her snapping arm。
She never knew what brought her out of that joyous condition。 Perhaps it was simply that she was winded； but when she came to her senses； the two babblers were dangling limp and silent in Jeggred's grip。
Both the draegloth and the scribe were smiling。 They'd thoroughly ennotjoyed the cousins' excruciating torture； but there were things still to be done； and she'd wasted time losing her temper。
Which was bad。 Matron Mother Baenre； de facto ruler of the entire city of Menzoberranzan； should be able to govern herself as well。
Triel's emotional volatility was of paratively recent origin。 She'd been calm and petent all the while she served as Mistress of Arach…Tinilith。 That role； arguably second only to her mother's in prestige； had suited her well； and she'd never aspired to anything more。
Nor had she truly believed that more was even possible。 Her mother seemed immortal。 Indestructible。 But then； suddenly； she was gone； and the ambition that at one time or another goaded every dark elf awoke in Triel's breast。 How could she not strive to ascend to her mother's throne？ How could she let Quenthel or one of her other kin climb over her head to order her about forever after？
She managed to claim the title of Matron Mother； and though she soon came to feel somewhat overwhelmed by the scope and intricacies of the position； at first it wasn't so bad。 Things were relatively normal and didn't require some dramatic intervention from on high to set them right。
Moreover； she had Quenthel and Gromph to advise her。 True； her sister and brother invariably disagreed； but Triel could review their peting proposals and pick the one that suited her。 It was considerably easier than having to e up with the ideas herself。
But she had a crisis to manage； perhaps the greatest crisis in the long hisnottory of the dark elves； and apparently she would have to do it alone。 She obviously couldn't confide in Gromph； and insolent Quenthel claimed she had to attend to the security of Tier Breche before she could focus on anynotthing else。
Triel gave her head a shake； trying to dislodge her doubts and worries。
〃Let them down。〃
Jeggred obeyed； and she turned to the secretary。
〃When you get a chance；〃 she said； raising her voice over the choking gasps of the two cousins； 〃have somebody haul them out to Arach…Tinilith to be patched back together； and have someone wash away the blood。 But for now； we'd best get moving。 I think we're late。〃
The trio moved on。 A final turn brought them to the door。 Behind it was the dais overlooking the largest audience chamber in House Baenre。 A pair of sentries guarded the entry to ensure that no one would sneak through to stab the matron mother in the back。 They snapped to attention when they saw her ing。
Triel swept on through the entry with Jeggred and the clerk in tow。 The hall on the other side glowed with soft magical light to facilitate the exnotamination of documents。 A sweet perfume scented the air； and a fresco of Lolth adorned the ceiling。 The guards along the walls…dark elves near the dais； ogre and minotaur slaves farther down…saluted； while the supplinotcants and petitioners made the obeisance proper to their stations； anything from a dignified inclination of the head and spreading of the hands to an abject grovel flat on the floor。
Looking down on them from the elevated platform； Triel reflected that it was astonishing just how many such folk turned up each and every tenday。 She'd thought people were always demanding her attention when she ruled the Academy； but she'd had no conception of the hordes of idiots who constantly sought Matron Baenre's ear； often to resolve trivial if not nonsensical concerns。
She sat down on her mother's throne； an empress's ransom in gold with a flaring back shaped to resemble an arc of spider web。 Her predecessor had been a relatively large female； and her successor always felt a bit childlike and lost in the chair。 She had enough of a sense of irony to prehend the accidental symbolism。
She surveyed the waiting throng and discovered Faeryl Zauvirr at the very front with some long； bulky rolled papers tucked under her arm。 The matron mother smiled； for at least she knew how to deal with this one particular petitioner。 For a blessed change； Waerva； one of the lesser fenotmales of her House； had made herself useful。 She'd e up with some significant information and a sensible idea of what to do about it。
Triel decided she might as well start out feeling dominant and shrewd。 Perhaps it would set the tone for the rest of the session。 She waited for the herald to conclude the ceremonials and the crowd t