Silverfall: Stories of the Seven Sisters

drow arm. Through the contact she said silently into Qilue's mind, I know whose cellar this is. Auvrarn Labraster, recently risen to become one of Waterdeep's most ''prominent' merchants.

He would be, of course, Qilue replied in the same silent, intimate way. Sister, I simply must get back to my own work. Serving two goddesses must be the hard shy;est trail in all Faerun, I often think.

I don't doubt that. I'll take over from here, Laeral replied, and kissed her sister with a tenderness that surprised them both. As they clung to each other in an embrace that neither of them wanted to end, taking simple pleasure in merely holding each other tight, the Lady Mage added, with a cold resolve that Qilue could feel through the places where their bare skin touched, and I know just where to start.

'My lady,' her seneschal said with a grave flourish of his silver-handled rod of office, 'you have a visitor.'

Mrilla Malsander looked up from the latest installment of The Silk Mask Saga with barely concealed exaspera shy;tion. Her servants seemed determined to interrupt her, time after time, in her one sacred, daily indulgence-reading a certain series of cheap, street corner chapbooks. The endless adventures of the amorous Lady Elradra, recently a slave and from birth (secretly) the Lost Princess of Cormyr, struggles in the salons and palaces of rich and sinister Sembian merchants to gain allies and the gold she needs to one day reclaim her kingdom. These melodramas were accompanied, in Mrilla's case, by warm sugared milk and pieces of expensive Shou ginger dipped in even more expensive Maztican chocolate.

She gave the seneschal her best glare, but his eyes were fixed firmly on the eagle Malsander crest that adorned the crown of her high-backed chair, and his stance and bearing were beyond reproach.

Gods blast the man down! She was theirs the rest of every day, until dusk took her out to the revels, but this one hour or so of every morning, as she raced through Elradra's latest exploits, sighed, then read the spiciest bits aloud to herself, savoring them with delicious shudders and thrills, was hers, and hers alone. It was too much, by all the gods! It was just too much!

She would not hurry. No.

Mrilla set down the chapbook, discreetly purchased on a corner only hours before, and carefully concealed it beneath a grand copy of the Malsander family genealogy that was as thick as her thigh, and took all of her strength to lift. She sat back to study its appear shy;ance, nodded her satisfaction, then took up her milk and drained it in one long swallow, not caring if stable shy;men did such things in taverns she would never deign to visit. Wiping the mustache she knew was beginning to take firm hold of her upper lip, Mrilla set the plate of ginger pieces on the table that nestled half seen beneath the spreading arm of her chair. She slid it as far out of sight as possible, and snapped, 'Well, Jalarn? This visitor is important enough to interrupt me at my reading, but not important enough to have a name?'

The seneschal told the carved eagle, 'She gave her name as Lady Sylull Cassalanter, my lady. I conducted her into the Fleet, my lady, where she awaits your pleasure.'

Mrilla Malsander's eyes opened wide, and her mouth dropped open even wider. Lady Cassalanter? Lady Cassalanter?

The Dame In White, known less respectfully as 'the Dame with the Cane,' was one of the oldest and most respected of Waterdhavian nobles. She was reclusive due to her failing bones and rigid standards of respectability. This was a woman who was said to regard unmarried ladies dancing at revels as doing something almost as sinful as the woman who, for a handful of coins, might take several partners at once up her bedchamber stairs in Dock Ward.

Not that Mrilla Malsander knew about such things!

Oh, no. .

Mrilla felt the warmth on her forehead and cheeks that she knew meant she was blushing crimson to the carefully shaven and powdered tip of her chin. The Fleet Parlor was the best of her receiving rooms, crowded with gold and hung with large and colorful portraits of the ships that had enriched the Malsanders racing through stormy-but vividly sunlit-seas, but still. .

'Jalarn,' she said icily, 'we do not keep the heads of Waterdeep's noble families waiting in our parlors. Apol shy;ogize deeply to her for the wait-abjectly, mind; none of your mockery! — and conduct her straight to me, here. Then you may withdraw, listening not behind the key shy;hole, but by the board at the doors, for me to summon you by means of the bell.'

The seneschal bowed deeply-to the eagle carved at her father's orders rather than to her, Mrilla noted with fresh irritation-and withdrew. The moment the door closed behind him, she plunged into a whirlwind of throat clearing, nose picking, hair teasing, and straight shy;ening of throat lace and collar.

She'd safely settled herself back into her chair and assumed an easy, graceful smile by the time the door opened again. The seneschal struck its brass boom panel, and announced the guest.

Mrilla rose graciously. 'Lady Cassalanter,' she sim shy;pered. 'So good of you to come. My humble home is unworthy to receive such grace.'

The powdered, jowled figure in white silk blinked at her, nodded thanks and dismissal to the seneschal, and started forward, stooped over a cane that glit shy;tered from top to bottom with rare and precious gems from the farthest realms of Faerun. She bore down-slowly-on Mrilla Malsander, who found herself ensnared by piercing dark eyes divided by a nose as sharp and as hooked as a vulture's beak, but said not a word until the door boomed closed behind her.

Then she barked, 'Malsander! I've words for you. Sit!'

Mrilla gaped at the woman.

The Lady Cassalanter lifted one white, bristling brow. 'Sit down, woman! You look like an actress pre shy;tending to be a noblewoman, dithering back and forth there. This is your house. Sit and be at ease.'

'I–I-' There were few folk in Waterdeep who could claim to have witnessed Mrilla Malsander at a loss for words-and she was proud of that-but Lady Cassalanter could now claim to be one of them.

Mrilla backed wildly to the nearest chair and sat down on its edge, straining to keep bolt upright and to remember how best to pose her hands-crossed but not clasped, in her lap, yes, that was it-and her legs-crossed at the ankles? Left together with knees bent and toes turned to one side? Drawn back under her-no, that was for young girls. Oh, gods!

Lady Sylull Cassalanter marched right past Mrilla and seated herself in Mrilla's own high-backed chair; the one placed to dominate the room. She crossed wrinkled hands over the massive sculpted silver rose that sur shy;mounted her jeweled cane, parked its encrusted length upright between her knees, and leaned forward to bark, 'Oh, you ape nobility very cleverly, girl, and don't think your ambitions haven't been noticed. 'Lady Malsander' is what you dream of-don't attempt to deny it! — and scheme toward; none too cleverly, I might add.'

The gaze fixed upon Mrilla became severe, then soft shy;ened. Its owner assumed a slightly less curt tone-a tone that someone who knew Sylull Cassalanter rather better than Mrilla did would have interpreted as 'tenderness.'

'You might be interested to know that some of us have admired your bold spirit, your hunger to become one of us, and your deftly underhanded business meth shy;ods. We have almost taken the step of petitioning the lords to ennoble House Malsander.' The aged noble shy;woman lowered her voice and added in a growl, 'I say almost, girl.'

'Ah-y-yes?' Mrilla replied intelligently.

'There are just three things standing in your way,' the Dame In White explained gruffly. 'The first and foremost is your tightfistedness-gods, girl, you finally get someone noble into the house and you can't even stir yourself to offer even the tiniest glass of whatever wretched stuff you fondly believe to be 'high class' wine, or some of those chocolates you've tried to hide down there.'

'Oh!' Mrilla cried, blushing bright crimson, 'Ah-uh-please, help yourself. I'll ring for some wine. I-'

'Whatever bottle lurks in that hollow book you just glanced at will do just fine,' Lady Cassalanter said in dry tones. 'Don't fluster yourself, girl.'

She watched Mrilla scurry to the bookshelf. Once her hostess had turned away to reach down the book,