'Me!' Lady Wildfire hissed.
All the while, Kalen watched as Araezra wandered toward them. He couldn't get away, not with the ladies fighting over him. He was trapped.
'You should spare yon knight, ladies,' said a gentle voice behind them.
The soft and alluring voice-strangely familiar-froze him in place like a statue.
'Ilira!' Wildfire's eyes widened, and she curtsied deeply. Her beautiful face broke into a genuine smile. 'So good to see you.'
'Lady Nathalan.' Talantress gave her a false smile. 'We did not ask your opinion.' Her tone was that of a noble addressing a lesser-an upsrart merchant, whose only honor lay in coin.
'Apologies, young Lady Roaringhorn. I only meant to warn of knights who wear gray and walk lonely roads.' A velvet-gloved hand touched Kalen's elbow. 'Like this one.'
Kalen turned. Lady Ilira-the eladrin he'd seen dancing with Lorien-stood just to his shoulder, but her presence loomed greater than her size. Perhaps it was the weight of years-like all elves, she wore a timelessness about her that defied any attempt to place her age. Her face hid behind a velvet half-mask that revealed only her cheeks and thin lips.
Her pupil-less eyes gleamed bright and golden like those of a wolf, with all the tempestuous hunger to match. Those eyes had seen centuries of pain and joy, Kalen thought. Wisdom lurked there, and a sort of sadness that chilled his heart and shivered his knees.
Ilira wore a seamless low-cut black gown that left her shoulders and throat bare but otherwise covered every inch of her body, highlighting and enhancing her skin. Her midnight hair was bound in an elaborate bun at the back of her head. She wore what he thought was a wide black necklace that broke the smooth expanse of her breast. He realized quickly that it was not jewelry-she wore naught of that but a star sapphire pendant looped around her left wrist-but rather a series of black runes inked in her flesh, which gleamed as though alive.
She had asked him a question, Kalt n realized. He also realized he'd been staring at her chest, and his face flushed. Not for the first time, he thanked the gods for his full helm.
'Is this not so, Sir Shadow?' Ilira asked again.
Why was her cool, lovely voice so damned familiar? Where did he know it from?
'It is,' Kalen said, because he could say nothing else.
Lady Wildfire laughed and clapped her hands, delighted to see Lady Ilira proven right. Talantress scowled on Kalen's other side. 'Spare us your poetry, coin-pincher,' she spat. 'I'm taking him to dance nowunless you plan to steal him yourself?' She sneered at Lady Ilira. Her voice might have been that of a serpent. 'But surely you wouldn't be interested-surely you'd not sully yourself with us mere humans.'
Ilira smiled and released Kalen's arm, the better to focus on the drow-glamoured girl.
'If I were you, Talantress Roaringhorn,' Ilira said, 'I should not fight battles that cannot be won-particularly over those whose worth is not measured in noble blood.' She winked at Kalen.
'You mean-he's not noble?' Talantress peered down her nose. 'How unwashed.'
'Tala.' Ilira laid a gloved hand on her arm. 'Is not your precious mm sun i he mi time better spent finding a suitable mate for resting Wixt your nethers? Aye, I believe your time grows short.' The emphasis she put on the words struck Kalen, but he hadn't the least idea what she meant.
By the way her face turned white as fresh cream-despite the glamour that painted her skin black-Talantress certainly did. Her lip trembled and she gazed at Ilira in shock before she stumbled away. Several lordlings turned to gawk as she scrambled ungracefully through the throng-and thus did those men earn slaps or harsh words from their feminine companions.
Kalen looked back to the ladies, who shared a smug smile. 'I cannor dance,' he said.
'That hardly matters, saer, if the Lady Ilira partners you.' Wildfire laughed. Then she turned her wicked smile on the elf. 'If she beats me, of course.'
'Oh?' Ilira turned to the girl and raised one eyebrow.
'What boots it?' Wildfire put her hands on her hips and set her stance. 'I love common men as well as nobles.' She smirked at Ilira. 'I shall fight you for him! Choose the game.'
'Very well.' Ilira nodded serenely. 'You are a brave and bold student, Alondra,' she said. 'But let us see how good a student you are. You will tell me whether I speak a lie or the truth, and if you are right, he is all yours.' She winked at Kalen. 'Gods help him.'
Wildfire straightened her shoulders. 'I accept!'
Ilira closed her eyes and breathed gently. Serenity fell in that moment, and the dancers and gossipers and servants around them grew hushed and seemed far away.
The elf opened her eyes again, and they seemed wet. 'I wear this black in mourning,' she said. 'For my dearest friend, who was taken from me long ago through my own cowardice.'
Wildfire looked positively stunned, as though Ilira had smitten her with a mighty blow.
'Oh, my lady,' she said. 'I'm so sorry-I did not know…'
Ilira looked away. 'It seems you believed me,' she said. 'Aye?'
Wildfire nodded solemnly, and Kalen saw tears in her eyes. The rest of her face revealed nothing though, and he marveled at what must be self-discipline like iron. Like Araezra.
Ilira smiled. 'What a pity.' With that, she led Kalen toward the center of the dancers.
'What?' Wildfire colored red to the base of her silvered hair. 'What?'
But they were safely protected from any fury she might have wrought, blocked by a living wall of nobility clad in the finest costumes and brightest colors coin or magic could buy. And on Lady Ilira's arm, Kalen could see no one else.
It completely escaped him, moreover, that a dance with her might attract exactly the sort of attention he didn't want.
'Olive Ruskettle and…' the herald looked at Fayne, who just smiled. 'Escort.'
Arm in arm, Cellica and Fayne looked out into the courtyard full of revelers and song. The dancing-the music- the colors-the gaiety! Cellica, in a word, loved a.
'I'm so glad you came by an invitation,' the halfling said. 'Funny you didn't dress as anyone in particular, though. I was sure-'
'Pay it naught,' Fayne said, her eye drawn to the dancers in the courtyard. She stiffened, as though she saw someone familiar.
'What?' Cellica asked, straining to see, but everyone was too tall. 'Who is it?'
'No one,' Fayne said. 'No one of any consequence.'
'One moment.' Fayne let go of Celiica's arm and skipped away through a mass of nobles-roaring drunk and dressed as fur-draped Uthgardt barbarians.
'What? Wait!' the halfling cried. 'Fayne!'
But Fayne was gone, leaving Cellica lost in a forest of revelers.
With a harrumph, she started looking for Kalen or Myrin.
Not bothering with the servants' stairs, Fayne made her way immediately to the grand staircase that led to the balcony on the second floor. There she'd find the rooms of worship and splendor-where her mark waited, preparing for her dance at midnight.
On the way, she nestled something amongst the statues of naked dancers that flanked the stairs. The item was a small box her patron had given her-a portable spelltrap-into which she had placed an enchantment of her own, one of her most powerful. The item gave off only a faint aura when inactive, and with a courtyard full of woven spells and the temple wards, no one would notice until it was tripped. And by then, enough chaos would be caused.
Two jacks, descending the stairs hand in hand, looked at her askance, but she just nodded. 'Sune smile upon you,' she said.
They replied in kind and joined the throng.
Fayne, managing to keep herself from giggling like a clever child, strung the privacy rope between the statues' hands and nodded to the watchmen, who smiled indulgently and knowingly. Just a reveler off to some tryst.
Oh, yes, fools-oh, yes.
Fayne skipped up toward Lorien Dawnbringer's chamber. No guards milled about-why would they, when all
