The look she gave him was bleak. “It was my fault. He died to protect me.”
“I told myself the same thing when Mavreen died. These days, I’m not sure if it’s true, but I don’t think knowing the truth would lessen the guilt in my heart.”
She turned away without reply, following the others down the gangplank.
“A pretty rebel,” said Lord Neverember, watching Elyne catch up with the ones carrying Montimort’s body. She leaned down to catch an edge of the stretcher and help them maneuver it off the pier and up to the street.
“My lord?”
“Oh, I am not a fool. But better the enemies that I know, rather than the ones hidden in shadows. Besides, being a wise woman, she has never voiced any great ambition to rule this city and she holds her friends very dear. Which makes her a minor threat compared to some.”
Sarfael bowed again and reminded Lord Neverember, “Today she saved your life.”
“A good point.”
“And you gained a crown.” Sarfael knew he pushed his luck with that statement, but Lord Neverember’s man had taken something from Dhafiyand’s body.
“A crown?” Lord Neverember said. “I do not remember seeing such a thing. Crowns would be a dangerous treasure to find in Neverwinter. It could even cost a man his head. As Dhafiyand found.”
Sarfael stepped back. “Well then, it is lucky that I saw no such thing aboard this ship or any other place.”
“Very lucky, indeed,” said Lord Neverember. Then, more surprisingly, “I could use a new spymaster in Neverwinter.”
Sarfael thought about that a moment, and about the body of the last spymaster being bundled efficiently away by Lord Neverember’s servants. In a few days, he doubted that any would speak Dhafiyand’s name and, in a year, he would wager that none would remember the old man-or, at least, none would admit to remembering him. No one ever carved epithets for spies.
“There are other threats in this city,” he said to Lord Neverember. “Give me a license to hunt the undead and those who create them. Let me do it openly, in your name and for the new Neverwinter.”
Lord Neverember considered the offer longer than Sarfael had contemplated his. “Very well, if that is what you wish. I will have Soman Galt draw up some grant or other. Our mayor can give you a wax-sealed charter to destroy the undead as you see fit and to let you command a small force to assist you. Name those you wish to fall under your protection.”
Sarfael smiled. Not all of the Nashers would want to join him, some were too deeply committed to their dreams of rebellion, but he also thought that the day’s fight had shaken others, let them see that there were far greater threats than Lord Neverember.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said and he truly meant his gratitude.
But Lord Neverember had already walked off, to greet the city officials crowding up the gangplank, clap shoulders, and shake his head with rueful goodwill over the day’s events.
Figuring himself fortunate to be forgotten, Sarfael rushed down the gangplank and hurried after the Nashers. He meant to catch up with Elyne and sound her out about the hunting of the undead.
But, as he reached the street, Sarfael remembered the box. They’d left it behind in Dhafiyand’s room. If any of the Nashers went back there, then there was every chance that the whole mess would start again.
With a curse, Sarfael whipped around and raced back to Dhafiyand’s house.
The house was dark and cold. Already it felt more like a mausoleum than a home. The servants had fled; word of their master’s death must have traveled swiftly up the streets. Or perhaps they had been illusions, like the others on the boat.
The box lay open on the table, just as they had left it.
Sarfael piled kindling in the grate and lit it with his tinder and flint. The flames flickered, and he grabbed handfuls of paper from the table, stuffing it into the fireplace. The fire began to crackle and burn merrily.
Sarfael lifted the box from the table. The emerald decorating the lid of the box winked in the firelight. He held the wooden box high, ready to throw it into the roaring fire.
“Don’t!” A sharp command came from the doorway.
He looked over his shoulder at Elyne.
“Montimort was the only one who knew the spell,” he said to her. “You can’t use it again, not without him. It’s just a temptation for thieves. Every faction in Neverwinter will try to steal it from you.”
“We can find another wizard,” Elyne said, advancing into the room. Her sword was drawn and her face was still streaked with tears. “With the box, we can summon the crown from wherever it is hidden. That is what Karion said.”
“And Montimort murdered Karion to steal his secrets from him. Who else will do such things to gain a crown in Neverwinter?”
She blanched. “There was no malice in Montimort. He had a gentle heart.”
“He did, but he betrayed it for the prize of a crown.” He kept his words blunt, no kind lies for the grief-stricken woman in front of him. But there were desperate stakes. All he had done to secure Lord Neverember’s pardon would be undone by a simple box of wood and the dream of a crown.
She stared with loathing at the box in his hands. “I think there is some evil in it, to tempt Montimort so, to drive Karion mad,” she said.
“Then let it go,” he counseled her.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’ve failed Montimort today. How can I fail the others?”
“How will it aid them, to gain a crown?”
She shook her head and gestured with the sword. “Put it down.”
“When you tell me one thing: Whose head will wear a crown in Neverwinter? Yours?”
“No!” Her denial was vehement and instant. “I never wanted such a thing.”
“Arlon?”
She flung her hands wide, as if she had been hit in a practice duel at her school. “He is not ready to rule.”
“Well, if you mean to give it to Lord Neverember,” Sarfael said with a sudden smile, “then I think the problem is already solved.”
Elyne swung her sword, but not at him. She sliced through one of the tapestries and cut it down, just as Arlon might pound his fist on the table.
“Ah,” she cried, “what should I do?”
“Watch it burn,” said Sarfael, and he threw the box into the flames.
The fire consumed it quickly, but they stood together, watching silently until it was completely gone.
Out on the street, Elyne walked at his side. Without talking, they automatically took the turns leading back to her school for elegant fighting.
“I never learned how or why you came to Neverwinter,” she finally said to him.
Sarfael lifted one eyebrow. “Didn’t I tell you some story or other?”