A long, pregnant silence followed his words, one that Arilyn could not interpret. "There are strictures on trade," Cassandra Thann said carefully, "that are not always obvious to those who buy and sell in the shops and stalls. Those who try to circumvent these restraints often come to grief."
"I am heir to the Eltorchul lordship," Oth said indignantly. "Do you presume to threaten me?"
"Not at all," the woman said in a wry tone, "but you asked for an audience and for our advice. It has been given."
"I understand," Oth said in a stiff voice.
Arilyn did not, but she was not particularly interested in learning more. Nor did she wish to be discovered eavesdropping. She headed for the stairwell at the end of the hall and hurried down the tightly curving spiral. Sooner or later, she reasoned, she would reach the main floor, and the din emanating from the great hall would make tracking easy.
Several moments passed, and Arilyn judged that she had descended a depth sufficient to bring her well past the main floor, but no doors led out of the stairwell. She continued down. The stairwell tightened, and the flickering light of the torches thrust into iron wall brackets gave way to darkness. Her eyes adjusted, slipping past the need for light into the elven range, where heat registered in complex and subtle patterns.
The stairs ended in a dark and silent hall beneath the Thann estate. To one side, a vast, cool room was honeycombed with small shelves filled with dusty bottles. The Thanns were wine merchants, and Danilo had often remarked on their cellars. Arilyn spared this treasure trove no more than a glance. Her attention fixed upon the footprints that led past the door.
They were heat prints, large and faint. Several sets of them, by the looks of it. She dropped to one knee for a better look, and her eyes widened.
The tracks belonged to tren—huge, reptilian creatures that lived beneath ground, surfacing only to ply their trade. Arilyn had reason to know this. Tren were assassins, and she had crossed swords with them before. In her experience, they did not venture this far above ground without deadly purpose. She knew them well enough to realize that tren bodies warmed or cooled with their surroundings, so their heat prints were faint even when fresh.
These were very fresh, indeed.
Quietly, Arilyn rose to her feet and slid her sword from its sheath. Her own feet, elf-shod and magically protected, left no telltale marks as she began to follow the assassins' trail.
Two
Danilo glanced up at one of the tall, narrow windows that lined the great hall. The moon had risen perhaps twice its own width since his miscast spell. Arilyn was taking far more time in returning than he had anticipated.
A hearty clap on the back shook him from his reverie. A tall man with curly brown hair regarded him with mock dismay. "Look at you! Snared like a hare! Tell me, how long have you been waiting for this woman?"
Danilo turned a wry grin upon his friend Regnet Amcathra, then nodded toward Myrna Cassalanter, who was whispering tales to a woman wearing an emerald colored gown and an expression of scandalized delight. "About as long as you have been evading that one."
Regnet threw back his head and laughed. "An eternity, it would seem! And the night is still young! However, I was not speaking only of tonight. In truth, Dan, it seems years since we've gone out drinking and wenching together. There are many woman in this wide world, you know."
"One who matters." Danilo's gaze slid again to the door through which Arilyn had disappeared.
Regnet shook his head. "One woman!" he mourned. "When I consider the straits to which you have been reduced!"
"I have other vices," Danilo assured him, brandishing an empty goblet.
"Well, that's a comfort." The nobleman scanned the room, and his eyes lit up as they settled upon a pretty barmaid at the far end of the hall. "We are in luck. There's a sight to gladden us both."
They sauntered over to the table, and Regnet immediately busied himself with a flirtation. Danilo applauded his choice. The girl was a merry lass with red-gold hair, laughing gray eyes, and dimples that flashed in genuine good humor. Her voice might be rough with the accents of the shantytowns of Dock Ward, but there was nothing blunt about her wit.
"Don't be taking this amiss," she advised Regnet, "but you'd best be moving on. There's a moor fire burning this way."
Danilo followed the line of her gaze and burst out laughing. Myrna Cassalanter advanced, her gaze intent upon Regnet. With her scarlet hair and even brighter gown, she did rather resemble a wind-driven blaze. Moor fires were considered terrible omens, and in practical terms the burning bog gasses left a foul scent behind. Dan could not imagine a better description of Myrna, a gossipmonger by profession and inclination, than that supplied by the barmaid.
When Myrna had dragged her prey away to the dancing, Danilo lifted his glass to the serving girl in silent salute. She responded with a quick, impish smile and then a shrug.
"I've seen enough of such things to name them true."
"Bog fires?" Dan inquired with a grin.
"Wouldn't that be fine!" the girl replied wistfully. "No, I've never stepped beyond these city walls."
He helped himself to a bottle from the table and refilled his glass. There was no self-pity in the girl's voice, but he recognized the sound of genuine longing—and the echo of his own restless nature. "Where would you go?"
She shrugged again. "Anywhere that doesn't smell of fish and ale would suit me fine."
Danilo laughed and captured a ripe apricot from the tray of a passing servant. "These help a bit, when I'm feeling restless. Taste it, and see if the flavor doesn't conjure images of warm sunshine and distant lands."
"Oh, I dare not eat on duty," she protested, although she considered the fruit as if it were a rare gem. "Besides, if I pocket it, folks might think ill of me."
He nodded, understanding this. Thievery by servants was severely punished. Even so, it didn't seem right to deny them the festive fare they helped to serve. "Give me your name, then, and I'll have some sent to you."
"Will you, now?" she retorted with good-natured skepticism. "Along with a case of that elven wine, I suppose. ..."
Her words faded as something seized her attention. Danilo followed the line of her gaze and grimaced. Not far away, an exceedingly curvaceous young woman was dancing with an amorous nobleman. Both partners' hands were far busier than their feet. Normally, Danilo would not consider this odd—after all, the attention Myrna lavished upon Regnet was even less subtle—but he had reason to distrust this particular woman. It would seem that Sofia the pickpocket was having a bit of a problem with her transition to Lady Isabeau.
"Excuse me," he murmured as he set down his glass.
A look of deep consternation flashed across the girl's pretty face. "Have a care with that one, sir. Looks fine as frog's hair, she does, but I've seen things. That one is trouble."
"You've a very good eye," he commented as he began to move away. "Thank you for your advice. I shall bear it in mind."
"Lilly," she said abruptly.
He turned back, lifting one brow in inquiry.
"My name," the girl explained. "Just wanted you to be knowing it. Your name, I'm already knowing." She grinned again. "It's been spoken."
"Yes, I can imagine," he said dryly, enjoying the woman's wry, impish humor—even when it came at his expense. He touched his forehead in parting salute. "Lilly, it has been a rare pleasure."
He deftly intercepted Isabeau from her partner and danced her as unobtrusively as possible into an alcove.
As soon as no eyes were upon them, Isabeau pulled away. She squared her shoulders, not so much in defiance as to better frame the expanse of feminine charm displayed between her ruby necklace and her low-laced gown.
"Calling in your debts, Lord Thann?" she said mockingly. "A tryst, in exchange for my rescue and my new position? I have been expecting you to name that coin, but not in so public a place."
Danilo stuck out his hand, palm up. "I've come to collect—you're right about that much. Hand it over."
She pouted, the picture of insulted innocence. "I don't understand."
"Clearly. May I remind you that you are Isabeau Thione, a noblewoman related to the royal house of Tethyr? I know this is all very new to you, but you must learn to comport yourself according to the mores of Waterdhavian nobility."
"Huzzah!" She gave him a cool, mocking smile and a little patter of applause. "Bring him the prize for stuffiest speech of the night! In truth, Lord Thann, the only difference between me and most of these fine people is that they steal larger quantities, usually from those who can ill afford the loss. I have been in this city for only a few tendays, and already I know that much!"
Danilo refused to be distracted. "Don't make me sorry I brought you here," he warned her. "There are those who would be only too happy to take you back to Tethyr."