“No,” Catti-brie stammered, at a loss. She had lived into her forties in her previous life, and now again for more than two decades. She had faced mighty enemies-dragons and demons, even-and had fought as a proxy for Mielikki in a great struggle with the goddess Lolth. She had passed through death. She had been afforded the insights of divine beings.
How could this uneasiness that had come over her be placing in her into such a spot of judgment and emotional distress?
“I do not try to judge,” she explained after taking a deep breath to center herself. “I am simply trying to unders …”
She paused as movement to the side caught her attention and drew her eye to Archmage Gromph, who was crossing by Lady Avelyere and the dwarves. She couldn’t help but note the haughty dark elf, seeming so far above their petty quibbling. Or at least, her initial reaction began that way, though it soon shifted to her insight that yes, indeed, Gromph did appear so far above that pettiness, seeming so much above those other mere mortals.
Seeming to her almost godlike.
Many heartbeats passed by unnoticed to Catti-brie. Gromph turned and flashed her a smile and his amber eyes would not let her go.
“He is attractive, isn’t he?” Penelope asked, the woman’s voice jarring her from her near-trance. “And powerful.” There was no denying the admiration in Penelope’s tone, and for a moment, it occurred to Catti-brie that Penelope might wish to lie with Gromph. And for a moment, Catti-brie wanted to slap her.
“So amazingly proficient with the Art,” Penelope continued. “It is hard not to be taken with him.”
It took a few moments for that last remark to truly sink in, but when it did, it shook Catti-brie and she snapped her head around to view Penelope.
Penelope wasn’t looking at Gromph, as she had expected, but at Catti-brie, and with a knowing grin.
“He was the Archmage of Menzoberranzan,” Catti-brie blurted, “serving Lolth and the vile matron mothers.”
“Yes, dangerous,” Penelope said, never blinking, and Catti-brie got the distinct feeling that the woman was mocking her.
Despite that, Catti-brie found herself staring at Gromph once more, and in her thoughts, she imagined herself amorously entwined with the archmage. She tried to shake that vision away, but it held on stubbornly, and when she managed to turn her eyes outward, there was Gromph, smiling at her from afar.
“It is hard not to be taken with him,” Penelope Harpell said again.
“I am not!” Catti-brie protested, never turning around. “He is evil. Who knows how many innocents have fallen to his evocations?”
“Are you telling me, or yourself?” Penelope asked.
Now Catti-brie did spin back again on Penelope, though in no small part because Gromph turned away and walked farther from her, his eyes going to something else. She stared hard at the Harpell woman, trying to find some stinging retort. She wanted to lash out, but as she realized that truth, she turned it inward.
Penelope’s words had struck her because she was having a hard time denying them.
“There is nothing wrong with wondering,” the woman told her.
“Or with acting out on that wonder, if I were like you,” Catti-brie replied, and she wanted to retract the words as soon as she uttered them.
Penelope shrugged-if she took offense, she didn’t show it. “If that is your way,” she answered. With a smile and a wink, Penelope shifted her gaze past Catti-brie and over to the distant Gromph. “I would spend a long tenday with him,” she said, “as long as we had enough food.”
Catti-brie felt herself blushing.
“Life is an adventure,” Penelope said. “A beautiful adventure.”
Gromph watched the two women retreat from the open tent, the Harpell wizard moving to join Lady Avelyere, and Catti-brie heading for the bridge to Closeguard Isle. She’d cross, almost certainly, and then on to the mainland, to replace her maps and search for others in the repository Bregan D’aerthe had set up to hold the scrolls and tomes found in Illusk and elsewhere.
Gromph’s stare followed the intriguing woman across that first bridge, and all the way past the tower of High Captain Kurth, who, coincidentally, was even then approaching Gromph from the other direction.
“Well met, Archmage,” Beniago said, still in his respectful bow when Gromph turned to regard him.
“You look ridiculous,” Gromph replied, shaking his head in open disgust at the Baenre drow’s human facade, with that flaming red hair.
“It is a useful tool, nothing more.”
“You are a Baenre,” Gromph scolded. “At what point does the embarrassment of your disguise outweigh the small utility it provides?”
“When Jarlaxle tells me so, I expect.”
The reminder of Beniago’s true allegiance drew a slight grimace from Gromph, but the point was well made.
“What use is it at this point, in any case?” Gromph asked. “Most of the city knows the truth of House Kurth, and knows that the drow are in control. There is nothing they can do about it, and likely nothing they would want to do about it. We are as much their armor as their potential enemies.”
Beniago shrugged, somewhat dismissively. “Perhaps the deception is to deter eyes outside the City of Sails. Waterdhavian lords, drow matron mothers …”
“Tiago knew the truth of you, as did the Xorlarrins,” Gromph said. “And so, too, Matron Mother Baenre. Who, then, are you deceiving, other than yourself?”
“You would have to ask Jarlaxle,” said Beniago.
“Your loyalty is commendable, I suppose.”
“It was earned, many times over, and all in Bregan D’aerthe would agree, Archmage. Jarlaxle need not rule with threats, but merely by asking. All in Bregan D’aerthe would fight for him and die for him.”
Gromph looked very carefully at the drow in human disguise, recognizing that there was a message there beyond the words, a not-so-subtle warning, perhaps.
“She is beautiful, is she not?” Beniago asked unexpectedly, gesturing with his chin in the direction of Closeguard Isle. “For a human woman, I mean.”
Gromph glanced back, then back at Beniago, his expression caught halfway between confusion and an incredulous grin.
“The wife of Drizzt,” Beniago clarified, his reference to the rogue Do’Urden making much more than the woman’s identity clear in Gromph’s mind.
“And Jarlaxle would not take kindly were I to bed her, is that your point?” Gromph asked bluntly.
Beniago put on an innocent aspect, even held up his hands as if at a loss.
But Gromph knew better, and he laughed aloud then, amused that he was being threatened by such a creature as this pitiful red-haired human imposter standing in front of him.
“Jarlaxle will take as I demand, whatever I may give to him,” Gromph replied, too calmly. “Ah, yes, the wife of Drizzt. I hadn’t thought of pretty Catti-brie in those terms before-but bedding an iblith? Absurd! That is the stuff of Jarlaxle, whose tastes allow for …” He paused and laughed again, gesturing to indicate Beniago, and more pointedly Beniago’s disguise, as he finished with a derisive snort, “This.”
“There is much to Jarlaxle’s world that you do not understand,” Beniago warned. “And since this is now your world as well, perhaps you should.”
“And perhaps you would be wise to beware your indiscipline.”
Beniago bowed again. “I only wish to inform, Archmage.”
“Yes, of course,” said Gromph, and he looked back to Closeguard Isle and beyond, and began stroking his chin and making small humming sounds, as if considering something.
“Catti-brie,” he said. “Pretty Catti-brie.” He turned back to Beniago, his face now bright. “I had not thought of her in those terms, High Captain. But now perhaps I shall. Perhaps it will be worth my time to bed her, just to witness Jarlaxle’s reaction.”
“And Drizzt’s?” Beniago managed to say, and his wince gave Gromph great pleasure, confirming that he had put the fool on his heels.