The merchants nearest to her bowed in respect. Feena nodded in return.
“Strictly speaking, you didn’t have to do that,” whispered Julith as they swept past them.
“I know,” Feena said. She squeezed Julith’s hand then released it and raised her chin in confidence.
Heads turned as they walked through the gardens. Those few among the party guests who had met Feena before her transformation generally wore expressions of astonishment. Colle Shoondeep actually smiled at her and nodded before doing a comical double take and scowling furiously. Endress Halatar, the elderly high priestess of Lliira, goddess of joy, grinned, however, and shook her hands, holding her in pleasant conversation for several minutes.
“What’s she doing now?” Feena asked Julith as they walked away.
Julith turned her head discretely.
“It looks like she’s talking to one of her junior priests and a couple of merchants about you,” she said. The young priestess smiled. “I think she’s impressed!”
People who hadn’t met Feena before seemed eager to accept her. Julith ushered her from group to group, murmuring names and information about important people.
“Diero Mivaldi—he runs a trading business between Yhaunn and the Vilhon Reach,” she whispered and Feena exchanged a few words about sea conditions with the dark-skinned man in a green vest. “Betha Horndriver—she was playing the harp just now.” Feena praised the young woman for her skill. “Arthagus of the Miracles—he has friends on the Merchants’ Council of Sembia.” She shook hands with the thin and trembling wizard.
As Feena discussed the summer heat with a master craftsman from Yhaunn’s fantastically spired Glass-crafter’s Hall, a man stepped up beside her. Feena felt a warning nudge from Julith and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was somewhat older than her, with hair that was showing signs of gray, but his face was strong and his shoulders, attractively broad. His clothes were dark and plain but well-cut. He looked like he should have been carrying a sword and she had a distinct feeling that she had met him before.
When her small talk with the glass crafter ebbed and the master craftsman drifted away, he said, “You look lovely tonight, Moonmistress.”
Feena was the one who did a double take then, though she managed to turned it into what she hoped was a graceful nod.
“As do you, Guard Captain Manas,” she replied, then winced at the words and saw Julith cringe as well.
Manas managed a chuckle. “It seems we both clean up well.” He was carrying two goblets of wine and offered her one. “I think I’m as surprised to find you here as you are to find me.”
“True enough.” Feena accepted the wine and took a sip. It was watered. She raised an eyebrow and Manas gave her a small smile.
“Attendance at these parties is the price you pay for attaining a certain rank in Yhaunn,” he said. “Judging from the way your aide has been guiding you through the crowd—” he nodded to Julith—“I suspected you might have been given the same instructions I once was.”
Feena returned the smile. “Thank you for your courtesy,” she said.
Manas’s lip twitched. “Your appearance isn’t the only thing that’s changed since we met,” he observed. “Before, I would have said that your speech and manners were straight out of the country. Does Yhaunn really change people so quickly?”
“Not on its own,” Feena confessed. “I’ve been taking lessons.”
“She’s a fast learner,” added Julith.
“I can see that.” Manas glanced down at his wine. He hesitated for a moment, then said somewhat awkwardly, “I wanted to tell you that I admired the conviction with which you stood up to me and High Luck Shoondeep, Moonmistress. I can tell that you’re a fighter. I know how hard it can be when you’re thrown into a situation that puts words over actions.”
Feena blinked. “I …” she stuttered—then met Manas’ eyes as he looked back up.
Both of them flushed and glanced away.
Julith stepped into the conversation smoothly: “Have your investigations turned up any other clues about the death in the Stiltways, Captain?”
“No, ma’am,” Manas replied as promptly as he would have to a superior in the city guard.
Feena could hear the relief in his voice at the change in topic. She had to admit that she felt a certain relief as well.
“Are there any indications of another werewolf in the city?” she asked.
Manas shook his head and replied, “No. We haven’t been able to figure out why the man was in the Stiltways, either. He only had a few friends we’ve been able to locate, but they say that the Stiltways isn’t somewhere they’d expect him to be. Apparently he pretty much kept to himself.”
“If you find out more,” Feena said, “will you let me know?” Her voice came out with a breathless rush. She snapped her teeth together, but of course she couldn’t recall the words. “If there is another werewolf involved.…” she added quickly, but the flush had already sprung back to Manas’s face.
“You’ll be the first to know, Moonmistress!” he said. He bobbed his head in a hasty bow. “If you’ll excuse me, I … I see someone I need to talk to.”
Manas turned and darted away down the nearest path. Julith looked at Feena and smiled knowingly. Feena flushed again as well and gulped from her goblet.
“It’s your fault,” she said.
Julith snickered, “You both just clean up too well for your own good, I suppose.” She looked after Manas. “And he appreciates you as a fighter. I think I’d spar with him for a few rounds.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Feena groaned.
“Who’s the bad influence now? Let’s just move on.” Feena looked around and gestured to a trio, an older man and woman and a second, younger man, strolling along a path well away from the one Manas had taken. “Who’s that?”
Julith looked, nodded, and said, “Strasus Thingoleir, possibly the greatest wizard in the city. That’s his wife, Dagnalla, also a wizard. The young man is likely one of their sons—either Roderio or Keph.” She led Feena toward them. “Master Thingoleir!” she called. “Mistress Thingoleir!” The old couple stopped and turned. Julith bent respectfully and gestured to Feena. “May I present Moonmistress-Designate Feena Archwood of Moonshadow Hall.”
Strasus smiled kindly and extended a wrinkled, leathery hand. “Well met, Moonmistress.”
Feena took it and smiled back as Strasus gave a little bow over their joined hands.
“Well met, sir.” She shook Dagnalla’s hand as well. “Well met, madam.”
She turned to the young man. He nodded to her soberly and reached out his hand as well.
“Roderio Thingoleir,” he said. “Well met.”
The skin of his hand was smooth and very soft when she took it. His face had the same soft look as well—the aftereffect of massive magical healing, Feena realized. She wondered what had happened to him.
“Well met,” she said. She looked back to Strasus and Dagnalla. “And your other son, is he here tonight as well?”
The smiles on the old wizards’ faces faltered, turning thin and strained.
“I’m afraid Keph seldom attends events such as this,” Dagnalla said. Her voice was flat, and Strasus’s eyes filled with a deep sadness.
Feena cursed herself silently. It didn’t take a wolf’s nose to know she’d stepped into a dung heap.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Perhaps another time.” She fell back on Julith’s advice and asked, “How is your research, madam? What are you working on?”
Dagnalla glanced to her husband and a little life struggled back into Strasus’s eyes.
“Historical research,” he said. “A cache of artifacts recovered from the depths of one of the tunnels in Yhaunn’s cliff walls.” He swept his hand around them, taking in the bowl of the city, his voice gaining strength as he warmed to his subject. “Few people realize how ancient the quarry that gave birth to Yhaunn truly is. Most historians date the first settlem
ent here to about a thousand years ago, roughly concurrent with the establishment in the 380s of the Chondathan colonies that would become Selgaunt and Saerloon. However, it’s known that humans, refugees from the devastation of Jhaamdath to the south, were colonizing the Dalelands to the northwest almost five hundred years before that and it seems highly unlikely that such a vast source of fine quality stone as originated here should be entirely ignored. In fact, I’ve found supporting architectural evidence for this in Westgate, where a monument erected by the city’s ruler about fifty years before the beginning of Dalereckoning is constructed of what is clearly Yhauntan stone.”
Feena struggled to keep an interested smile on her face. Hadn’t Julith warned her that could happen? Unfortunately, the dark-haired priestess was actually listening to Strasus’s tale with interest. Feena couldn’t very well tear herself away.
“And the artifacts you’re studying?” she asked.
Strasus stroked his beard and said, “Well, that’s the really fascinating thing. Almost three hundred and fifty years before Dalereckoning, the northern empire of Netheril fell—quite literally. The floating cities that were its greatest achievement dropped out of the sky in a moment of terrible catastrophe. There were survivors among ground-based settlements, of course, but the last cities of Netheril faded over the following centuries as the Anauroch Desert expanded and swallowed them. The last survivor-state, Hlondath, was abandoned to the sands in 329 or the year 4188 by Netherese reckoning.”
Strasus’s eyes were fully alive again, any hint of Feena’s gaffe clearly forgotten. Feena was afraid, however, that she was about to make another. She scanned the gardens, looking for a way to escape the old wizard as Strasus droned on.
“The artifacts that were brought to me recently are clearly Netherese and had apparently lain undisturbed since they were deposited in the deep tunnel where they were found. What interests me is when they were placed or lost and—”
Dagnalla chuckled and interrupted her husband with an elbow in the ribs. “What interests you is the Netherese magic!”
“Well, that goes without saying,” grunted Strasus, “but the implications for Yhaunn’s history.…”
From the corner of her eye, Feena spotted a pair of figures standing a little way off, watching them. Watching her. Lantern light shone on a stark gray robe and glinted off silver hair. Velsinore and Mifano! Feena cursed silently. If she and Julith broke off conversation with the Thingoleirs, the priest and priestess would be down on them like vultures.
Dagnalla, however, had followed her furtive gaze. She must have recognized the clerical vestments that Mifano and Velsinore wore because she cut Strasus off with another elbow.
“My dear, enough with your history. The Moonmistress-Designate has followers waiting to speak with her.” She nodded to Feena and said, “A delight to meet you.”
Feena’s silent curse turned into a blasphemy. At her side, she could feel Julith stiffen as she spotted Mifano and Velsinore as well.
“No, please go on,” Feena said, but Strasus was already sighing and nodding.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I tend to get carried away. Another time?”
Roderio and Dagnalla drew him away, and Feena blinked numbly.
“The best of luck with your research,” she called after them, the response drilled into her by Julith. “When you complete it, I hope you’ll call on me at Moonshadow Hall and present the results!”
There were footsteps behind her. She turned to face Velsinore and Mifano. Neither looked pleased.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Mifano commented with a scowl. He looked her up and down. “You’ve got a new dress.”
Velsinore scowled as well, but her eyes were fixed on the filigree web in Feena’s hair and the opal crescent hanging against her forehead. “Who gave you approval to go through the regalia chests?” she seethed.
Feena gave Julith a fast glance, then drew herself up tall and lifted her chin boldly.
“The same person who authorized the expense of a new gown, Velsinore. Me. Isn’t it my right and duty as Moonmistress-Designate to dress in a manner that does credit to Selûne and Moonshadow Hall?”
Mifano’s eyes narrowed at the sound of confidence in her voice, but Velsinore didn’t even pause.
“That … cobweb is two hundred years old! It hasn’t been worn in a generation. Mother Dhauna wouldn’t touch it!”
“I’m not Mother Dhauna,” said Feena. “The tiara and circlets that she wore belong to her generation. This—” She touched the opal crescent. “—is a fine piece of our temple’s history. It should be worn proudly.”
Velsinore gasped. “I’m in charge of Moonshadow Hall’s internal affairs!” she spat. “The regalia is in my keeping as part of the temple’s treasury.”
“The regalia isn’t part of the treasury, Velsinore,” Julith said. The dark-haired priestess stood firm at Feena’s side. “It isn’t an account. It can’t be spent or sold or traded for food or supplies for the infirmary. It doesn’t fall under the purview of the Waning Crescent. It’s entirely within the charge of the High Moonmistress.” She inclined her head toward Feena. “And her designated successor.”
Velsinore turned such a violent shade of red that Feena thought she might give herself a nosebleed. Mifano, however, remained tense and cold.
“Speaking of the High Moonmistress,” he commented, “who is watching over Dhauna Myritar tonight?”
“No one is ‘watching over’ her, Mifano,” Feena said as she turned to look at the priest. “I gave Jhezzail a break from the gate and asked her to stay close to Mother Dhauna’s quarters in case she needed anything. I also,” she added before he could raise another objection, “told Chandri that we would be out, just in case the infirmary was needed.”
Mifano’s lips pressed together. “The assignment of gate duty,” he said thinly, “is my charge.”
“As the infirmary is mine!” snarled Velsinore.
Feena took a deep breath. Moonmaiden favor me, she prayed silently—and looked down on both of them.
“And I,” she reminded them, “am the Moonmistress-Designate, heir to the High Moonmistress and entrusted with her responsibilities.” The wolf within her stirred, but she held it back, allowing only the force of authority to enter her voice. “You say you’ve sent to Waterdeep and the House of the Moon for advice on Mother Dhauna’s condition. You haven’t had a response yet, have you?”
Neither Velsinore nor Mifano responded.
Feena raised an eyebrow and continued, “No? Then until you hear back, I think you should accept Mother Dhauna’s decisions—and mine.”
Velsinore glowered at the ground, but Mifano glared at her, two spots of color high on his cheeks. Feena met his glare and waited. Finally, he looked down and gave her a stiff bow.
“As you wish, Moonmistress,” he growled under his breath.
“I’m glad we spoke,” said Feena. She stepped around the priest and priestess, her fine gown swaying around her feet as she walked confidently down the tiled path. Julith followed her without a word until they turned a corner and were out of sight of the two—then she let out a long breath.
“Feena …” she began in awe.
Feena held up a hand. “Don’t say it.” She groaned and sagged, stopping for a moment to catch her breath, then said, “Moonmaiden’s grace, if the House of the Moon speaks against Dhauna, they’ll turn me out faster than a burned griddlecake.” She glanced up at Julith. “I don’t think you’ll be especially welcome either.”
“If that’s the way Mifano and Velsinore choose to act,” Julith replied, “I’ll stay while Mother Dhauna needs me and no longer.” She surveyed the party. “Do you feel up to going on? You’re doing very well tonight.”
“Aside from acting like a girl around Manas, coming close to walking away from Strasus Thingoleir out of boredom, and causing a scene with Mifano and Velsinore …?”
“No,” Julith said, “in spite of that. Strasus and Dagnalla T
hingoleir, Endress Halatar, Arthagus of the Miracles—none of them are fools, Feena, but they all respected the Moonmistress-Designate.”
She stepped back a pace and bowed. Feena drew a deep breath.
“Moonmaiden’s grace,” she said again, “they did, didn’t they?” Feena felt warm and confident all through her body. “And Mifano and Velsinore?”
“Have been put in their place,” said Julith.
“Bright Mother of Night. Thank you, Julith.” She straightened up. “But I think that’s enough. The Moonmistress-Designate has had her evening and can retire for the night with dignity.”
“The Moonmistress-Designate—but not Feena,” Julith said, and made a face as they turned toward the entrance to the garden terrace, the stairs back down to the street, and the waiting carriage. “You’ll still go back to the Stiltways?”
“I need to get out,” said Feena. “Especially after that.” She tossed her head in the direction of Velsinore and Mifano. “Besides, you heard what Manas said. The city guard knows nothing more about the Sharran. They don’t even know he was a Sharran. I have to try to find out more.”
“You could go to Manas with what you know. I think he’d appreciate it.”
Feena gave her a dark glance, and Julith shrugged.
They had brought Feena’s linen blouse, homespun skirt, and sandals with them in the carriage. As they rattled along, Julith helped Feena slip carefully out of the gown and into her own clothes. Feena sighed and rubbed the silk of the gown between her fingers.
“I don’t think I’ve ever worn a dress this fine before in my life.”
“I’m sure it won’t be your last chance,” Julith said. She folded the dress, then held out a velvet bag.
Feena exchanged the silver filigree and opal crescent for her plain chain and battered medallion, hiding the medallion under her blouse.
“How do I look?” she asked.
Julith grinned and reached out to mess up her hair. Feena spluttered, brushing hair out of her face.
“And now?”
“I wouldn’t let you into my party,” said the younger priestess, her lips pressed together. “Moonmaiden watch over you, Feena.” She reached up and banged on the carriage roof. “Driver, slow down!”
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