Downshadow

were below, at the revel?

Fayne knocked gently, and a womanly voice came from within. 'Who calls?'

Then Fayne remembered, and swore mutely. She had almost forgotten-dressed in these ridiculous clothes-a face to go with the attire.

She ripped off her fox mask and passed her wand over her body, head to toe. She shrank herself thinner and a little shorter, her face slimming and sharpening, and she became the elf to whom this outfit belonged-the one Fayne remembered in her nightmares.

Fayne always committed herself fully, throwing herself into danger with wild abandon.

The door opened, and Lorien peered out, blinking in genuine surprise. 'Lady Ilira?'

Fayne gave her a confident wink, then she leaped into Lorien's arms. She kicked the door closed as they staggered inside.

TWENTY-ONE

It was a trick,' Kalen said as Ilira led him toward the dancers. 'What you told her.' 'Whar, saer?'

'It was borh true and false,' Kalen said. 'Your face is covered, and I couldn't tell from your voice or your eyes, but I saw it in your throat. You lied, in parr, and rold true in another.'

'How inrriguing, good Sir Shadow.' Lady Ilira looked at him with some interest. 'When you become more… familiar with moon elves such as myself, you will note that our ears tell lies more clearly than anything else.'

Kalen's heart beat a little faster at the thought of becoming familiar with this woman. 'Will you solve the mystery, then?'

'I did lose my dearest friend long ago,' she said. 'But I do not dress in black for him.'

'A half-truth, shrouded in lie.' Surprisingly, he could feet her hand-very warm-in his.

'Like a paladin shrouded in night,' she said. 'Light hidden in twilight, aye?'

A song was ending-a gentle Tethyrian melody, with decorous dancing to match. Kalen knew styles of music- he had once romanced a traveling bard of Cormyr-but dancing was quite beyond him. He hoped he did not disappoint the graceful elf.

As though she read his thoughts, she smiled again. 'Never fear, saer-I shall teach you.'

Lady Ilira released his hand-he felt the loss of her touch keenlyand presented herself before him. She offered an elegant, deep bow, which Kalen returned.

They waited for the applause to die down and for the lordlings to select new partners. Most of this was according to rote, already long established. Many envious glances fell on Kalen and Lady Ilira, who was clearly one of the most beautiful and graceful ladies in the ballroom. In particular, one sour-faced elf lord was glaring at him. That one wore a long false beard and black robes, making him look like a dark sorcerer. Gloves of deep red velvet gleamed, and Kalen could see his fingers tapping impatiently. Kalen felt unsettled.

'Ruldrin Sandhor,' she said. 'I imagine he does not like to see me dance with a commoner. But I dance with whom I wish-I always have.'

Kalen smiled wryly. 'How did you know I was not noble, lady?' he asked.

'The way I know / am not.' She chuckled. 'It is obvious.'

'Your husband does not make you noble?' Kalen offered. 'Lord Sandhor, mayhap?'

'Oh, good saer.' She showed him that she wore no rings over her gloves. 'No husband.'

Then she took his hands and placed his right on her hip and kept his left hand in her right. 'You are fortunate,' she said. 'As a man, the dance is easier.'

The bards played the first few strains of what sounded like a vigorous refrain, then paused to give the dancers a chance to pair off in preparation.

With her left hand on Kalen's shoulder, Lady Ilira reached up for his brow, and his heart leaped at the thought that she might remove his helm and kiss him-but her hand only touched his mask. For some reason, he thought of Fayne, and wondered where she might be.

'Who are you thinking of, I wonder?' she asked as they bowed to one another.

That snapped him back to the ball. 'Ah, no one…' Kalen floundered.

'Fear not-I am not jealous,' Ilira said. 'Your face is hidden, but I can see your eyes well enough.' She grinned mischievously. 'Keep your secrets as you will.'

Her exotic eyes-pure metallic gold without iris or pupil- were unreadable, but he sensed her wisdom-and playfulness. 'Indeed, lady.'

They danced. The steps were foreign, as he'd feared, but not difficult. He credited his movements to the superior skill of Lady Ilira, who was without a doubt the finest dancer he could have imagined. She flowed through the movements, letting her skirts and sleeves trail like wings as though she were flying. Her shadow seemed to dance independently of her, with the same movements but in different directions, but Kalen reasoned rhat was a trick of the light.

After the first tune, there was applause and the dancers bowed. He seized the opportunity to remove his gloves and sruff them in his belt. Hands shifted and partners moved, but Lady Ilira seized Kalen's arm and held him steady, her eyes like yellow diamonds binding him in place.

With more confidence than the first time, he laid his bare fingers on her hip. Without his gloves, he tried and failed to feel the silk of her gown; all he could feel was the heat of her flesh beneath. Maybe he was touching her too hard-he had no way of knowing-or maybe she was pleased. Regardless, her whole body reacted to his touch, sending tingles up his arm. She was like an immortal creature-not at all human or even elf. A spirit.

They danced again-this time to a Sword Coast tune more forgiving of missreps.

'What was it you meant, touching Lady Roaringhorn?' Kalen asked.

'My good knight, your mind wanders Downshadow, to think of me touching Talantress.'

Kalen foughr to keep the heat out of his cheeks. 'I mean about her 'precious time.' '

'I happen to have heard of a tiny enchantment.' She looked at him knowingly. 'Secrets are coin, saer- inrerested in buying one?'

Kalen smirked. 'If I'm to keep mine, you'll keep yours.'

She nodded serenely.

The minstrels began another song-this one much faster-and rather rhan let him go, Lady Ilira grasped Kalen harder. It was' a Calishite rhythm, he realized-a dance of passion and heat, more akin to Ioveplay than innocent dance. Watch horns blared in his mind, and he repeated to himself that he could not dance, but his feet didn't listen, and his hands-well. x He'd thought her skilled before, but now-with such a tempestuous dance-Lady Ilira was wonderful. Her leg wrapped around his, bringing heat into his cheeks, and she turned around him so gracefully, so expertly, that he might have thought them destined to dance together. He saw her eyes flash; she couldn't have failed to note the steel strapped to the insides of his thighs.

Then she whirled up, pressing herself hard against him, arms around his neck, lips almost against his ear. He felt the whole of her, and he tingled.

The dance lulled, allowing for folk to stand.

'Well, good saer,' she whispered in his ear. 'You're full of hidden dangers.'

Kalen didn't flinch. 'Care to search them out?' he whispered back.

She pressed her lips to the mask of his helm: kissing the shadow, not the man. Then she said-aloud for the benefit of the dancers nearby, 'Keep your dagger in your breeches, goodsir.'

Kalen couldn't help but smile.

The dance built to a furious tempo that he could hardly follow. He felt more and more as though he were merely there to allow Lady Ilira to show herself, and show herself she did. All eyes in the hall fell upon her, and all but the most vigorous dancers stopped to watch.

Kalen wondered about the runes tattooed across her collarbone. What did they mean? He realized they were Dethek, the script of dwarves. Why would an elf wear dwarven runes?

Ilira whirled and met him once more, and he caught her in a fierce embrace. They spun together once, twice-then he held her bent low like a swooned woman as the song ended. Their eyes met, and she smirked at him-mysterious, alluring, dangerous.