"Then hear these: An elf lord of Evermeet might rule nothing more than a sprawling, complex, and largely unsavory business empire."
Ezriel regarded him. "Yet you rule it, do you not? At the heart, is this not much the same?"
"Hardly!"
"Whyever not?"
Her quiet question left Elaith blinking. Why indeed? He'd been wont to regard the City of Splendors-such ignorant arrogance in these human names-as a rich treasure chest to plunder, its folk mere minions and victims-in-waiting. He followed city laws when it was convenient to do so and protected Waterdeep only when his interests were at stake.
Why, then, did his absence from Waterdeep during the sahuagin attack grate at him so?
If Evermeet were attacked, he'd empty his vast caches of wealth and magic to aid her. He'd gladly die in her defense, as befitted a former captain of King Zaor's guard, but Waterdeep wasn't Evermeet. He had dwellings here-more than a few-but it was not, and never would be, home.
But then, how congenial had he ever found his family holdings? The Craulnober lands held little charm for him. He'd never bothered to rebuild the ancestral keep, firestruck when he was a babe in arms. Queen Amlaruil had taken him in as a ward of the court, raising him among her own children. Where Amlaruil was, where Amnestria once had been-that was the only home Elaith's heart knew, and he looked to find no other.
Yet he ruled the Craulnober lands, did he not? To this day, he met with his steward each solstice to discuss matters of import to the simple folk who farmed and hunted northernmost Evermeet, and fished the waters about the outer isles. He did these things not from any deep love of those wild places, but because he owed a duty to his ancestral lands and the folk who dwelt there. His folk.
How was Waterdeep any different? He'd inherited here no lands or titles but was widely acknowledged as a crime lord of considerable power and influence. Could this human cesspool rightfully expect him to assume a lord's responsibilities and obligations to the city he'd plundered for so long?
"Lord Craulnober?" Ezriel's voice shattered his thinking.
"To whom to you report?" he asked briskly.
"I'm now a Hawkwinter hiresword."
"No fitting position for a swordmaiden of Evermeet. I'll settle things with Lord Hawkwinter and see you more suitably employed-in one of my legitimate enterprises."
Green eyes glowed with excitement. "Yes, I would see my agreement with the Hawkwinters concluded with honor. Beyond that, I care little for human laws."
"Lack of regard for human laws? Shocking!" Elaith took her hand again and tucked it companionably under his arm. "Walk with me, and tell me more."
Morning sun was stealing into the kitchen as Naoni wiped the last mug dry, and Faendra danced merrily into the room, sparkling-fresh despite her sleepless night.
She rolled her eyes. "Gennior finally left. I'm not entirely certain, but he might think we're betrothed."
"If so, Father will beat the notion out of him before highsun," Naoni said calmly. "What've you learned?"
Faendra sat on a crate and smoothed her grey skirt. "Father hired no guards. I doubt he had one of his men watch us, either, as none of them gossiped or bragged about it."
"So you spent the better part of the night charming a gluemaker's apprentice for nothing?"
"Not exactly," Faendra said, examining her fingernails with a smug little smile. "Gennior's cousin serves at Hawkwinter Hall. It seems Lord Taeros hired a guard on behalf of his friend Korvaun Helmfast, who put up the coin for it."
Naoni felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her lightheaded and dizzy. "He's paying to have me… us watched?"
"Protected, more likely."
"I've no desire for his money, nor need of his protection," Naoni whispered, so enraged she was scarcely aware she was clenching her fists, "and I shall tell him so… as soon as I change into something more suitable for an audience with nobility."
She stalked off, pretending she didn't hear Faen calling teasingly after her, "Or to cleave closer to the truth: As soon as you change into a more fetching gown!"
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The scream shattered Lark's dreams into bright shards.
As they fell past, forgotten, she found herself awake, bolt upright in bed, heart pounding.
A second shriek brought remembrance, fury, and her wits, all at once. Her landlady's new rooster, a large, handsome bird with pure white feathers and a keening crow piercing enough to make a banshee rise up and applaud, was an early riser with no respect for hard-working lasses who'd fallen into bed only two or three bells ago. "Blast it all to the Abyss and back!" Lark swore, pounding the bed with both fists. "Bugger that wretched fowl on a leeward run!"
She went on in this vein for some time, until thumping on the wall told her she'd awakened-and possibly offended-the sailor next door.
Muttering dire threats of chicken stew, Lark tossed aside her covers and stumbled to the window. If the sun had risen, its rays had yet to reach the small fenced yard behind her rooming house. A streetlamp, visible over the low roof of the stable next door, sparked and guttered as the last of the night's oil burned dry.
No sense burrowing back into the warmth; she was needed at the Dyres' by sunrise. Slamming and bolting her shutters, Lark fumbled for the flint to light her current candle-stub.
Its feeble circle of light reached all of her walls; Lark's room was barely large enough for its narrow cot and tiny table. A chest under the bed held her smallclothes and ribbons, and her two changes of clothing hung from hooks on the wall. Her carefully hoarded coins were in the vault in the Warrens, and they'd stay there until she'd earned enough to buy free of this place. This life.
Pouring water into her chipped washbasin, Lark dipped in a scrap of linen to wash. Out of long habit, she lingered over the mark of indenture on her upper arm, scrubbing it vigorously though she'd learned as a child that nothing she could do would make it go away. Someday she'd have coin enough for magic to remove the brand, but first must come her own shop and her own rooms… and before that, this day's work ahead.
She dressed swiftly, as the cock crowed several times more. She sent dark thoughts its way as she set off through the swiftly awakening streets.
To her surprise, Faendra met her at the kitchen door, still wearing her gray mourning gown. In silence she tilted her head meaningfully in the direction of her sister.
Naoni was sitting on the high kitchen stool, lacing her best slippers with sharp, impatient movements. Despite the early hour, she wore a fine pale green gown.
She looked up, her eyes bright as angry stars. "I'm glad you're early. If you'll help Faendra press the cheese, we'll change the mattress straw when I return."
Lark glanced at the younger Dyre sister, eyebrow crooked quizzically. Faendra rolled her eyes and towed Lark into the buttery. "It's about the man who's following us," she whispered.
"There's no need to do aught," Lark murmured, seeing again Elaith Craulnober speaking his promise. "He'll bother us no more."
"Good, but 'tis only one side of the coin. 'Twas Lord Helmfast hired the guard!"
"Ah." Lark's smile was less than nice. "Such a generous gift, and given with no thought of repayment."
"Generous indeed," Faen agreed, ignoring Lark's biting tone, "but like you, Naoni always thinks the worst of wealthy men. She assumes he's buying, not giving, and she's determined to let him know she's not for sale at this price or any other."
"Good for her. Better yet, I'll carry that message and save her the wear on her fine shoes and good name."
Faendra whispered in Lark's ear, "And take away her excuse to visit Korvaun Helmfast?"
Lark blinked. "Ye gods! Thus blows the wind?"
"Aye. She'll deny it, of course. Yet I've-"