"I suppose so. Why?"
"Lady Cassandra was quick to give it up when she saw us. If we wish to prove that Diloontier sells things other than simple perfumes, this might be a place to start. You heard what I said to her in the shop."
"Heard, yes. I'm not sure I understood what went unsaid between you."
"I implied that her potions or others in the shop might be poison. I told her I had no use for them at the moment but was looking for those who might. An assassin hunting down assassins. She heard and warned us."
"I know people who can test it for me, see what it is and how it works. It will take a few days for me to get
back the answer, but it would be information worth having."
Danilo digested this in silence. "Do not misunderstand me when I say that testing the perfume would be effort wasted."
"But—"
He cut her off with an upraised hand. "Diloontier took the bottle into the back room, promising to 'repair the scent.' By now the contents have been altered. We must look elsewhere."
Arilyn could not refute his logic. She gritted her teeth and acknowledged it with a curt nod. There was no more speech between them, though she could not help but wonder if Danilo was relieved at finding a wall at the end of this particular alley.
She had her moonblade and her duty to the elven people. Danilo had title and privilege and a nobleman's loyalty to family and peers. Of one thing she was grimly certain: Before this matter was settled, either she or Danilo would be called upon to sacrifice something of deep value. She only hoped it would not be each other.
In all truth, though, she did not see how it could be otherwise.
* * * * *
Lilly walked quickly down the streets of the Castle Ward. She seldom had reason to come to this posh district of Waterdeep, but her determination sustained her, just as it had through the horrid trip back to the city.
This ward was almost as foreign to her as the tunnels and caves had been. There was little work to be had in the Castle Ward, since the taverns hired serving girls with more polished speech and manners. Nor did she dare ply her trade as thief so close to the castle and the horde of guards and watchmen who patrolled the area.
She nervously smoothed her hands over the skirt of her best dress and hoped that she did not look too conspicuous. More than one masculine glance lingered upon her and followed her as she turned onto the Street of the Sword. Usually Lilly would look upon such things as nature's course, a compliment paid without words. Today she feared the stares meant she was out of place.
Worse yet, under scrutiny.
The thought sent her blood skittering through her and set up a humming in her ears like that of a dozen whining mosquitoes. "I'm in a dither, that's all. No call for it," she assured herself in the most stouthearted tone she could muster.
Tossing back her head, she walked the rest of the way with feigned confidence and entered Balthorr's Rare and Wonderful Treasures as if she did so twice every tenday.
The proprietor glanced up. Lilly rocked back on her heels, unprepared for the man's scarred visage. She'd heard that Balthorr had lost an eye in a battle with a chimera, but she didn't expect that he would flaunt his loss as proudly as a family crest. He wore a glass eye, striking in that it was nothing but a white sphere. To Lilly, it was eerily reminiscent of the Dreamspheres.
"I have come to sell," she said, more abruptly than she had planned.
Balthorr studied her with his one good eye. He rose and jerked his head toward a curtained room.
Lilly followed him, then quickly spilled her coins onto the table. "These are platinum. Not many will accept them from the likes of me without asking questions. Can you exchange them for lesser coin?"
The man studied one of the large, shining disks. "Two hundred silver," he offered.
She worked out the exchange in her head and decided the deal was fair enough. "This, too," she added, placing the ruby on the table.
Balthorr picked up the gem and studied it. "Very pretty. Too big to be real, though."
For a moment Lilly's heart sank, but she quickly gathered herself, bolstered by her conviction that this stone was something very special, almost a living thing. It was not so very big—not much bigger than the nail on her smallest finger. "It is a precious stone," she said severely. "I heard tell you knew about such things."
The man spread his hands and shrugged, as if to say that she could not blame him for trying to make the best bargain. "Two hundred gold, paid out in trade-weight bars. Not a copper more."
Lilly's head swam with the enormity of it. Never in her life had she imagined owning such a sum! Why, with that money she could go as far west as Cormyr, with enough left to take lessons in speech and deportment and buy some respectable clothes. She could find work in a fine shop and make her own way without recourse to thievery.
"I'll take it," she said, knowing she should barter but not willing to risk that life-saving sum. She watched intently as the man counted out a hundred gold coins onto a scale, then balanced them with several small shining bars to show her the trade bars measured up in weight to the actual coin. These he placed into a small sack.
When he was finished, she fairly snatched up the sack, startled by how heavy that much gold could be.
Lilly was too eager to be off to be overly concerned with proprieties. She hiked up her skirts and attached the bag to the belt that cinched her chemise. The shopkeeper glanced in her direction, but he seemed far more interested in the ruby and platinum coins that he had just acquired.
With a fistful of silver coins at the ready, Lilly fled from the shop and searched about for a carriage. It was an extravagance, but one she could ill afford to pass up.
Under the watchful eye of Hamish Half-ogre, her tavern room was the safest place she knew. Better to waste a few coins to ride back to this haven than to risk losing all among her fellow thieves.
Three guild carriages passed by without responding to her hail. Finally one drew up, and a pair of baffling grooms hopped down to help her up. The carriage was not empty, but Lilly did not expect to have it to herself. A man and woman sat nestled cozily together on one seat. She settled down on the opposite seat, keeping her eyes politely averted to give her fellow travelers a bit of privacy.
"Doing a little shopping, are we?"
The voice was darkly accented, edged with ice, and chillingly familiar, Lilly started and turned a guilty gaze upon her partner.
"That I am," she babbled, trying without success to hold Isabeau Thione's hard, black-eyed gaze. "Sold one of the Dreamspheres, I did, just as we agreed. The coins bought me a lovely dinner, and this new hat—"
"Spare me. I've been following you, and you went nowhere near a tavern or a milliner. I'm guessing you sold all seven Dreamspheres. I'd like to see what they are worth."
Isabeau nodded to her companion, whom Lilly recognized as the captain of the bandit band—and the only thief who had survived the raid. "Hold her."
Lilly lunged for the door handle, intending to leap into the street. A large hand clamped on her wrist and flung it high and back. The thug seized her other hand and raised it over her head. With one hand he pinned her firmly against the carriage wall.
"I'll scream," Lilly threatened.
"You'll die," riposted Isabeau. For good measure, she tugged a large silken kerchief from her pocket and wadded it. She seized Lilly's jaw and pinched it hard, then forced the gag into her mouth.
Lilly sat in silent, frustrated outrage as the woman's deft hands explored her, finding the hidden bag in a few quick pats. Isabeau pulled a small, narrow knife from the coils of her hair and sliced open Lilly's dress. She took the bag and dumped the contents into her silky lap. Her black brows rose in a supercilious arch.
"Quite the merchant, aren't you? I never dreamed you could get so much for a few Dreamspheres—which we agreed you would keep for yourself."
Lilly watched helplessly as Isabeau slipped the bag into her pockets. "Normally, I would insist upon a
n equal split," the woman said with a sweet, false smile, "but since you saw fit to change our agreement, I think should take the whole as penalty. That is fair, hmm?"
The false smile dropped from her face like a discarded cloak. "Your greed and carelessness could have brought this back to my door. Do not cross me again— ever. I hope you realize you can never speak of what we did without condemning yourself to hang from the city walls."
Lilly nodded her head emphatically, though this threat was far less potent than the grim demonstration the tren monsters had given.
"Good. We understand each other. I'll contact you when I need you again." She turned to her henchman "You can let her out at the next alley."
The bandit reached for the door of the carriage. Without waiting for it to stop, he wrenched it open and hurled Lilly through the door.
She hit the cobblestones and rolled, coming to painful stop against a pile of wooden crates. The carriage moved smoothly down the street, its passage covering the brutal exit.
Lilly's head throbbed from the impact with the stone and the world spun madly as she rose to her feet. She collapsed with a cry of pain-her ankle had been wrenched in the fall. Even without this injury, she doubted she
could have stood for long. Quickly she took inventory of the damage. A long, raw scrape marked her arm, and one cheek stung. Her ears rang, and sharp sparkles of color popped and exploded through her vision. Her dress was torn, in addition to the rips Isabeau's knife had made. She had no money to ride, and her first tentative step sent bright shards of pain exploding through her battered body. She had no choice, though. She told herself that as she struggled to rise, trying to beat back the waves of darkness. But her body would not obey her. She was only dimly aware of the approach of heavy boots, the smell of leather armor as two men crouched over her.
"What have we here?" one of them said. He twined a lock of pale red-gold hair between his fingers. "A strawberry tart, you might say, but a bit far from the bakery."
The other man slapped his hand aside. "You stupid sod! Look at that face. This is one of the Thann brood, or I'm a three-legged ogre. If Lady Cassandra hears you offered insult to one of hers, she'll have our stones set in silver and wear them in a tiara."
His companion grunted. "Best get her home, then. You got the price of a carriage hire on you?"
"Not bloody likely! The Watch doesn't pay that well. Wait-I've got three silver. You?"
As the men pooled their coins, Lilly tried to protest. The best she could manage was a little mewling sound as one of the men hauled her into his arms, hailed a carriage, and set a brisk pace toward the North Ward and the Thann estate. The thing she had wished for all her life was before her. She was about to meet her father, and the prospect filled her with terror.
Her father.
She had never really thought to meet him, much less ever once considered going to him for help. She fully expected him to reject her—if indeed she managed to find her way into his presence. Lilly would far rather be lying in that alley than faced with the disdain she anticipated. That thought followed her into the darkness, and haunted her dreams.
* * * * *
Lord Rhammas Thann turned the wooden device over in his hands, running his fingers over the raised carving of a raven perched on a horse's head. It was well crafted, but not a precious piece. A man might throw such a thing aside on any number of whims. "This is indeed my family crest, and I seem to remember this pendant. How did you come by it?"
Lilly put a hand to her throbbing temples and took a deep, steadying breath. "My mother passed it on, sir, along with her story."
"Which, I can only assume, you intend to share with me. My time is limited, so please get on with it?"
Lilly was hard pressed to understand the nature of these limitations. The room to which she had been brought was a gentleman's study of sorts, but she saw no evidence that it had witnessed any serious study. A few books lay on a shelf, but their leather bindings were not creased and seamed by reading. A dusty quill tilted out of a glass inkwell that contained nothing but a dry stain. The only object that showed evidence of use was the set of dog-eared cards scattered about the table.
The gentleman himself showed similar signs of disuse. Rhammas Thann must have been a handsome man once, and he still cut a rather dashing figure. His hair was thick and silver, and his eyes, though rather bleary—whether from an excess of morning ale or a lack of interest in the life he led, Lilly could not say-were a striking shade of silvery gray. She could understand why her mother had spoken so wistfully of this man.
"My mother gave this to me, along with my name. She said to seek you out and tell you both these things
if ever I was in dire need. I am that, but you can believe me when I say I never intended to come."
"You said your name was Lilly," he remembered. "I am sorry, but I do not see the significance."
"Do you recall a place called the Dryad's Garden? It was a tavern in the Dock Ward, long since closed. All the girls were given names of flowers. Marigold, Pansy, Rose. My mother's name was Violet. Her hair was of like color to mine, if that helps."
Memory flickered in the man's eyes, and then wide-eyed chagrin. He looked at her closely for the first time. "Violet's child—and mine, I suppose. Yes, of course. The resemblance is there to see."
"So your steward said, as he rushed me out of sight," Lilly said in a wry tone. When she had been presented at the servants' entrance, the steward—an austere fellow who looked as if discretion was the sum and essence of his moral code—took one glance at her face and then hustled her into a private room. He'd tended her injuries, fed her a vile-tasting healing potion, and heard her tale. Next he'd hurried off to arrange the interview, not even asking to see the pendant she offered as proof.
"Good man," the lord murmured absently. He sighed and fixed a troubled gaze upon her. "Now that you are here, what is it that you want?"
A family. A home. A name.
Lilly spoke none of these things. "I'm in a bit of trouble, sir. I don't want to bother you, but it's needful that I leave town as soon as possible."
This idea clearly appealed to him. "Yes, that would be best. I'll have someone see to it. Stop by on your way out and speak to the steward—no. No, that won't do at all," he muttered. "Cassandra keeps the accounts and would mark any unusual sum and not rest until she knew the whole of it. No, that is impossible."
Lilly's heart sank. She rose and dipped into a small,
graceless curtsey. "Then I'll be on my way, sir, and I am sorry to have bothered you."
His eyes focused on her again, and this time there was a bit of emotion in the gray depths, and a hint of regret. "I won't turn away any child of mine, however begotten. I'll send someone to you who can take care of this."
She bobbed another curtsey and turned to leave.
"One more thing," the lord said. Lilly sent an inquisitive look back. "Your mother. She is well?"
"As well as any dead woman can be, sir. She is long gone, but I'm sure she would appreciate you asking about her."
The words came out as a reproach, though she had not intended to speak them. Rhammas merely nodded, as if he expected—deserved—this jab.
The bleak acceptance in the man's face disconcerted her more than would a cruel denunciation, or accusations of fraud. She had expected both. She had not expected to find this shell of a man, worn down to nothingness by relentless petty concerns and easy luxury.
This was not the father she had imagined or the life she had dreamed of living. Lilly turned and fled back toward the servants' quarters and the discreet rear exit the steward pointed out for her. For the first time since the theft, she did not regret the loss of her coin. If this was the price of wealth, it was too dearly bought.
* * * * *
Elaith strode into the enclosed garden late that afternoon, congratulating himself on his decision to use Greenglade Tower as a meeting place. A group of his mercenary captains awaited him. Some of them had been waiting
for hours. It was never wise to have large groups gather all at once, for fear of drawing attention. One or two men at a time, their arrivals spaced over time, were less likely to raise attention.
The remnants of a feast lay scattered on the long table and littered the garden floor. Hounds gnawed at discarded bones, and serving girls cleared away the empty trenchers. A few women-and a couple of handsome youths—had been hired for other tasks. Some were draped across the mercenaries' laps, while others had quit the table entirely for the relative privacy of alcoves once tended by careful elven hands.
"Enough," snapped Elaith as he strode up to the table. The mercenaries stood like puppets pulled by a single string, some of them spilling their hired companions to the ground along with other discarded memories of their revelry.
This did not seem to bother the escorts. They gathered up their scattered belongings and the threadbare remnants of their dignity and slipped through the garden gate.
The largest of his captains-a woman of the Northlands with hair the color of flame and various passions of similar hue—cast a wistful look toward the departing youth. Elaith settled his ire upon her.
"You, Hildagriff. Your report."
The woman hauled in her attention. "This from Castle Ward: Balthorr acquired the big ruby. He wants six hundred gold."
This was the news Elaith had been waiting to hear. The Dreamspheres he had already located, and the kiira gem was the last, vital part of Oth Eltorchul's scheme. The elf gave no sign of the importance of this intelligence, but he rushed his other captains through their reports and sent them on their way.
As soon as he was alone, he set a swift course to the fence Hildagriff had named. This was a task too important to entrust to an underling. No one else could be trusted to handle the Mhaorkiira, the dark gem.
Later that day, Elaith was not certain that he himself could handle the elven gem. It was a beautiful thing-
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