"You had it planned beforehand, did you not?" he said accusingly. "You would have given us no choice."
Jhessail shook her head. "No… if you had refused, Illistyl and I would have shared this morningfeast. I swear this, by holy Mystra." She grinned suddenly. "Elminster will tell you soon enough," she teased, "never force by magic anything you can trick a man to do for you. But know, please, that we will not force you to act as only we desire-ever. You can still change your minds; only tell us, please, so we can best arrange to guard you."
She got up, kissed them both fondly on their foreheads, and said, "Still, a whole day to spend together in bed-it's not something I'd pass up." She went to the door, where Illistyl had already gone, and said softly, "Fare you both well until tonight. We shall call for you then. Worry not about the testing; you are yourselves, and the whole affair is simply to know what that is, not change you. Illistyl and I have been tested by Elminster, when I came to the dale, and when she came to her powers. There is a guard outside; call if you need me." She went out slowly; between her feet a fast and silent smoky gray cat slipped in before the door closed, winked at her with Illistyl's eyes, and darted unseen under the bed.
The door closed and they were alone. "Well, my lord?" Shandril teased Narm challengingly. He grinned and reached for the tray deliberately.
"Morningfeast first, I'd say," he announced, and uncovered spiced eggs, scrambled with chopped tomatoes and onions, fried bread, slices of black sausage as large across as his hand, and steaming bowls of onion soup. "Holy Mystra," he said in awe. "I've had less than this for evenfeast at some inns!"
"Mourngrym told me yestereve," Shandril replied, reaching for the soup, "that in a prosperous dale, when one can, there is no better rule for a happy life than, 'Before all, eat well'."
"No disagreement here," Narm mumbled around his fork. "This is a fair place, indeed-at least, what we've seen thus far."
"Yes, it is," Shandril replied briefly, suddenly ravenous.
They ate in companionable silence for a time. Unseen, a long, slim centipede crawled in a tiny gap in the windowframe, and cautiously descended to the floor. Once there, it shifted and blurred and was suddenly a rat. It darted sleekly across the rugs and under the bed-and froze as it saw the wide-eyed cat watching it steadily, very near. The two stared at each other for a moment, and then the rat shifted and became a crouched cat just slightly larger than Illistyl, and they sat and stared at each other again.
Above, Narm pushed away his plate with a sigh of contentment, and looked at Shandril lovingly for a long time. "Well, my lady," he said slowly, "we still know only a little about each other. Will you trade life stories with me?"
Shandril regarded him with thoughtful eyes and nodded. "Yes, so long as you believe me when I say I know little enough about my own heritage."
"Oh? Is that why you were so upset when Elminster asked last night?"
"Yes. I… I have never known who my parents were. As far back as memory goes, I have lived at The Rising Moon. Gorstag, the innkeeper there-you saw him, that night; it was he who asked for the company's peace, and stopped the knife being thrown at old Ghondarrath-he was like a father to me. I never knew a time before the inn was his, and never saw the rest of Deepingdale. I still have not. I wanted to-to know adventure, so I ran away with the Company of the Bright Spear, who were there the night you were-and that is truly all there is to tell."
"How came you to Myth Drannor?" (Underneath the bed, both cats cocked an ear, but kept their eyes firmly on each other.)
"I know not-some magic or other. I read a word written on a bone, and was trans-tel-what do you call it?"
"Teleported," Narm said eagerly. "Like Elminster did, to fetch the healing potions for Lanseril."
Shandril nodded. "I was teleported to a dark place with another teleport-door in it, and a gargoyle that chased me. I was carried to Myth Drannor. I wandered about in the ruins for a long time, and then I was caught by that lady mage-Symgharyl Maruel. You saw me then." (More interest from beneath the bed. Both cats looked up, intently.) "How, if you grew up only in the inn, do you know so much of life, and of Faerun?" Narm asked curiously.
"In truth, I know little," Shandril said with an embarrassed little laugh. "What I do know, I heard from tales told in the taproom nights, by far travelers and the old veterans of the dale. You heard one, at least, I think. Splendid tales they were, too…"
"Could Gorstag be your father?" (Tense interest, beneath the bed.)
Shandril stared at Narm, her face frozen upon the edge of a laugh, and then said, "No, I think not, although I am not as sure now as I was before you said that. We are not at all alike in face or speech, and he always seemed too old… but he could be, you know." She sat a moment in silence. "I think I'd like Gorstag to be my father," she said slowly. Time passed again. "But I don't think he is."
"Why did you never see Deepingdale? Did Gorstag keep you locked up?"
"No! It was just… there was always work. The cook would forbid me to do some things, and the older girls and chamber-ladies would forbid me others. Gorstag said that outside the inn and the woods just behind it, the wide world-even Highmoon-was no place for a young girl, alone. I was no one's special friend, except his, and I was not big or strong enough to fetch and carry as much as the older girls, so I was never taken along on any errands." She shrugged. "And so the days passed."
"What did you do in the inn?" Narm asked quietly.
"Oh, most anything. The chopping and washing and cleaning in the kitchen mostly, and fetching water, and cleaning the tables and floors in the taproom, and emptying the chamber pots, and lighting the hall-candles and the lamps in the rooms, and cleaning rooms, and helping wash the bedding. There are many little tasks in the running of the inn, too, things seldom done, like repainting the signboard or redaubing the chimneys, and I helped with those. It was mainly the kitchen, though."
"And they worked you like a slave all those years?" Narm burst out angrily. "For what? You took no coin with you when you joined the company! Were you not even paid?"
Shandril looked at him in shock. "I-no, not a single coin," she said, "but-"
Narm got up, furious, and paced about the room. "You were treated little better than a slave!"
"No, I was fed, and given clothes, and-"
"So is a jester; so is a mule, if you count its livery! Before the gods, you were done ill!"
Shandril stared at him as he raged, and suddenly snapped, "Enough! You were not there and cannot know the right of it! Oh, yes, I got sick of the drudgery, and ran… and left my only friends-Gorstag, and Lureene, too-and I sometimes wish I had not, and I hated Korvan, but… but-" Her face twisted suddenly and she turned away. Narm stared at her back in astonished silence.
He opened his mouth to speak, not knowing what to say, but Shandril said coldly and clearly, as she turned about to face him, "I was happy at The Rising Moon, and I do not think Gorstag did me any ill. Nor should you judge him. But I would not quarrel with you."
Narm looked at her. "I would not quarrel with you, my lady. Ever." He looked away, then, and Shandril saw how white he was, and that his hands were trembling. She felt suddenly ashamed and abruptly turned aside as she felt her face grow hot. She got up hastily and walked toward the door. (Beneath the bed, two silent cats, who had watched all this, looked at each other and almost smiled.)
When she turned, Narm was watching her, and the look in his eyes made the last of Shandrils anger melt away into regret. She hurried back to him. "Oh, Narm," she said despairingly, and his arms tightened about her.
"I am sorry, lady," he whispered, head against hers. "I did not mean to upset you, or darken Gorstag's good name. I–I lost my temper…"