiful attempts.”

Kallian didn’t completely understand all that, but Scel had sounded reassuring, so that was okay. She could ask him more later, when she wasn’t watching the sex. Sarevok had just flipped Helena over, covering her body with his and putting his own hairy bottom on display, making Kallian stifle another giggle. She watched as his movements got quicker, his funny grunts louder, and jumped in surprise at the loud roar he finally gave. He lay panting on top of Helena for a moment, giving her a kiss before climbing off and starting to get dressed.

“Oh dear, finished already?” Sceleritas shook his head. “Well then, perhaps we can finally get back to your education. You’re coming along very well, Master, but we still need to work on your knife grip. You’re aiming for the prisoners’ throats, not your own fingers, remember.”

Kallian was reluctant to leave, hoping to see whatever the sacrifice Helena and Sarevok had made was. But Sarevok left empty-handed, and Helena did nothing but curl up on her bed and start crying, not even putting her clothes back on. She shouldn’t be crying. Bhaal didn’t like crying--Helena was the one who always told Kallian she was too big to cry now, and she was ten whole years older than Kallian was!

“Why’s Helena sad?” she asked Scel. “Is sex not fun?”

“Oh, she’s probably just sulking again because she knows she can never be you. You know she was Bhaal’s favourite, before the temple was blessed with your birth.”

Kallian beamed. “Now I’m Bhaal’s favourite!”

“Of course you are, Master. And I’m sure Bhaal will appreciate you all the more once you finally perform a successful throat slitting.” He took her hand, pulling her away from her view of Helena’s room and her sister’s sobbing, naked body. “Come on. If you manage it by yourself this time, I’ll let you do finger painting with the blood afterwards.”

5

Kallian’s little sister was born when she was five and a quarter.

She’d barely been able to concentrate on her lessons all day, not since her cultists had started talking about how Lady Helena was having her baby. Which she was taking far too long about, in Kallian’s opinion, and even though she was the Chosen, she wasn’t allowed to visit until Helena was done.

But having a baby sibling meant she wouldn’t be the youngest any more. Everyone else in the temple was old and boring and stupid. They needed Kallian to tell them what to do whenever she made them play with her, which was sometimes fun, but other times meant there was more explaining than actually playing, and no one could think up new ideas except Kallian. Sarevok had said she’d be able to play with her little brother or sister as soon as they were old enough. And after months and months of waiting for Helena to hurry up and let them be born, they’d have to be ready to play soon.

When one of her cultists came with the news that the baby was finally here, Kallian was up from her desk and halfway across the room before Sceleritas had stopped her anatomy lessons and started shouting for her to come back. It didn’t matter--she told Bhaal every night in her prayers how excited she was for her new sibling, so he knew this was more important than school.

She practically threw herself at the heavy door to Helena’s room, shoving against it until Sarevok pulled it open from the other side. Kallian stumbled in, shrieking in excitement at the sight of the baby bundled in Helena’s arms.

Helena pulled a face as she entered. “Father, please--send her away. I’m not in the mood--”

“Nonsense, Helena. Would you deny Bhaal’s Chosen her own flesh and blood?” Sarevok took the baby from Helena’s arms, kneeling down to hand her to Kallian. “Kallian, this is your new sister, Orin.”

She was the most beautiful creature Kallian had ever seen. Tiny and delicate and perfect, with swirly white and red skin that looked so much prettier on her than it did on Helena, and the biggest, roundest eyes in the whole, wide world. Kallian wanted to kill her.

It was the feeling she got when she managed to catch the cute little rats that lived in the temple, or the puppy her cultists had brought her when Scel was giving her hunting lessons. The sudden tingling excitement over how easy it would be to squeeze and pull and crush and let all that lovely blood spill out.

Orin’s tiny fingers closed around Kallian’s and she took a deep breath, holding up Orin’s head the way Sarevok had told her she’d have to do while she was very little. Sarevok and Scel always said the feeling was good, that it means Bhaal wanted her to kill the small cute things. But Bhaal couldn’t want her to kill Orin. Bhaal knew how excited she’d been to get a little sibling to play with, and that she deserved one for being a good Chosen.

“I love you, Orin,” she said. “You’re so pretty, and I want to bang your head into the floor and stomp on you, and then all your guts will come out and you’ll be even prettier! Um, I’m Kallian, and you’re my baby sister--you’re my best sister.” Which wasn’t hard, when Helena was always mean and complaining she was too old to play, even though she was the next youngest after Kallian. But she already knew Orin was going to be perfect. “And I love you so much, and I’m gonna show you all the best bits of the temple, and teach you about Father, and we can play Killing together, and, and all my other my best games, and you can meet my teddy Stabby, and Scel, and all my cultists, but I’m gonna be your best friend now. And you’re gonna be mine too!”

“She’s not for you,” Helena sneered at her, pulling herself up in the bed to glare at Kallian and Orin. She’d gotten even grumpier than usual the last few months--Scel had said something about pregnancy causing imbalances, but Helena could hardly use that as an excuse now Orin had been born. “She’s for Lord Bhaal. Remember that.”

“She’s mine!” Kallian squeezed Orin closer, and she gave a little mewl of agreement. Everything of Bhaal’s was Kallian’s, anyway--the temple and the cultists and Scel and now Orin. Helena was stupid if she didn’t know that. And if Orin was hers, that meant that Bhaal couldn’t want her to kill Orin, because Bhaal loved her and wanted her to be happy. “Don’t listen to Helena, Orin, she’s stupid and mean and just mad ‘cause Father doesn’t love her as much as he loves us!”

“You’re exhausting yourself fussing, Helena,” Sarevok agreed, smoothing back Helena’s hair. “Get some sleep. Let Orin meet her sister.” He was always nicer than Helena was.

“I love you, Orin,” Kallian said again, tuning out Helena’s whining and promising Bhaal in her head that she’d do everything she could to look after Orin for him. “You’re my baby sister. I love you more than anything.”

6

Orin was crying.

Helena always complained about how much she cried at night, constantly disturbing her sleep in the room they shared. Now that Orin was a whole year old, she’d announced that Bhaal wanted Orin to learn some independence and stop waking Helena up in the night. After finishing her prayers in Day’s Farewell, Helena had returned to her room alone, leaving Orin in the main part of the temple--the sanctuary--and explaining she needed to learn that she couldn’t always get her own way by crying.

Kallian had stayed and talked to Orin--she didn’t really do a lot of talking back, but that was okay, because she was better at listening than anyone else in the temple--until Scel had called her to come to bed herself. She’d kissed her baby sister goodnight, and promised her that Bhaal would look after her until morning.

Except it was still the middle of the night, and Orin’s cries had woken Kallian up, and no one was doing anything.

Kallian cried at night sometimes too, even though she was six now and much too old for it. But at least she had her teddy bear, Stabby, to hug. No one had got Orin a teddy because she wasn’t special like Kallian was. She didn’t have anyone. Maybe no one else in the temple could hear her crying, maybe only Kallian could hear because her room was attached to the sanctuary. But maybe Bhaal had wanted Kallian’s room to be there so that she could help.

Kallian slipped out of bed, tiptoeing to the door of her room and out into the temple’s main chamber, up to where Orin lay bundled in a pile of blankets next to Father’s altar.

She took a deep breath, sternly telling the urge to smash Orin’s head into the altar to go away. It couldn’t really be from Bhaal, whatever Scel said. He’d never ask her to kill Orin! Now that she was old enough to kill things without Scel or Sarevok pointing her knife for her, it was never really too bad anyway. Unless she’d gone days without killing anything, reminding herself how much she still wanted Orin alive tended to quieten it.

And she did want Orin alive, even if she still wasn’t good at playing or even talking yet. She still listened when Kallian talked to her, and crawled after her into Kallian’s hiding places and hid with her in the secret, special room whenever Kallian didn’t want to do her lessons, and cuddled up against her. She was still the most precious thing Kallian had in the world.

“You can stop crying,” she told Orin, scooping her up. And then, “You’re heavy!”

Orin’s didn’t immediately calm down now Kallian was there, like she’d hoped, but her sobs got a little quieter, and her tiny hand grabbed onto Kallian’s nightshirt, clinging tightly.

Kallian made her way slowly back to her own room, arms aching under Orin’s weight. Sarevok said she’d be bigger than Kallian within a few years, because Orin was a doppelganger like Helena and not a halfling like Kallian, so she should make the most of being bigger while she could. Making the most of it should have meant she was better at carrying Orin, Kallian decided with annoyance.

She was practically dragging Orin by the time they were back in her room, and had to pause for a minute to pant for breath against the side of the bed, before pushing a still crying Orin onto it and clambering in after her.

“It’s okay,” Kallian murmured, fumbling for Stabby with one hand as she kept the other arm curled tightly around Orin. She pressed Stabby into Orin’s back, so she could be hugged all over. “All Bhaalspawn have nightmares. It’s just Father showing he’s thinking about us and sending us presents. ‘Cause he can’t send, uh, phys… fizzy… real stuff as presents. But, um. It’s better when you can hug someone afterwards. So you can sleep with me now, and then we can hug each other!” Stabby was lovely of course, but sometimes, Kallian thought, it might be nice to hug a real, breathing person when she was scared. And Orin was her favourite person in the world--except Bhaal of course.

Orin let out a gurgling cry, before grabbing at Kallian’s nightshirt again and burying her face in Kallian’s chest, continuing to sob.

“Um, are you hungry? I could go and mash up some potatoes for you?” But that would mean leaving Orin alone, while trying to reach all the kitchen surfaces that were too tall for Kallian, and anyway didn’t potatoes need to be warm to eat first? “Or, um, I could try to give you milk like Helena does?” she added doubtfully. She was pretty sure Helena stored all the milk in her breasts, and Kallian wouldn’t grow any herself until she was older. But she loved Orin so much more than Helena did that she must be able to make some milk. She pulled her nightshirt off--it was all gross and covered in Orin’s snot by now, anyway--and pressed Orin’s face back against her chest.

She didn’t manage to make any milk, and Orin’s teeth scratched painfully against her chest, but her sobs started to quieten down as she clung to Kallian.

“You can share my room now,” Kallian told her, gently stroking a hand over her sister’s wispy hair. “And we’ll be together forever, and everything will be okay.”

Her own nightmares were distant that night, with Orin curled up in her arms.

7

Kallian was seven years old the first time she left the Undercity and came up to the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

She’d been begging for months to come out here, coached Orin into joining her in tantrums about how it wasn’t fair that Sarevok and her cultists and even Helena got to go out but they didn’t. She hadn’t imagined quite how bright and noisy and busy the city would be, though. Even the street they came out on was filled with more living bodies than Kallian had ever seen, all of them shouting and moving, bustling round Kallian without even sparing her a glance, when everyone knew they should at least stop and bow to Bhaal’s Chosen. ‘Everyone’ seemed a much smaller number now.

Above them, buildings stretched up impossibly high into the sky--which everyone had lied about, because it was grey, not blue, and it somehow got everywhere without any corners or curves and made Kallian feel dizzy. She looked quickly away, back down at the cobbles, which weren’t too different from some of the streets in the undercity, and wondered if she should run back inside and hide again.

“I said you wouldn’t like it,” Helena snapped, crossing her arms impatiently.

So Kallian scowled at her, grasped Orin’s hand tighter, decided she did like it actually, and marched out into the sunlight and her big adventure.

Helena grabbed Orin’s other hand and began to lead them through the busy streets of Brampton District. Looking around for anything familiar, Kallian tried to find the cultists Sarevok had said would follow them, making sure Kallian and Orin would be safe--they were far too important to Bhaal to be allowed out of the temple without protection. There were enough faces, enough movement, that she couldn’t pick any of her people out, and kept getting distracted by carts and buildings and clouds and animals, all like nothing she’d ever seen in the temple before. Honestly, it was no wonder how much Sarevok and Helena complained about the cultists not bringing back enough offerings. There were so many people up here--they must be easy to kill, and no one would even notice them going missing.

She stopped looking around as Orin stumbled against her--again--struggling to keep up with Helena’s pace.

Kallian came to a stop, trying to steady her. “She can’t go that fast!” she told Helena. “She’s only little, she still can’t walk good yet.” Even if she had shot up in the last few months, and was actually taller than Kallian now. She still wasn’t good at walking like Kallian was.

Helena rolled her eyes, letting Orin finally wrench her hand away to cling to Kallian, whimpering as she buried her face in her sister’s shoulder. “You deal with her then. You’re the one who wanted her.”

Kallian scowled up at her, stroking Orin’s hair. “Come on, Orin. We’re on an adventure--it’s exciting! I’ll get you a present, like Sarevok does when he comes outside. You like it when he gets you presents, don’t you?” He’d taken to spoiling Orin recently. It always sent her running from whatever game she and Kallian were playing and into her grandfather’s arms, whenever he’d come home with a new toy or sweet. He’d hold it out of reach and ask Orin who her favourite is, and she’d say it was him, when everyone knew it was really Kallian, and giggle in delight when he handed over her new treat.

Orin sniffled, pulling away just far enough to give a cautious little nod, before pushing back into Kallian’s shoulder at the sound of Helena’s nasty snort. “Don’t be stupid. You need money to buy things, and we don’t have any. And don’t let her cry--the paint will run.”

Orin hadn’t learned to shapeshift like Helena yet either, so they’d painted her skin the same peach colour as Kallian’s before letting her outside. She was scratching at her cheek now, paint coming off under her fingernails to show the pretty white and red patterns underneath.

“I think it’s itchy,” Kallian said, catching Orin’s hand before more could come off, and doing her best to rub the peach back in while ignoring Orin’s attempts to bite at her fingers. “Come on, Orin. You’ve got to wear it, ‘cause no one up here’s used to seeing doppelgangers, so they’ll all get distracted by how pretty you are and won’t leave us alone.”

“Oh, it feels horrible,” Helena agreed with relish. “My mother made me wear it all the time when I was a child. I hated her for it.”

“She sounds mean.” Kallian didn’t know a lot about Helena’s mother, except that Helena had killed her for betraying Bhaal in some terrible way. Maybe by making Helena wear itchy paint all the time. Would that be a betrayal of Bhaal, or just of Helena?

“She was,” Helena murmured. She sighed, before grabbing Kallian’s hand. “Come on. I’ll show you where I used to live.”

She led them down a couple more narrow streets and out to the harbour, where Kallian stopped short, gazing open-mouthed at her first view of the Chionthar stretching off into the distance, almost as far as the sky went, the land on the other side hazy and far off. “It’s really big,” she mumbled, flushing as she realised how obvious that was, and that Helena would definitely call her stupid for saying it.

For once though, Helena didn’t seem upset. She was actually smiling as she gazed out at the river herself. “I used to come swimming here, when I was a child. Mother hated it--it was dirty and dangerous, and it made my paint wash away, but it was the best fun I ever had. I’d sneak out when she was asleep, or busy with work, and spend hours in the river.” She sighed, gesturing along the dock. “Look. You see that space, there, between those two shacks? That’s where my mother’s house was. I burnt it down after Father found me. It was a rotten little place, anyway. I come back here in disguise sometimes, and make sure no one’s trying to build it back. And if they are, I burn it down again.”

“Why weren’t you living in the temple?” Kallian asked.

“Because my mother was a traitor, and ran away from the temple with me just after I was born,” Helena snapped. “But Father loved me too much to give up on me. He found me, when I was six years old, and brought me home, and told me what my mother had taken from me. He gave me everything.”

She was talking about Sarevok, probably, Kallian thought. It was always confusing, how Helena would call both Sarevok and Bhaal Father. Luckily, Sarevok didn’t really seem to mind.

Helena sighed. “For four years, I was the most important person in the world. And then Bhaal blessed us all with you.”

Even Helena had never looked at Kallian with such intense loathing before. She took a step back, hugging Orin closer to her.

“Lallan,” Orin muttered, shivering in the sea breeze, her mouth still struggling with Kallian’s name, “wan’ home.”

“We’ll go home soon,” Kallian promised, trying to shove her concerns aside. “Look how pretty the river is. Your mother used to swim in that! Isn’t she clever?” She glanced up at Helena again, relieved to see her expression had softened a little.

“No one’s taught you two to swim, have they?” she murmured. “I should drown you both.” She glanced behind her, sighing wistfully. “If Father hadn’t sent his stupid little bodyguards along… If there was no one watching, I could push you both in, and go home crying and say that you slipped and got swept up in the current, and there was nothing I could do. Or I could simply--” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “I’d go home, and Father Bhaal would bless me for the strength of my offering, and I’d comfort Father over our loss, and it would all be okay because we’d still have each other.”

“Bhaal would never bless you for drowning me!” Kallian pulled Orin a few more steps back from the beautiful river that suddenly seemed a lot scarier. “I’m his favourite! And--and Orin’s his second favourite!”

“I know,” Helena snapped. She sighed, her shoulders drooping as she turned to stare out into the Chionthar again. “I know.”

8

Kallian went out into the city a lot after that, sneaking out when Sceleritas’ back was turned to explore the world beyond the temple. For a while, she enjoyed the thrill of simply running through the streets in the rain and wind and sun, before Helena or a cultist would come to drag her home. Once the thrill of the weather wore off, she started watching the people of Baldur’s Gate, following them around and finding places to hide in the city just as easily as in the temple.

She once spent weeks watching a family of halflings--two old women, one old man, a younger woman and younger man, and three children, Kallian’s age and younger. They called themselves the Tosscobbles, and Kallian would watch the children play in the park like spoiled babies all day, before going home to banquets their grandfather spent hours cooking for them. In the evenings the whole family would gather round the fireplace, as one of the grandmothers told stupid, made-up stories that the stupid children seemed utterly charmed by. Kallian knelt in a bush near their window, catching only half as many snippets as she needed to actually follow the story, and decided she hated them.

Her time in the city was better spent collecting things than listening to silly stories, anyway. She began building up a tea set, snatching up cups and saucers from cafes and homes with doors unlocked, or windows open just wide enough to let a halfling child squeeze through. The centrepiece of her collection was her teapot, painted all over with pretty flowers and animals. That, she took from the Tosscobbles themselves. As they gathered listening to their stories across the hall, Kallian had tiptoed quietly into their kitchen with her heart in her mouth, before darting away with her prize.

Kallian decided she had to have a proper tea party after that--she’d seen Lidda, one of the halfling children, hold some for her massive collection of toys. Kallian could do better than that by inviting Orin and Scel along with Stabby, and Orin’s dolls, Meaty and Gutty. Unlike Lidda’s toys, Orin and Scel were actually real and clearly liked Kallian more than Lidda’s brothers liked her. And it wasn’t like it mattered that Helena had just rolled her eyes and walked off when Kallian had invited her. She’d have ruined it anyway.

Blood had turned out to be too thick to pour properly from her pretty, patterned teapot, so Kallian had made Scel clean it out, and snuck into Helena’s room to steal a bottle of wyvern toxin--it served her right for not wanting to come to the tea party herself. Kallian filled the teapot with the toxin instead, and poured out separate cups of blood for herself and Orin, before really starting the tea party.

“Make sure you don’t drink these ones,” she told Orin, pouring out some poison for Gutty. She was the doll Sarevok had bought Orin, and came from a big expensive toyshop with far too much security for Kallian to take anything from. Meaty, on the other hand, Kallian had found covered in dirt and missing an eye, in a pile of trash in an alleyway. She’d cleaned off the dirt and sewn on a button as a new eye before excitedly presenting the doll to her sister, but Orin still seemed to prefer pretty, perfect Gutty. “And, um, wait until everyone’s got something first before you drink your blood. It’s polite.”

“Why polite?” Orin mumbled, staring into her teacup and dipping a finger inside.

“Because it is!” Lidda always waited before serving all her toys before she let any of them drink. “It’s good manners!”

“But--”

“Oh, look,” said Kallian, quickly raising Gutty’s teacup to the doll’s mouth. “Gutty drank her poison before everyone was ready, and now she’s dead, so you can’t play with her any more.” She flipped the doll over, laying her face down. “Oh dear! You’ll have to play with Meaty instead! She’s being good and not drinking her poison yet!”

Orin just pouted at that, lip quivering as she crossed her arms angrily and glared down at her blood.

“Ahem,” Sceleritas cleared his throat as Kallian began to pour out his poison. “I don’t wish to question you, Master, but I was wondering--given the toys don’t have mouths capable of digesting, are we simply to… mime the act of drinking?”

Kallian frowned. Maybe that was how tea parties were meant to work; Lidda Tosscobble had definitely spent more time holding cups up to her toys’ faces than actually drinking herself. But Kallian was better at tea parties than she was. “No, you really drink your poison,” she told Scel. ‘“Cause you’ve got a better mouth than they do.”

“Indeed I do, Master!” Scel sighed. “Always such a pleasure to die for you.” He frowned at something behind her, shaking his head. “Lady Orin, the Master told you to wait.”

Kallian spun round to see Orin sucking blood off her fingertips, pulling a face. “Icky,” she murmured, reaching for Gutty’s cup instead.

“Orin, no!”

Orin ignored her and raised the cup of wyvern toxin to her lips.

Kallian heard herself scream, leaping across the circle to knock the cup from Orin’s hand, spilling wyvern toxin over the two of them, the cup shattering against the stone floor of her room. She’d dropped her lovely teapot too, she realised. A huge crack now ran down the middle of it, green liquid leaking out. She wiped angrily at the tears forming in her eyes. It was stupid of her to be upset about an object when she’d come so close to losing her sister.

And Orin was sniffling now, so Kallian had to be the responsible one instead of having them both start breaking down. “It’s okay,” she murmured around the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry. If you drink poison you’ll die, and you won’t come back, and I’ll miss you so, so much.” She squeezed Orin’s hand, both of them wet with toxin. “We need to wash this off, okay? It’s bad for us, and I don’t want you putting your fingers in your mouth.” She rubbed at her eyes with her tunic before turning round, so Scel wouldn’t realise she’d nearly cried too.

“Scel, run a bath for us. And then, um… then you can go away. I’ll get someone to clean the poison up after.”

“Of course, Master,” he bowed. “And of course, if you need any assistance cleaning yourself--”

“We’ll be okay,” said Kallian quickly. “I know how to clean us.”

Scel’s lips pursed together. Kallian had decided a few months ago that she was old enough to bathe by herself--well, she usually washed Orin at the same time, but old enough that she didn’t need Scel’s help any longer--and he’d clearly been feeling rejected ever since. “Very well, Master. Good luck keeping Lady Orin from drowning. Remember, if you decide you require assistance, you only have to shout.”

Kallian washed the poison from Orin’s skin alone, and told her silly, half-heard stories from the halfling grandmother until the tears finally dried in her eyes.

9

The day Kallian was first sent out of the temple to kill in Bhaal’s name, she was nine years old.

She’d been running through the temple with Orin, giggling as they dashed from one hiding place to the next, when they heard raised voices coming from Sarevok’s office.

“She’s far too feeble yet!” Sceleritas cried. He sounded terribly wound up, Kallian thought, pulling Orin to a stop so they could listen at the door. “Why, the very suggestion dishonours your Lord father!”

“Any true child of Bhaal should be able to carry out such a task with ease by Kallian’s age,” Sarevok told him. At least he was defending Kallian about whatever it was Scel thought she couldn’t do. Which she could.

“A human child, perhaps!” Scel snapped. “Kallian’s barely half the size of a human her age--”

Orin, who was over a foot taller than her now, giggled. Kallian scowled, shushing her.

“Then maybe Bhaal shouldn’t have made his Chosen a halfling.” That was Helena, who probably also thought Kallian couldn’t do whatever it was. “I always thought that was a stupid decision on his part.”

The sound of a slap rang out from the chamber. “Ignore my daughter’s impudence,” Sarevok continued. “We hold no doubts in our Lord. We know he would never have tasked his faithful servants with watching over Kallian all these years if she was not capable of more than her race’s normal limitations.”

“She’s still needs more training, more time--”

Kallian decided she was sick of Sceleritas. “I can do it!” she shouted, pushing the door open to see the three of them--Sarevok sat at his desk with Helena scowling in his lap, and Scel stood before them, turning to stare at her in horror. “Bhaal will help me with--with the thing.”

“Master, no! They’re just trying to get rid of you!”

Helena snorted. “You don’t even know what we want, do you? Well. You’re plenty old enough to go out and kill in Father’s name now, instead of having all your sacrifices brought to you like a spoiled little--”

“You’re old enough now for your tribunal,” Sarevok said firmly. “Orin, come to your mother. Let Kallian hear how she’s to become an Unholy Assassin. If she’s strong enough.”

“She is not!” Sceleritas said.

“I am,” Kallian insisted, at the same time.

Sarevok smiled. “The city is full of ready sacrifices, just waiting to be offered up to our Lord. Choose any target you wish, kill in any way you wish, simply bring us back their hand as proof of your work. And don’t get caught.”

“And if you can’t manage that,” Helena said brightly, “then clearly Bhaal didn’t make you that special in the first place.”

That night, Kallian waited until Orin fell asleep in her arms to tuck her into bed--she’d just cry if Kallian left her while she was still awake--to take up her knife and a set of lockpicks, and set out into the city.

She crept quietly through the darkened streets, making her way to the house of the halfling family she’d spent so much time watching last year. She knew their schedule, that they’d all be in bed by this hour, that the upstairs room to the left of the front door was the grandfather’s. He’d be the easiest, Kallian decided, elderly and frail and alone. And she hated the Tosscobbles, anyway.

Their door was one of the few in the city with the lock low enough for Kallian to reach without having to stretch. She broke six lockpicks on it anyway, hands shaking in anticipation that definitely wasn’t fear before she finally managed to settle them.

She crept slowly through the house and up the stairs, freezing up as she noticed the dim glow of candle light from one of the rooms--that was the mother and father, and they were young and active and probably able to fight back--

Kallian shook her head sternly. She was Bhaal’s divine flesh, while they were stupid, naive halflings who’d probably never even killed anyone in their lives and didn’t even know she was here.

Her heart still thumped like it was about to escape her chest as she quietly made her way into Grandfather Tosscobble’s room, climbing gently onto the bed where he lay snoring. This was no different from all her sacrifices in the temple. Easier, even, than some of them, because he was just sleeping instead of whimpering pathetically and trying to break free of ropes tying him down. Kallian had no reason to hesitate.

She slit his throat as she’d been taught, quick and clean, one hand over his mouth to muffle any screams. A shiver ran through her body as his snores came to an abrupt stop.

Now she just had the hand to worry about.

Kallian had never cut off a hand before. She’d only really done fingers and toes in Scel’s anatomy lessons, and they were honestly hard enough to saw through already. But Bhaal wouldn’t let her fail here. Bhaal would prove Scel and Helena and anyone else who doubted her were wrong, and that Kallian could do anything. She brought her knife down in a hard slice--and only found her way through the outer layers of skin.

She grit her teeth, sawing at the hand, turning it around to slice more easily at the tendons at the inner wrist. They snapped with little enough resistance, but the muscle and skin she had to saw at for minutes or more, giving up trying to keep her cuts neat and her tunic clean of blood as she forced her way through. The bones wouldn’t seem to budge, even as Kallian grasped Grandfather Tosscobble’s arm in one hand and pulled with the other.

“Master!”

Kallian jumped at Sceleritas’ insistent hiss behind her, the knife slipping and making yet another messy cut around the wrist. “Go away,” she hissed back. “I can do this by myself.”

“You must return to the temple! A band of Flaming Fists are due to patrol this way in just five minutes. If they notice anything amiss--”

“They won’t!” Kallian glanced uneasily towards the door, as she heard a slight shift from the parents’ room. It was fine. The Fists never paid any attention to her, and even if they did decide to come in here she could just kill them too. “I’m nearly done!” she told Scel in a furious whisper, sawing desperately at Grandfather Tosscobble. His hand at least lay at an odd angle now, as best she could tell beneath the blood and viscera covering the two of them.

“We must go now, Master!” Sceleritas insisted. “Besides, you’re the only one who can calm down Lady Orin. She woke up and went looking for you, and Lady Helena told her the Fists were going to hang you.” He sighed, shaking his head. “The screaming is starting to become somewhat unpleasant.”

That caught Kallian’s attention. She should have waited longer, made sure Orin was in a deeper sleep, instead of worrying about getting too tired to finish the job herself. “Fine,” she hissed, trying to find a clean bit of duvet to wipe the blood on her hands off. “But I did kill him! Tell the others! I’m not lying!”

Scel breathed out in relief at that, heading towards the door. “Of course, Master. Quietly now.”

Kallian ran straight to the sound of Orin’s crying once she arrived back home. Her younger sister lay shrieking on the floor, fists and feet battering uselessly at the ground, ignoring Helena’s shouts and threats about what she’d do if Orin didn’t calm down.

Helena actually looked relieved to see Kallian for once. “Thank Bhaal, she might listen to you,” she shouted over Orin’s wails, before glancing Kallian over and smiling viciously. “No hand?”

Kallian ignored her, kneeling down to pull Orin into her arms and wipe away the tears and snot, peppering her face with kisses instead. “Orin, it’s okay, I’m back! I’m safe, lambkin, I’m here.”

Orin threw her arms around her, burying her face in Kallian’s shoulder.

She stroked Orin’s hair, waiting until her sobs died down into hiccups to glare up at Helena. “I did kill him! And the Fists didn’t get me.”

“And yet you failed anyway.”

She jumped at the sound of Sarevok’s voice behind her. “I didn’t--”

“Your butler has informed me of your weakness,” Sarevok said, stepping into view with Sceleritas behind him. “A death means little, if not given in honour to our Lord.”

Kallian ground her teeth together. That was a stupid rule. Grandfather Tosscobble was still dead, his grandchildren were still going to wake up in the morning and scream and sob over his body. Their stupid little family would still be torn apart forever, all thanks to Kallian.

Sarevok grabbed Sceleritas’ hand, and drove his own blade straight through. “This is the strength Bhaal requires, the strength Helena and I have shown him in our own tribunals. Perhaps one day, you’ll finally be able to show the same.” He shoved Sceleritas to the side, the butler nursing his bloody stump with a whimper. “Until then, remind your imp that I lead Bhaal’s worship. My will is not to be questioned.”

10

Kallian sometimes wondered if she was getting too old for made up games, now that she was ten years old and well on her way to taking Sarevok’s place as High Priest of the temple. But Orin was still endlessly amused by running round the sanctuary playing Bhaalists and Sacrifices, and Kallian couldn’t just go and leave her disappointed. Anyway, whenever she started to lose interest, she could always yell, “Bhaal’s coming to kill us!” to start a mad, giggling rush to pull each other up on the altar, which had been the base that meant they were safe in all their games for as long as Kallian could remember.

She was catching her breath, Orin leant up against her, when a cultist approached to ask about their game. He was called Ramon or something, one of the younger cultists and still fairly new. He really hadn’t learnt how to be properly respectful of Kallian yet, what with things like interrupting her games and thinking he was allowed to just approach her at all. And he forgot to call her Lady Kallian like he was meant to. But it was sort of nice, the way he’d ask questions about how she was doing. Helena always seemed a bit less bad-tempered when he was around too, so Kallian supposed she could forgive him.

“And how are you today, Orin?” he asked, turning his smile towards her little sister, who of course cuddled even closer to Kallian’s side and silently stared at him.

“You’ve got to call her Lady Orin. And she doesn’t like talking to people who aren’t family,” Kallian explained, wrapping a protective arm around Orin as the cultist’s smile wavered. She didn’t talk that much to people who were family either, really, but Kallian could always talk for her.

“I know,” the cultist sighed. “And it’s sweet of you to look after her. But by Lady Orin’s age, she should be learning to cope without you. And you must want to have some time to yourself--”

“I only want to be with Orin,” Kallian snapped. Being disrespectful was one thing, but being mean about Orin was never okay. “And she only wants to be with me. So it’s fine. Go away.”

“But don’t you--” he cut himself off, obviously realising how stupid he was being. “I’m sorry if I upset the two of you, I didn’t mean--” He sighed. “I’ll talk to Hel--to Lady Helena about this. If you want a break at any point, Kallian, come and find us. I’m sure she’ll be happy to spend some time with her daughter.” Which was the stupidest thing he’d said yet.

“Not going to Mother,” Orin muttered firmly as the cultist left, Kallian scowling after him.

“You don’t have to,” Kallian promised. “You can stay with me.” But she couldn’t help feeling worried as she slid off the altar, holding her arms out to help Orin down. The cultist wanted to pull her and Orin apart, and Helena never needed any encouragement to be horrible to them. They could be coming up with all kinds of terrible plans together. “Let’s play Spies,” she told Orin suddenly. “We can go and listen to all the mean things Ramon and Helena are saying, and tell Bhaal on them, and then maybe he’ll let us kill him! You’ve got to be quiet though, remember?”

With Orin’s hand in hers, she crept down the corridors towards Helena’s room. She hesitated outside of the entrance to the old oubliette--it was always the best way to see into Helena’s room, but Orin had banged her head on the ceiling trying to stand last time they’d been in there, and howled for hours. Well, Kallian decided, they should be able to hear everything important from the door, and if any cultists passed that way, most of them were respectful enough that they wouldn’t question Kallian lurking outside her older sister’s room.

With her ear pressed to the door, she could just about hear the cultist’s complaints. “--five years old, she shouldn’t be throwing tantrums whenever Kallian’s gone for more than half an hour. It’s not good for either of the children.” Kallian scowled, squeezing Orin’s hand tighter. Maybe it was stressful that Orin got so upset every time Kallian left the temple, but that didn’t mean random cultists had any right to go insulting her for it. “And it can’t be healthy for Orin to spend so much time out of the sun. Maybe the two of us could take her out on a daytrip--”

“You know, Ramas,” came Helena’s sulky voice, “I really thought it was me you were interested in, not my daughter.”

“Of course I like you!” the cultist insisted, louder this time. “Is it so odd that I should care about your child’s wellbeing too? And would it be so bad for Orin to have a father figure--”

“Orin already has a father, in Bhaal,” Helena snapped. “I’ve told you already, but no, you’ve got to keep questioning me about it!”

Kallian chewed her lip. She had to admit, she sometimes had her own doubts about Bhaal using his divine powers to start Helena’s pregnancy. She might have giggled through all of Scel’s lessons on sex, but she knew all about it now, and had a hazy memory of watching her siblings doing it, a long time ago, before Orin had been born. But Orin was standing up straighter at Helena’s words, smiling so proudly to be almost as important as Kallian, so it had to be true.

“I didn’t mean--” the cultist was still talking loudly, his voice full of frustration. “Gods, Helena, I want to believe you when you say there’s no one else, but you’re always so defensive, you insist on keeping this a secret--”

“Because you said you liked me for me, not for my stupid family!” Helena shrieked.

“Because your family’s a fucking nightmare!” Ramas snapped back. “For Bhaal’s sake, those girls can barely function without each other, the only time they even interact with other children is to kill them! Maybe Bhaal hasn’t realised, but to keep bringing him death, his followers need a chance to live! What kind of life can they have, cooped up underground?”

Orin whimpered, and Kallian realised she was squeezing her hand tightly enough to be painful, thanks to stupid Ramas. She’d had more than enough. He’d insulted both of them, and Bhaal on top of that, and then made her hurt Orin, too. Killing him was worth however angry Helena got about Kallian being in her room.

Helena looked more worried than angry when Kallian marched in, jumping quickly up from where she sat on her bed with Ramas. “When did--what did you hear?”

“He wants to separate Orin and me!” said Kallian, glaring up at Ramas. “And he thinks Bhaal doesn’t know everything!”

“I’m not trying to separate you!” Ramas lied, holding up his hands. “I’m trying to help.”

“You said Orin was a nightmare, and that Bhaal isn’t really her father!” Kallian yelled, pulling out her knife, pleased to see Orin following her lead and grabbing for her own.

“That’s not--Helena, talk to them,” Ramas pleaded, taking a hasty step back from Kallian. Directly into the knife Helena was holding to his back.

“We can’t trust a word he says,” Helena said dully, as Ramas’ eyes bulged and he gave a choking whine, slowly slumping over. “Go on,” she sighed, turning away. “Finish him off.”

Kallian gladly surged forward to plunge her own knife into Ramas’ stomach, Orin only a step behind her. The smile that lit up Orin’s face as she dug her knife in and out of his spasming flesh almost made up for the cultist’s stupid lies--she was such a treasure when she had something to kill.

“I’ll tell Father what happened here,” Helena said, as Kallian finally pulled her knife from the corpse, the thrill of the kill starting to fade away. “You two just… just forget whatever he was saying. It was all blasphemy, anyway.” She scowled down at the corpse, face scrunched up in annoyance as she rubbed at her eyes. “Now get out of my room,” she snapped, a tremor in her voice. “I don’t want to see either of you brats for the rest of the day. Or ever again.”

So, she was back to being bad-tempered. That was hardly a surprise.

“Come on, Orin,” Kallian said, wiping the blood from her little sister’s knife on her skirt and taking her hand again. “Forget the stupid, mean cultist. Let’s play more Bhaalists and Sacrifices.”

11

Sometimes, Kallian had to admit, Orin could be extremely annoying. She followed Kallian everywhere, wanting her to play their old, babyish, make-believe games all the time, even now that Sarevok finally thought Kallian was old enough to talk about cult business with. She still refused to eat over half the things put on her plate and would spit vegetables right back out at Kallian if she forced them into her mouth. But, Kallian reminded herself, any frustrations were worth having a best friend, and a sister, someone she could cling to every night no matter how unsettling her dreams got. Someone who would listen, wide-eyed and attentive as Kallian talked to her about anything and everything.

She could be frustrating, of course, but Kallian never got angry at her. Not until the day Orin opened up Kallian’s watercolours and smeared red fingerprints all over the painting she’d been working on for days.

“Made them bleed!” Orin had exclaimed proudly, gesturing at the mess all over Kallian’s careful tableau of prisoners dying in various, excruciating ways.

She’d screamed at Orin then, reminded her that everything the two of them owned was really Kallian’s, and forbade her from ever touching any of her things again. She’d stormed away, shoving aside the pang of guilt as Orin started wailing, angrily wiping at her own eyes because she was far too old to be crying.

Kallian was in the ruins of Manslaughter Chasm, trying to distract herself by despondently throwing pebbles and bones down into the depths, when Helena found her.

“She’s a rotten little brat, isn’t she?” Helena said, an unusually sympathetic tone in her voice as she sat down beside her.

“Go away,” Kallian muttered. Helena said the same thing about Kallian half the time.

“I understand how you’re feeling,” Helena told her slowly. “But you know you, you don’t have to put up with it. You don’t have to put up with her--”

Kallian snorted, crossing her arms round her legs. “You don’t understand anything.”

“Don’t I?” Helena snapped. “How is this any different than the time you ruined my make-up kit playing dress-up? Or when you snuck into my room to steal my favourite throwing knife set and then you lost two of the knives and I never got them back. Or--”

“It’s not my fault your stupid knives were so small! And anyway, Sarevok said I could borrow them! And he told you to get over the make-up--”

“Don’t you dare blame him! What choice does he have, when Bhaal’s Chosen wants something?” Helena took a deep breath, before slapping on that stupid, condescending smile she thought Kallian didn’t know was fake. “The point is, Orin’s only here for your benefit. But she’s hurting you. It would be completely understandable if you decided you didn’t want her anymore--”

“Of course I still want her!” Kallian pulled back, glaring at Helena in horror. She’d give up a hundred, a thousand paintings before ever giving up Orin. “She’s my best friend!” And the one sister she actually liked.

“Of course you still want her,” Helena snapped back, mockingly. “Fine. Let her ruin your life, too.”

“She doesn’t ruin my life! She’s the best thing I have!” Kallian jumped to her feet, her hands balling into fists. “Don’t come down here and pretend like you want to help me, when all you ever really want is to whine about Orin! Why did you even have her if you hate her so much?”

“She was supposed to be a sacrifice!” Helena screamed. “Father said, he promised, that I only had to carry her to term, and then I could be rid of her! But you wanted a baby sister to play with! And you always get exactly what you want, don’t you, you stupid, selfish little ingrate.” She was on her feet now too, glaring down at Kallian. “Nine months!” she shrieked. “It was only supposed to be nine months and thanks to you, I’ve had to raise her for six years!”

“You didn’t even raise her! You gave up on her when she was a baby! I’m the one who raised her!” Kallian had been the one to feed and bathe and clothe Orin the past few years, no matter how tiring it got. Kallian had been the one who potty trained her, who read her bedtime stories and brushed her hair and taught her how to guide a knife into a prisoner’s neck. Kallian was the one she went to when she was hurt, or frightened, or lonely. “She’s mine! And I’m not letting you hurt her!”

“You really think you’re helping Orin?” Helena spat. Her blade was in her hand, Kallian realised, taking a step back as her fingers went fretfully to her own knife. “You’re a spoiled little child who wanted a living doll to play with, and you came out here to sulk because you’re not mature enough to realise your doll has a mind of her own. You really think she’ll be happy, always being second best to you, Bhaal’s precious little favourite?” Helena’s hand shook around the hilt of her blade as she advanced on Kallian. “She’d be better off if Father had let me cut her throat when she was born!”

“She wouldn’t,” Kallian whispered, finding herself backed up against the ruin wall. “She wouldn’t! I’ll--I’ll call Scel if you hurt me. Or I’ll just--just kill you myself!”

“Try it,” Helena spat. She took a deep, shuddering breath, before sighing, lowering her knife. “You know, if you really cared about Orin, you’d kill her now, before she has to grow up. Before--” She shook her head, turning away. “I hope one day, Bhaal gives you a child,” Helena said quietly. “And then you can find out what it’s like to have to fight for scraps of love like the rest of us.”

“I’m not having children,” Kallian muttered.

Helena made a snorting sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Oh, that’s really not going to be up to you.” She turned away without another word, walking out into the middle of the chasm to gaze down into the depths herself.

She was standing far too close to the edge, inches past where Sceleritas would worriedly call Kallian back, lecturing her on how easy it was to fall.

Kallian wondered, for a moment, whether to warn Helena and remind her how dangerous the edge was. But she’d probably just start yelling at Kallian again. In any case, she needed to get back to Orin, to dry her tears and remind her Kallian loved her more than anything in the world. She turned her back on her older sister, and made her way back home.

Chapter Text

12

It was another year before Helena’s threats became anything more.

Kallian had left Orin napping in her room with Stabby and her dolls, after a particularly violent nightmare had kept her up half the night. Sarevok was giving her a lesson in vivisection anyway. Orin was still too young and uncoordinated to be much good at that, even if Kallian did enjoy her giggles and cheers when she was there to watch.

Kallian froze with her knife in the sacrifice’s chest when the scream rang out from her bedroom.

Icy terror gripped at her heart, a dozen gory ways her baby sister could die flashing before her eyes. And then was sprinting towards her bedroom door, her work abandoned, with her heart pounding in her ears.

Sarevok reached the room several paces ahead of her--he’d set off a moment after Kallian, but his legs were so much longer. He flung the door open and stopped in his tracks.

“Unexpected,” he murmured. “But commendable.”

Kallian gave a wordless snarl of fear and frustration, shoving past him to find Orin. Alive. Safe. Sitting right where she’d left her, Kallian’s bedside knife in her hand. And Helena’s lifeless body laid beside her.

The sheets pooled with blood, from Helena’s throat, her stomach, the stump of her wrist. Orin held the detached hand clasped tight in her own, gazing up tremulously at Kallian and Sarevok, a nervous giggle spilling from her lips.

Helena deserved it, Kallian thought, a sob rising up in her throat as she barrelled past Sarevok to take Orin into her arms. She’d always been awful. Just this morning, she’d been yelling at Kallian for taking the last beef joints from the pantry. And last night it had been because Kallian was making too much noise, and tomorrow she’d probably--Oh. Helena would never yell at her again.

She deserved it, though--there was no way Helena had snuck in here with good intentions, no way she’d ever willingly approach Orin without planning to hurt her. She’d been complaining about her for years, saying for months she wished Orin was dead, and now--

She deserved it.

“Orin,” Kallian gasped, finding herself shaking in the aftermath of the adrenaline, far more than even Orin was. Never mind Helena, the sister she really cared about needed her support. “Orin, sweetheart, you’re all right, it’s okay, I’m here.”

Orin opened her mouth, but the voice that came out wasn’t her own.

As Sarevok got hastily to his knees, a hand on Kallian’s shoulder pulling her from the bed--from Orin--to push her down too, she realised she’d heard it in her nightmares.

For the first time, Father spoke to Kallian directly--and honoured Orin by making her his conduit.

Father spoke of Orin’s importance, promising she was as special to him as she was to Kallian, that she was a worthier servant than any who would seek to bring her harm.

Kallian’s eyes fell on Helena, lying unmoving on her bed, as she nodded in agreement, a lump in her throat. Helena had never been--Kallian and Father were completely in accord, as always.

Orin shook slightly as Father finished speaking, pressing a hand to her lips as though wondering where the voice had come from.

“In your name, Lord Bhaal,” Sarevok murmured, as Orin blinked up at them. He knelt a moment longer, hand still holding Kallian firmly down too, before finally standing and smiling at his granddaughter. “Congratulations, Orin.” He picked her up off the bed, holding her out of Kallian’s reach, as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “My own granddaughter, favoured by Bhaal himself.”

Orin beamed back at him--she was always so pleased by her Grandfather’s attention--though Kallian was glad to see her eyes flicker back to her, too.

“I’m so proud of you,” she told her, craning up to see Orin, held high in Sarevok’s arms. “Just like Father is! I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you, but we knew you could handle it all yourself.”

“Stab, stab, stab, stab, stab,” Orin murmured, relaxing in Sarevok’s grip. “Red everywhere.”

“A fitting tribunal for such a favoured child.” Sarevok smiled. “And at only seven years of age. Remind me, Kallian. How old were you when you finally succeeded in your tribunal?”

Kallian scowled at him. It had only been a few months after her first attempt that she’d got it right, once she’d had some practice with amputations. Which Sarevok should have provided her with earlier, if he was all that good at running the temple!

And it wasn’t like she was envious of Orin anyway. Her sister deserved to be almost as loved by Bhaal as she was. Just as loved, even.

“What about Helena?” Kallian asked Sarevok instead. “Should we… I mean, some families have funerals…?”

Sarevok’s face hardened. “A traitor, like her mother was,” he said simply. “She will not be mourned.”

“But--you loved her.” She’d been Sarevok’s daughter, and Kallian had seen how he’d looked at her, with so much more love than any of the people she watched on the streets ever gave to their children. “I thought--”

Sarevok wrapped an arm around her shoulder, steering her out of the room.

“She was a traitor,” he repeated. “Today, we celebrate Orin’s tribunal, and our good fortune. The youngest Unholy Assassin our Lord has ever honoured, standing side by side with his Chosen, his divine flesh, the way he always intended. Why waste tears on a daughter who was always a disappointment, when I have such wonders for a granddaughter and a sister?” His smile faded for a moment as he looked back at Helena’s body. “The only pity is that Orin hasn’t developed her shapeshifting abilities yet.” He shook his head, squeezing Kallian’s shoulder as he smiled again. “No matter. Come. Let us call a period or worship, and let every servant of Bhaal know of Orin’s triumph here today.”

Kallian glanced back to her room, where Helena still lay, gazing sightlessly up at the ceiling, her blood soaking Kallian’s sheets. She’d have to get Scel to clean them. Bloody sheets were all very well and good for honouring Bhaal, but miserable to sleep on. How typical of Helena, to make things difficult to the very end.

13

At thirteen Kallian found herself suddenly growing interested in some of the prettier cultists and sacrifices around the temple, and lingering to watch when she caught a glimpse of sex or bathing from her hiding places.

Her cultists, unfortunately, seemed less interested in her, and apparently lacked the basic understanding that their entire purpose was to please Bhaal, and by extension, Kallian. The hasty departures when she honoured them by expressing an interest were bad enough, but telling on her to Sarevok was really too much.

“You’ve been upsetting people,” he told her, after calling her into his office as if she was a child in need of scolding.

“They were only cultists!” Kallian objected. “And I was complimenting them, anyway!”

“I’m aware.” Sarevok sighed, eyes narrowing as he stared down at her. “They see you as their god, Kallian. And what mortal is worthy to join with their god’s flesh?”

Kallian blushed, squirming. “I wasn’t--I wasn’t thinking of any… any flesh joining!” Maybe sometime in future that might be nice, but right now--

“Of course not,” Sarevok agreed mildly. “They said they found you immature.”

“I am not!” Or on second thought, maybe she was ready for ‘flesh joining’. “I’ll have them all sacrificed if they--”

Sarevok just laughed. “Relax, Kallian. You’re a halfling. You’ll find many who still look at you as a child, even as you grow from a little girl to…” He looked her over, slowly, eyes lingering on her chest, which had grown quite nicely over the last year, “a beautiful young woman. If you wish to be treated seriously, you must leave the childish outbursts behind.”

“Fine,” Kallian muttered, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her chest. She was blushing even harder now, which probably wasn’t helpful with not seeming childish, either. “I still think they should pay for disrespecting me.”

“Then they shall,” Sarevok promised, standing up and approaching her. “I shall cut their throats for you myself.” He smiled, squeezing her shoulder. “Think of it as an apology, that I neglected a crucial part of your education for long enough that you felt you had to sully yourself with mere mortals.”

As happy as Kallian was to cut throats herself, she had to admit she was grateful her brother was willing to do that for her. Though even so… “My education’s hardly lacking,” she pointed out. “Sceleritas has taught me--”

Sarevok laughed again and pulled her into a kiss.

Kallian squawked in surprise--which really wasn’t very mature of her, she had to admit--and Sarevok used the movement to slip his tongue into his mouth, thicker and warmer than anything Kallian had imagined in daydreams that seemed so silly now.

She was gasping for breath when Sarevok finally pulled back, her heart pounding in her ears and something twisting up in the pit of her stomach.

“As I suspected.” Sarevok sighed, looking down at her with disappointment. “Clumsy and naive. No hint of technique.”

“I know how to kiss!” Kallian objected. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? It was just pressing mouths together! She’d been kissing Orin like that since she was a baby. Not that that felt even remotely like this had. “I just--You caught me off guard!”

Sarevok raised a doubtful eyebrow, but a smile played on the corner of his lips. “Very well.” His hands were on her hips suddenly, hoisting her into the air, and Kallian felt a stupid stab of fear for a moment before he placed her down on the edge of his desk. He pulled his own chair forward, sitting back down so their faces were almost level, despite how much taller than her Sarevok was. “Then demonstrate your skills.”

“...Right. I mean, yes!” Kallian licked her lips in a way she hoped came across as more alluring than apprehensive, reminded herself she was the Chosen of Bhaal and not scared of something as simple as kissing--she’d seen lesser people go a lot further than just this, anyway!--and leaned in to press her lips to Sarevok’s, raising her hands to cup his face and pushing her own tongue into his mouth. It was easier with her in control, she decided, even if Sarevok seemed determined to distract her, with his hands seemingly all over her--on her hair and hips and face and brushing across her breast in a way that made her shiver.

“Better,” he smiled, as they finally broke apart. “Though I still have much I’m eager to teach you.” He stroked a cheek, running his fingers across her lips. “Don’t try to use the cultists to satisfy your needs again. You are Bhaal’s flesh and blood, deserving of so much more than anything they could possibly give you.”

Kallian just nodded, heart still hammering in her throat. This had certainly been more than anything she’d imagined getting from her cultists, though she thought Sarevok might laugh at her again if she admitted just how unprepared she’d turned out to have been for a simple kiss. Not that it hadn’t been good, of course! She’d enjoyed it! It had definitely been good! Definitely!

“I should congratulate you,” Sarevok continued. “You’re so much more confident than Helena was at your age. Hardly surprising, I suppose, when I compare Bhaal’s Chosen to a failed traitor.”

“Of course I’m better than Helena,” Kallian snapped. Of course. She fidgeted in her seat. “I, um. I should check on Orin. You know she doesn’t like being left alone too long.”

Sarevok smiled. “And a better mother to my granddaughter than she ever was. A shame Orin’s not yet old enough to join us in your lessons.” He tucked a strand of hair back behind Kallian’s ear, leaning forward again. This time, the kiss was more comfortable, a quick peck to Kallian’s forehead. “Go, then. Return to me again at this time tomorrow. I look forward to continuing your education.”

Kallian decided she was looking forward to it too, as she sped from the room.

14

Kallian loved her brother. Of course she loved him, especially now that she was old enough that he actually found her interesting, now that he was more likely to pull her into his lap than Orin--and for much more fun reasons, too!

She loved him, but that didn’t mean she trusted him. Not when he reassured her that he’d handle providing her with birth control, the way he had for Helena. Not when he promised that any pregnancy could only be by Bhaal’s will, as it was with Orin. Not when Kallian hadn’t had a period in two months now.

Which was how she found herself in a cluttered houseboat bobbing alongside Fisher’s Wharf, anxiously watching an alchemist mixing up a potion from the rows of herbs littered about the place.

“Hate charging a girl in your position for this,” the alchemist murmured, shooting Kallian what must have been the dozenth sad glance since she’d explained she had no interest in carrying her brother’s child. “Got to make a living though, don’t I, or there’ll be nought I can do to help anyone.”

“Right,” said Kallian. “And helping people is… you want to do that.” She frowned, scolding herself inwardly. She’d spent years watching people outside the cult, she shouldn’t be so awkward talking to one. And it wasn’t like Bhaal forbade talking to outsiders, anyway. “I mean, I’m fine. For the money, I mean.” Sarevok might still handle all the temple’s funds, and be unwilling to give Kallian or Orin any money they couldn’t account for the spending of, but Kallian was an accomplished pickpocket by now. The streets of Baldur’s Gate were as full of gold as they were of offerings for Father.

The alchemist gave another of her miserable looks--as if Kallian needed to be pitied or mollycoddled--as she handed over a couple of vials. “Take this one now, and t’other same time tomorrow.” She hesitated. “You can come back here, if you’ve nowhere safe to hide it at home--”

Kallian snorted. As if anyone knew the temple as well as she did. “I’ll be fine.”

She should kill the alchemist, really, for her disrespect, for her pity, for her existence. One day, Kallian promised herself. One day when she was sure she’d have no more need of her services, when Sarevok had realised that any pregnancy really was down to Bhaal’s will, and that Kallian knew her father’s will far better than he ever would.

A day later, with blood soaking through the towels she’d laid on her bed and her stomach twisting up in cramps twice as bad as even her worst periods, she found herself wondering how the alchemist would like being stabbed repeatedly in the uterus over the course of several hours.

One hand held tight in Orin’s, the other fisted into her sheets as her entire body shook with pain, Kallian raised her head high enough to glare at where Helena’s corpse stood decorating the room. It should be her dealing with this--getting pregnant was the only useful thing Helena had ever done. Bhaal’s Chosen had far more important things to be getting on with--she could be practicing vivisections or lockpicking, or tracking down wherever the Tosscobbles had gone off to hide after the third murder in the family. Or just making sure her cultists prepared something Orin would actually be willing to eat for dinner tonight.

Another convulsion wracked Kallian’s body. She pressed her body as close to Orin’s as she possibly could, her sister’s warmth making the pain a little more bearable as she finally stopped attempting to ride out the pain and simply whimpered in agony.

Orin hushed her, tightening her arms around Kallian’s body and pressing a knee up between her legs. “Better?” she asked, stroking Kallian’s hair the way Kallian had always done for her, when comforting her through a nightmare or meltdown.

“I--maybe?” Kallian ventured. It wasn’t exactly where she needed pressure, but it certainly felt--well, it didn’t make anything worse. “You’ll get blood all over you, though.”

Orin giggled at that. “Good.” She hummed, looking down at the mess pooling around them. “Bathing in blood, sticky-sweet.”

“Oh, that’s a nice one,” Kallian said as Orin gazed at her expectantly. She’d found an old book full of Bhaalist poetry a few months ago, and Orin had demanded parts of it as her bedtime story almost every night since. She’d been enthralled enough that she’d since started attempting poems of her own, and all Kallian had to do was praise her over them.

She found she was glad Orin had something to keep her occupied, when Kallian was spending more and more time with Sarevok.

“Rivers of viscera…” Orin mused. “No, no, no, not viscera. Um. Rivers of red… Why does it hurt more this time?”

“Oh. Um--” The latest spasm of pain had Kallian gritting her teeth against the pain, whimpering into Orin’s chest. She hung on a few moments longer than quite necessary, trying to figure out an answer to that. “Well,” she said at last. “I skipped last month, remember? So this time it’s worse because it’s two periods, happening at once!”

Orin nodded thoughtfully, apparently satisfied with that explanation. “I might have one at a time,” she decided.

“Good plan,” Kallian muttered, a new pain twisting in her gut. “Orin,” she said urgently, “when your own periods start, come straight to me, okay? Don’t tell your grandfather. He’s--it’s a woman thing. He won’t want to be bothered with it.”

“Blood’s only for women?” Orin shook her head. “Silly men! If grandfather won’t enjoy, Orin will for him.” She swiped a finger across the towel, coating it in blood, and brought it up to her lips.

She should stop her, Kallian thought vaguely. She needed to be encouraging Orin to eat more healthily--and surely, if she was willing to suck up blood from anywhere, there must be at least one vegetable that she could stand--but she was in pain, and exhausted, and the alchemist had said it could take hours to be done. Why not let her sister enjoy herself, if Kallian’s blood made her happy? At least one of them should be.

Even amid the pain, how could Kallian be completely miserable when she could give her sister such joy? When she got to hear the contented sigh as Orin licked her finger fully clean, got to see the dreamy smile and the way her eyelashes fluttered as she moved to scoop up more? When she fought down another stab of something as she took Orin’s hand to guide it through the sticky mess between her thighs herself.

She was making Orin happy. And why would she ever do anything else?

15

Kallian was finding that Orin could be difficult as a ten year old.

She still clung to Kallian’s side more often than not, but questioned her all the time, too. She’d refuse one week to accompany Kallian up to Baldur’s Gate for fresh air, then the next week to go back home as night started to fall, complain when it was time for bed, or a bath, or to brush her hair. She’d refuse to do schoolwork, insisting on spending the time sketching pictures or practicing her newly developed shape-shifting abilities, because lessons were boring. Which wasn’t exactly a sentiment Kallian disagreed with, she thought while trying to focus on her sums, but honestly, Bhaal’s Chosen should know how to do at least basic algebra. At least if she wanted Sarevok to stop laughing about how stupid she was.

Kallian was staring down at the stupid little symbols, willing herself to get through one more equation to prove she could do it and just had better things to be getting on with, when the sound of metal scraping against stone jolted her out of her misery.

Her head snapped round to see Orin, her own worksheets pushed aside. She crouched with one hand splayed out before her, as she pulled back her knife to stab down between her fingers again.

“Orin! Stop that!” Kallian shoved her chair back, hurrying towards her sister to get the knife off her.

“Knife’s sharp enough to play,” Orin laughed in the sing-song voice she always used when she wanted to be annoying. “But Kallian’s too dull.”

“It’s dangerous, Orin,” Kallian snapped, grabbing for the knife.

Orin, the little beast, jumped to her own feet, holding it above her head and out of Kallian’s reach.

Kallian glared at her, holding out her hand. “Give it here, now.”

Orin rolled her eyes, growing an extra couple of inches taller just to be awful. “Your underlings play with blades and fingers,” she pointed out. “You don’t make them hand over their toys.”

“They’re just cultists! It doesn’t matter if their fingers get cut up! But I don’t want you--Bhaal doesn’t want you--to risk hurting yourself like that! You know how important you are to us!”

Orin scowled sulkily at her but she did at least return to her normal height and slowly lower the knife, letting Kallian grab it from her hand and tuck it into her belt.

“Good,” she snapped. “Now don’t ever play any games like that again, or Bhaal and I will both be angry!”

That just worsened Orin’s scowl. “Don’t play with knives, Orin,” she sneered. “Eat your vegetables, Orin, go to bed when I tell you to, Orin, do this, do that, go here, go there! Well Grandfather says Orin can do as she likes!”

Kallian froze. Was that why Orin had been acting out recently? She tolerated Sarevok giving Orin the occasional expensive gift or unearned compliment in an attempt to win her affections without putting in any of the work Kallian did. She could deal with being the one who always had to scold Orin about eating healthily or washing gore out of her hair, because despite it all, Orin still loved her the most. But if Sarevok was convincing her to act out, telling her she didn’t need to listen to Kallian, getting her to obey him instead…

“Well Grandfather isn’t the Chosen of Bhaal, is he?” she snapped icily.

“Grandfather is High Priest of Bhaal’s temple,” Orin pointed out. “Kallian just sits around being fat and stupid and mean!”

“I spend half my time trying to keep you alive, you ungrateful little brat!” Kallian shrieked, white hot fury flaring up within her. “But if you think you can cope without me, fine! I’m more than happy to run the temple myself!”

Kallian turned on her heel, racing towards Sarevok’s room, ignoring Orin shouting after her. It was long past time she took over the rest of his duties, in any case. She wasn’t a child any longer, she didn’t need Sarevok to handle everything for her. And there was no way she was willing to let him either, not after what he said to Orin.

She spent a good twenty seconds hammering on Sarevok’s door before pulling out her lockpick set. Sarevok never liked being called on without permission, but he’d just have to deal with that tonight. Only once she’d started to work did the door swing suddenly open, sending Kallian stumbling backwards, half a snapped pick in her hand.

Sarevok pulled her inside, frowning. “I did not request your presence tonight,” he pointed out. He shook his head, but reached for her chest anyway. “Insatiable little thing.”

“I’m not here for sex!” Kallian snapped, slapping his hand away to glare up at him as intimidatingly as she could--which admittedly would be a lot easier if he wasn’t more than twice her height. “I want control of the temple. You were only supposed to be in charge when I was too young to know what I was doing myself, and I’ve been ready to be High Priest for years now!”

Sarevok’s lip curled. “And yet you’re still unaware the title for a woman is High Priestess. No.”

“I don’t care what--”

“You think marching into my room to make selfish demands proves your maturity?” Sarevok began pushing her back towards the door. “We’ll readdress the matter once you’ve finally learnt to rid yourself of these childish tantrums. Perhaps in a few years. Goodnight, Kallian.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Kallian twisted out from his grip, stumbling away from the door. “You’re the one always talking about how grown up I am! You went on and on about how mature and responsible I was when I was sucking you off last week, but when I want something, I’m a child again!”

Sarevok stared down at her, brow furrowing in irritation. “You sound just like Helena used to.” He shook his head. “It grows increasingly clear to me why, of all his daughters, Bhaal chose Orin to receive his blessing the day Helena died. Perhaps my guidance is wasted on you.”

Kallian felt herself take a step back. “I’m nothing like Helena was!” she insisted. “And I didn’t need Bhaal’s blessing. I’m already his Chosen, I--”

“You’re a halfling,” Sarevok told her. “My cultists enjoy their pretty little figurehead but not one of them will take this little bid for power seriously, no matter how loudly you scream that you’re Bhaal’s Chosen.”

Kallian’s hands balled into fists. “Well, if they’re going to judge by what I look like, maybe I just need to borrow one of those scrolls of Alter Self you’ve been sneaking into the temple and keeping off the accounts!”

Sarevok stilled, face blank, before moving to slam the door shut, standing between it and Kallian. “What do you think you’re talking about?” he asked slowly, a low growl in his voice.

“I--” Kallian swallowed. She tried not to think about it, most of the time. Sarevok clearly wanted to keep it a secret, and Kallian loved him enough to respect that. But then, it was hardly like he cared about what she wanted. And she’d been sneaking around the temple for years now, she knew how many scrolls Sarevok kept hidden in his bedroom and his office, away from public use. She knew how irritable he got whenever he was disturbed without warning in the evening. She’d sneaked through cracks in the walls and found hiding places only a halfling child was small enough to climb through more than enough times to catch glimpses of the man who sometimes occupied Sarevok’s room. The man with Orin’s nose, and Helena’s jaw, and skin only a few shades darker than Kallian’s own. “You’re not the real Sarevok Anchev,” she said.

Any further thoughts were pushed from her head by a sharp flash of pain. Kallian stumbled backwards, ears ringing, as Sarevok’s fist pulled back from her face. She barely had a moment to form the thought that her brother had dared to punch her before he was shoving her roughly to the ground.

Kallian fell awkwardly, wrist spasming in pain as she tried to pull herself up and Sarevok kicked her back down, his boot slamming against her cheek hard enough that blood filled her mouth.

“I’ve earned my place as High Priest of Bhaal’s temple,” Sarevok snarled, tugging at Kallian’s breeches.

“Wait--”

“You think the fear and respect they show for me are unfounded?” Her smallclothes were torn aside as a thick finger plunged painfully inside her. “You think you have the strength to usurp me?”

“I’m sorry,” Kallian gasped through swollen lips, swallowing down a mouthful of blood. “Just wait--”

All her pleas got her were another punch to the head and another explosion of pain along the side of her face.

“Enough demands, Kallian. If you wish to command, prove you’re stronger than me.” Sarevok pushed his own breeches aside, bearing down on her. “Fight me off.”

Kallian scrambled for the knife she’d taken from Orin earlier, or the spare dagger she kept sewn into her boot for safety, but Sarevok’s hand clamped around both her wrists, dragging them back. She screamed for Scel, who was always supposed to show up when she needed help, and still wasn’t here. And then Sarevok’s dick was pressing into her, and he couldn’t seriously be doing this, he knew her body was small enough that taking him hurt even with ample lubrication and Kallian wasn’t even wet and he couldn’t--

Sarevok thrust forward, and everything exploded into pain.

Afterwards, he wiped the blood from Kallian’s legs and face and gently traced the swelling over her eye. He guided a potion of healing between her lips, promising her she could continue to look healthy and strong before her cultists.

Kallian ran back to her room as soon as the potion had done its job, immediately flinging herself into bed to bury under her blankets and hug Stabby close. She flinched at the first hesitant touch to her back, before letting herself relax as Orin’s arms wrapped behind her.

“Sorry,” Orin muttered, fingers intertwining with hers. “Don’t leave me to rule Father’s worship-home.”

Kallin swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I’ll never leave you,” she whispered, raising their hands to press her lips against Orin’s fingers. “Never, as long as you love me.”

“Love you,” Orin whispered back. “I love you the most, I promise.”

Relief flooded through Kallian’s body as she squeezed Orin’s hand tighter. “I know.” She swallowed again, raising their joint hands to wipe at her eyes. “But you need to do what I tell you, all right? So I know you love me, more than anyone else.” She pressed a second, gentle kiss to Orin’s mouth. “Do what I tell you and let me keep you safe, sweetheart, and I promise I’ll never, ever leave.”

Orin’s hand squeezed hers back as she nodded in agreement, promising love and obedience, and Kallian finally began to relax. It didn’t matter whether the cultists would obey or whether Sarevok would listen. Orin’s was the only opinion she valued.

16

The girl who came to the marketplace at Murl’s Rest every day at noon was one of the most beautiful creatures Kallian had ever seen.

Sarevok talked constantly of the importance of family bonds and loyalty--he still didn’t want her interacting with anyone outside the cult--but at sixteen, Kallian found herself wondering what the world had to offer outside of his constant attentions. In any case, he still hadn’t handed them control of the temple and kept acting as if he knew Bhaal’s will better than she did. If he was going to insist on being wrong all the time, what right did he have to complain if Kallian spent every midday watching her girl in the marketplace?

Her girl was a darling creature, gracefully darting between market stalls in the beautiful bright red cloak she was never without. Her skin was beautifully pale, almost a stark white against the red of her outfit, with eyes almost as colourless as her skin. She wore an easy smile as she chatted to vendors and tossed back her masses of long, blonde hair enchantingly whenever she laughed.

Kallian had to have her.

Trailing the girl home had revealed she lived off Old Town Avenue, in a well-kept house with an older woman who worked as a weaver, and would instruct her in the use of a loom that took up as much of the house as Kallian could see through their windows. Meanwhile, in the marketplace, she discovered that her girl would linger a while to watch when illusionists were performing, but had no time for jugglers or minstrels. On the days she collected her groceries quickly, she’d hurry, beaming, into Sorcerous Sundries, but never came out with a new acquisition. And twice, she’d paused in her shopping at the sight of a nearby cat to try and coax it into her arms.

After two tendays of watching her, Kallian finally plucked up the courage to arrange a meeting. She spent the hours before midday searching the city for the laziest, most affable cat she could find, snatching it up and bringing it to Murl’s Rest before her girl was due to arrive. She rubbed at the cat’s fur, finding no resistance despite a low rumbling sound from the cat’s throat, or the fact that it would be so, so easy to pick up the trusting little creature and smash its head into the pavement. And then finally, Kallian caught sight of her girl, and her girl caught sight of the cat. It only took a smile and a jerk of Kallian’s head before her girl was scampering over to join her, a look of delight spread across her face.

Her name was Betha, she told Kallian, between cooing over the cat. She giggled in agreement when Kallian wondered why anyone would want to watch the juggler performing across the square when they could be seeing real magic. Kallian found herself wondering why she’d ever struggled to talk to people outside the cult, when it was this easy. After only ten minutes, she’d learned Betha’s mother was teaching her to be a weaver, but that she really wanted to be a wizard. She was sixteen too, and she’d been born in Luskan but moved back to her mother’s hometown after her father’s death at sea a few months back. She didn’t know anyone else her own age in Baldur’s Gate, she was still learning her way around, and she’d love some help from a local. Another five minutes, and Betha had agreed to meet her that night and let Kallian take her somewhere they could get some time alone together.

And maybe up close, Betha’s pale eyes had brighter blue irises than she’d expected, and her face was a little too round. But she was beautiful, and sweet, and willing to be Kallian’s.

She reminded herself of that later that evening, when Betha returned to Murle’s Rest in a dull blue dress, the lovely red cloak that complimented her pale skin so well seemingly forgotten. Outsiders couldn’t be expected to be perfect, Kallian reasoned, as she led Betha to the undercity and tried to ignore her irritating babbling about the smell, and the danger of the sewers, and how she didn’t want to stain her best dress.

“Here,” she told Betha at last, pulling her onto a stone bench behind a crumbling statue, with features so weathered Kallian had never been able to tell what it was supposed to be. “No one ever comes down here. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Betha crossed her arms, nose wrinkling. “You said it wouldn’t smell once we got here!”

“It doesn’t! I told you, we’re well away from the actual sewers--”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to make out somewhere that stinks of rotting meat, either.” Betha paused, frowning at Kallian. “You really don’t smell that?”

“I--” Kallian took another breath in. The undercity smelled like the undercity, same as usual. “It’s not my fault humans just have stupidly good noses.”

Betha snorted, but her shoulders grew less tense as a teasing smile found its way onto her face. “Don’t halflings like their grapes sour? I think you’re the ones with the messed up senses.”

As if Kallian was meant to know what other halflings ate. “Well, what if I distract you from the smell?” she offered instead.

Betha hesitated again before giggling and nodding, an ugly pink blush spreading over her pale cheeks. Well, Kallian supposed she could ignore that.

Her eyes fluttered closed as Kallian kissed her, and she was nearly perfect again. Her kisses were clumsy but sweet, her hair as soft as Kallian had imagined, and she gave the most delightful little moans as she relaxed.

She pulled back, body suddenly tense again and piercing eyes snapping open, as Kallian’s hand snaked into her smallclothes. “Um, can we slow down a bit? I haven’t--I mean, you’re great, but I really don’t want to lose my virginity in a sewer.”

“It’s not a sew--wait, you’re a virgin?” Betha clearly wasn’t a kid, despite her embarrassed little nod. “You said you were sixteen!”

“I am! It’s not like it’s weird to--”

“Then you really should know how to have sex by now,” Kallian snapped. Then again, she supposed it was hardly Betha’s fault if her family had failed her. She sighed, adopting a gentler tone as she stroked her hand back up Betha’s thigh. “Just relax. Sometimes sex can feel scary or unpleasant to begin with, but I promise you’ll enjoy it in the end.”

Betha slapped her hands away ungratefully, pulling back. “I said no!” She swallowed, pulling her arms in to hug her body. “I--I want to go home. Mama’s going to be expecting me back now.”

Kallian stared at her. Bethe actually had the audacity to look scared, like she was some common victim to offer up to Father, like Kallian hadn’t been willing to defy Sarevok for her and forgive her for years of undeserved celibacy. “Well Mama should have done better for you sooner,” she said icily. “She can hardly go acting like she cares now if she hasn’t even slept with you yet.”

Betha recoiled, jerking back so quickly her head hit the wall behind her. “What?” She took a shaky breath, pulling herself to her feet. “That’s disgusting. I’m going home, Kallian.”

Kallian’s hands shook. It wasn’t fair. She’d tried so hard to get Betha to enjoy herself, but everything she said or did was met with judgement and protests. Sarevok had been right, outsiders would never understand them.

Betha let out a whimpering gasp. “Kallian--please--”

Kallian glanced down at the knife she’d pulled from her boot without even thinking about, then back up at Betha, trembling and pale as she leaned into the wall.

“You’re the one who’s so disgusting your own mother won’t even touch you! I mean, what’s wrong with you? My brother taught me how to have sex when I was thirteen!”

Those awful blue eyes widened. “Your brother? That’s--how old is he?”

“He’s a proper adult, he knows what he’s doing! And humans age faster than halflings, but you’re sixteen, and still not over being scared of sex--”

Betha sucked in a breath, her whole body shaking. “Oh gods, Kallian, I’m sorry. He--you were a kid, Kallian, that’s r--”

Whatever else Betha had to say was cut off by the agonized howl that fell from her lips as Kallian drove her knife into one of her stupid, hideous blue eyes.

She was prettier, Kallian decided, with blood and mucus streaming down her face from her ruined eyes, her skin paler than ever. And despite her constant wailing, her body started to respond to Kallian’s fingers and mouth and pussy, clearly pleased to be getting round to having sex at last. When she finally stopped crying, her body growing still and cold, Kallian pushed aside a pang of melancholy. The girl would never have loved Kallian anyway. She wasn’t family.

Kallian offered up a prayer and left Betha’s body to Father, before making her way back home.

17

Orin was twelve years old, practically a woman, and determined to let Kallian know it.

It wasn’t like she could miss the way Orin’s body was changing even if she wanted to. Her growing breasts were on full display whenever they bathed, along with the thin, wispy hair she’d started growing on her armpits. She’d started asking Kallian to shave them for her. Her objections that the whole shaving business was a waste of time she only bothered with to stop Sarevok whining had died under Orin’s wide, pleading eyes, and the shy bite of her lip--it was always so hard to say no to her. In any case, if Kallian didn’t help, Orin would probably end up trying to do it on her own and accidentally cutting herself. This was all for Orin’s benefit, she reminded herself, every time she lent in to stroke the razor across her sister’s pale skin, careful not to make a single nick even as her heart beat faster under Orin’s gaze.

Orin had been preoccupied with her looks in other ways recently, experimenting with her shapeshifting abilities to grow her breasts and hips to curve like Kallian’s, ignoring her assurances that Orin was perfect as she was. She’d played at shifting the colours of her lips and eyelids too, before deciding she preferred the fun of actually painting her face. Kallian had to agree--it was almost mesmerising, the way Orin would pucker up her lips to let Kallian paint them the pretty bright red that suited her so well.

She grew even more eager for her kills, revelling in the way Bhaal finally found her worthy to bestow his Ecstasy of Murder. And twice now, Kallian had found herself pulled from sleep by the sound of a bitten off moan, Orin’s back to her as she rocked clumsily against her own hand, sighs and whimpers spilling from her lips. Kallian had held herself still, trying to keep her breathing even enough to suggest she was still asleep, giving Orin the privacy she clearly wanted. She’d stayed still, even the night that Orin had gasped Kallian’s name as she finally brought herself to a finish. Orin had wiped her hand on their blankets before turning back to cuddle into Kallian, and Kallian’s heart had thundered loud enough in her chest that Orin must have heard it too as she fought not to wrap her arms around her.

Neither of them mentioned it in the morning.

Kallian carried on caring for her sister as she always had, plaiting her hair and cooking her meals and teaching her to paint and kill and honour Bhaal. Trying not to notice every day how grown up she was getting.

But Sarevok definitely noticed.

Kallian and Sceleritas were returning home from a hunt in the city--Ander Tosscobble wasn’t dead yet, but he was scared and running, and that was the exciting bit. After three entire hours without Orin, Kallian couldn’t wait to see her again. Anticipation turned to dread as she pulled her bedroom door open to see her siblings sat on the end of the bed together, Sarevok’s figure dwarfing Orin’s lovely frame.

Orin jumped at the noise from the door, a look of guilt flitting across her face, as Sarevok turned to stare at Kallian impassively. His hand didn’t move from Orin’s thigh.

Something inside Kallian screamed. A clawing horror fighting to break its way through her chest, urging her to shout and cry and rip her brother into shreds. And something else, a sickening fear, that made her want to take Orin and crawl into the ground and hide away where no one could ever come near them again, where no one could--

“You don’t enter the Chosen’s room without permission,” Kallian heard her own voice growl, some part of her still in control of herself. “Get out.”

“I had Orin’s permission,” Sarevok replied, patting his granddaughter’s knee as he rose. That thing screamed in Kallian’s chest again. “Mind your manners, Kallian.”

“Orin shares my room because I let her,” Kallian snarled. Because someone had never cared enough to get her her own bed when she was a child. “She doesn’t get to make decisions about what’s allowed!”

Sarevok snorted. “We’ll discuss this tonight,” he said. “Be at my room at the usual time.” But at least he was leaving, taking some of that horrible, scared thing with him as the door swung closed again.

“Go after him,” Kallian snapped at Scel, already rushing towards Orin, who she now realised hadn’t taken her eyes off Kallian throughout the argument. “Make sure he doesn’t--just keep an eye on him.” She pulled Orin into her arms without bothering to listen to Scel’s response. “Oh, sweetheart. What did he say to you? Did he--what was he doing?”

Orin giggled, wriggling free from her grip, a smile playing on her lips. “Grandfather’s going to buy me pretty dresses, nicer than any Kallian gives me, shower Orin in gold because he loves me so.” She bit her lip, playing with her plait. “Why does it bother my slaughter-kin?”

Kallian tensed. Maybe Orin could do with more dresses--she did seem to constantly need new clothes at the moment. The blouse she was wearing wasn’t even a year old, and was already tight against her body, a sliver of pale belly poking out beneath. Her breasts strained to break free--she refused to wear breastbands, claiming to find them ‘uncomfortable’. As if she didn’t just want an excuse to keep her nipples on clear display. Kallian wasn’t stupid enough to think Sarevok hadn’t been looking at them, just like she wasn’t stupid enough to think anything he bought Orin to wear wasn’t entirely for his own pleasure. A shiver ran through her body at the thought, another scream from the creature in her chest. “We can’t trust Sarevok,” she said firmly. “He’s--he’s working against Bhaal.”

Orin frowned at her skeptically, tossing her plait back over her shoulder. “Grandfather has always been loyal to our murder-father. What would you claim him to have done?”

“I--I don’t know yet,” Kallian admitted. “But Bhaal’s furious with him.” After all, the thing inside her had screamed louder than any of the urges Bhaal sent her to worship when her kills were sparse. It was far too much to ever be a natural reaction to--to what? Sarevok simply wanting to be close to his granddaughter? The mere acknowledgement that Orin was growing up?

“You should stay away from him,” she said firmly, as Orin pouted, showing off those lovely red lips again. “Promise me you’ll stay away. Please, lambkin.”

Orin sighed, her glare softening as she gave a tiny nod.

Kallian let out a breath of relief. “Good girl. Thank you.”

“I would have worn them for you,” Orin murmured, eyes downcast as she played shyly with her plait again. “Grandfather can buy Orin all the silk and jewels he wants, but I’d wear them only for you.”

Kallian let out another long breath, something else stirring in her chest. “Come and sharpen your blades,” she told Orin. “You know they’ll get dull if you leave them too long.”

That night, she made her way to Sarevok’s room for their usual routine. They were hardly lessons at this point. At seventeen there was little left he had to teach her, but, well, families still needed to put aside time for each other, didn’t they?

“You should bring Orin with you, next time,” Sarevok said casually, as he reclined on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m sure she’d benefit from your experience.”

Kallian paused in pulling off her own clothes, forcing a smile onto her face as she clambered on top of him. “And not keep you all to myself?” She shut up any reply he might have by yanking him into a kiss.

Kallian’s smile grew more genuine as Sarevok relaxed beneath her, his eyes slipping shut. This was good. She’d made herself look eager enough that she hadn’t even finished undressing before climbing onto him, but, oh, she should at least take her boots off before they got blood and dirt all over his bed...

She reached down to her boot, slipping the spare dagger easily into her hand, and plunging it into her brother’s thigh.

Sarevok hissed in pain, attempting to shove her down to the floor. He was nothing if not predictable. Kallian had already dodged out of the way, dagger raised defensively to meet his disappointed glare.

“I thought you were past acting out,” he said, shaking his head as he climbed to his feet. “I know you know where to do damage if you actually want to make an attack worthwhile. What, exactly, was this little stunt intended to prove?”

“Well, for one thing,” Kallian told him, “the dagger was coated in wyvern poison. Not enough to kill you quickly! But you will die unless you get the antidote within the next, oh, let’s say thirty minutes? Scel’s taken it to the old tunnels in Heapside, so you might want to get moving.” She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, teeth bared in anger. “If I ever catch you around Orin again, do not expect me to be so merciful.”

Sarevok’s glare deepened as he swayed on his feet, clearly feeling the truth to her words. “You stupid cunt,” he snarled. “You think I need to run and find an antidote? Bhaal’s clerics can--”

“They’re dead,” Kallian told him. “Along with anyone else I thought might question my rule as the temple’s High Priest. Count yourself lucky I like you enough that I’m only exiling you.”

“Then you’ve gutted the temple’s administration,” Sarevok said, a note of incredulity in his voice. “All because I dared to love my granddaughter?” He snorted, shaking his head. “I wish you luck, Kallian. I always knew your jealousy would get the better of you in the end.”

“You think I’m jealous of Orin?” Kallian almost had to laugh at that. “I’m so sorry, I know your tutelage was supposed to mean a lot to me--”

Sarevok’s smile was growing, even as he reached to steady himself against the wall. “I wasn’t talking about her.” He limped to the door, pausing to look back at her. “Enjoy your conquest, Kallian. I would have.”

The door shut behind Sarevok, the screaming thing of fear and disgust and visceral horror feeling lighter in his wake, even as his words rang in Kallian’s ears. She had room to breathe now, to think about why she’d had to get rid of him. She knew Bhaal was pleased with her--he always was--but he wasn’t giving her any solid sign that she’d done right, the way he’d given Orin after Helena’s betrayal. As for what Sarevok might have done--well, wasn’t it enough that he’d tried to steal what belonged to Kallian? What else could be wrong about the way he’d been with Orin? He’d barely even touched her, the way he had with Kallian when she was--

Jealousy felt a good name for the screaming thing.

Kallian returned quickly to her room, where Orin was carefully skinning the corpse of one of Sarevok’s lackeys, a human cultist who hadn’t been able to hide his smirk when Kallian had complained that she’d stopped growing any taller.

Orin looked up as she entered, pushing the corpse aside to give her sister her attention. “Well?” she asked.

“Bhaal demanded Sarevok’s exile,” Kallian told her.

Orin flinched, tears welling in her eyes. “No. No, no, no, not Grandfather--”

Kallian caught Orin’s chin, angling her face towards hers. “Forget him. I lead the temple now, but I need you by my side.” She hesitated, gently wiping back a tear from Orin’s face as her heart beat in her throat. “You’ll be mine, won’t you, sweetheart?”

Orin’s eyes widened, as she sucked in a breath through her tears. And then she was smiling, her fingers threading through Kallian’s. “My slaughter-kin. I always have been.”

Kallian lent in slowly, her hand moving up to cup Orin’s cheek. The gentle brush of their lips wasn’t unfamiliar, but where she’d normally pull back, Kallian deepened their kiss, tongue exploring her sister’s mouth as her hands explored her body, finding Orin shivering in excitement. Kallian leant in, letting the rest of the world fade away--the skinned corpse at their feet, Helena’s remains glaring down on her, everyone who could never understand them--none of it mattered with Orin in her arms.

Tomorrow, Kallian could begin her reign as Bhaal’s High Priest, grow her cult, spread terror across the city the way her brother had never managed. Tomorrow, she could kill everyone who had ever made her feel like she wasn’t made for this. But the greatest of her victories came now, when Kallian took her sister’s hand again, leading her to their bed. “Mine,” she whispered, finally letting Orin free of that stupidly tight blouse to plant kisses on her breasts. Finally letting Orin have everything she wanted.

“Yours,” Orin agreed, wiping at the tears falling from her eyes with shaking hands. “Always.”