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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 halfling 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 dream spheres, 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 dream spheres. 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 silken 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 dream spheres—which we agreed you would keep for yourself."
Lilly watched helplessly as Isabeau slipped the bars into her pockets. "Normally, I would insist upon an equal split," the woman said with a sweet, false smile, "but since you saw fit to change our agreement, I think I 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 a 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 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 ennui. 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."