by Ed Greenwood
This was a home as well as a business. Through a window he could see the neat herb-garden, and beside it a small kitchen flanking the old well house. Above the window, a staircase curved up to two rooms above; all the abode an independent tradeswoman needed.
Lark came out of the small back room to greet him. Respectability sat well on her shoulders. She was dressed as simply as the small brown bird she resembled, but there was pride in the lift of her chin, and some of the wariness had faded from her bright brown eyes.
"The 'Queen of the Forest' chapbook did as well as I thought it would," she said, without preamble. "But where, pray tell, is 'The Guild's War?'"
"And a fair morning to you, Taskmistress!" Taeros replied with a grin. "Long finished, and yestereve Roldo promised me two hundred copies would be delivered here within a tenday. Lady Thongolir's so pleased by the success of your venture that she nearly smiled." Taeros shuddered a little at the memory.
"I'm happy for Lord Thongolir," Lark said briskly. "When next you see him, tell him I'll need four hundred. Nigh every tutor in the city has been in here asking for it. A 'cautionary tale,' they're calling it. 'Tis high time people paid attention to stories of their past. Mayhap they'll be slower to start New Days if they know how the old ones ended!"
Her words echoed Taeros's private thoughts rather too closely for comfort. Instead of saying so, he asked, "There're four hundred tutors in Waterdeep? Ye gods, no wonder we drove the sahuagin back into the sea! I'd retreat at the sight of that many sour-faced men with foul breath and sharp-edged ferules!"
"Not just tutors have been asking; many are interested in tales of the common folk," Lark replied, adding a sly smile. "Don't take that as an excuse to ignore Deep Waters."
"You know about that, too? Is nothing sacred?"
"Business is, and judging by the success of your hero-tales, I can sell several hundred copies. Lady Thongolir is complaining about parchment costs and the wisdom of investing in a Dock Ward shop, but I'll have my own rag-paper soon. A deal with the Dungsweepers, another with a woman from Amn who knows the craft, and I know a suitable warehouse for hire in South Ward. By mid-spring we could-"
She broke off abruptly as Taeros lifted one of her hands to his lips. She tugged it hastily free. "What was that about?"
"Better become accustomed to it. With your wits and drive, you'll soon be ruling us all."
Lark's scowl became a sly smile. "Just why are you so certain, Lord Hawkwinter, that I'm not?"
They laughed together, and when he kissed her hand a second time, Lark stood proudly, not pulling away in the slightest.
The fall wind was growing stronger, and Taeros put his head down and hastened. He'd promised to meet Korvaun at the Dyres' house for the highsunfeast.
It was a hectic place these days, what with Naoni preparing for her wedding and training a new housekeeper, and Faendra busily creating a wardrobe worthy of her sister's new station. It hadn't escaped his notice that she was making tiny garments, too.
So Korvaun was soon to be a father. Strange, to someone who'd known him since boyhood, but no doubt the surprising Helmfast would rise to this challenge as well as all others he embraced.
Since Beldar's death, Korvaun had devoted himself to studying Waterdeep's laws and history, and to the amazement of his family, their formerly reluctant student was now the shining pride of sages, not just tutors. Korvaun now spent most of his days attending magisterial courts or working at the Palace, learning the daily business of governance.
Well enough. Taeros hoped Lord Piergeiron would live long and rule well, but the day would come when other men and women would have to rule, masked or openly, and they'd need a counselor they could trust.
Until then, Taeros had his own work to do and-for the first time in his life-he was quite content. He could leave the governance of Waterdeep to its masked Lords. As Korvaun often said these days, some stories were great only if they remained untold.
Taeros wondered if this was Korvaun's kind caution to a tale-writing friend, his commentary on the system of secret Lords, or something deeper and more personal. Secrets rode his friend's shoulders, and sometimes Taeros sensed odd, unsaid meanings in Korvaun's simplest utterances.
Of one thing he was certain: The value of untold stories was not a sentiment one Taeros Hawkwinter would repeat in Lark's hearing!
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