“All in good time, Anya. First we should learn what became of Fraeni and how this silver-haired woman came to wear our Sister’s mask.” “We fought a swarm of kobolds who had fallen under the spell of a thornapple haunt, and ran into the tower for refuge,” Liriel said honestly. “There were other monsters, as well, and they followed us in. The witch was overcome. I took the mask from her after she fell.” She looked toward Anya. “Your mother died bravely, fighting an evil foe.” Fyodor winced at this painful truth. The fallen woman had believed she was trapping and attacking a drow and a traitorous human. He wondered briefly if this was not the simple truth. If he had not brought Liriel to Rashemen, the shadow of Lolth would never have fallen on this tower. “Where is she now?” “I do not know,” the disguised drow said. “She disappeared. I don’t know where she went.” “She speaks truly,” Zofia said. “Your mother’s body will return to us, young Ethran, and her spirit has never left.
