Exasperation edged onto her face. "Would it have helped if I had spoken of this at once?"
"Probably not," he admitted. He hesitated for a mo shy;ment as he sifted through the jumble of his emotions. "Forgive me. I desired change, and over the past two days the fates seem hell-bent on granting this wish. I just learned that there is elven blood in my family, cour shy;tesy of our dear archmage. This was no small revelation and means more to me than I can begin to express, but as I consider these new developments, I fear that the wine is too well watered."
Comprehension edged into her eyes, then disbelief. "Do I hear you correctly? You fear comparison with an elf?"
"That is putting it rather baldly," he said, wincing a bit at how foolish that made him sound. "Let me try to do a little better. I know how elves regard the half-elven. I have known you for more than six years and have seen how this pained you. In one part of my heart, I am truly happy that you have found the acceptance and community that you sought among the elven folk, but like most lovers, I have a certain selfish interest in this."
He sighed. "Therein lies the dilemma. Knowing you as I do, I wonder if you can be truly happy with a human man."
Arilyn was long in answering. She rose and began to prowl about the room, as if action was required to spur thought. "Happiness," she said slowly. "I have heard many people speak this word, and never once did I understand what they meant. Nor did they, I suspect. Notions of endless peace and bliss and ease, or some such."
His lips quirked in a faint smile. "You speak as if you were describing one of the lower reaches of the Abyss."
"I'm a warrior," she stated simply. "My mother put a wooden sword in my hand as soon as I could stand, and steel not long after. I never thought in terms of ease and comfort and so forth. But this much I know: I would rather fight with you than any other."
He regarded her for a long moment. "With me, or along side me?"
A smile rippled across her lips. "Both, I suppose. Will that content you?"
He took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the delicate white fingers as he ran the pad of his thumb over the warrior's calluses on her palm. "That strikes me as a better measure of happiness than any man-or elf, for that matter-has right to expect!"
* * * * *
Their first fight was not long in coming. They hailed another carriage, and all the way to the Eltorchul manor, Arilyn argued against the course Danilo seemed deter shy;mined to follow. A sudden squall, common during the changing season, swept in from the sea as they rolled westward. The pounding of rain and the grumbling thunder kept counterpoint to their argument.
"Oth Eltorchul is dead," she stated finally. "His spirit has gone to whatever afterlife his days have earned. Who are you to disturb that?"
"Who am I to make such a decision, one way or another?" he retorted. "That belongs to the Eltorchul family. At any rate, they must be told of their kinsman's fate."
She cast a dark look at the box Danilo had placed on the carriage floor between them. "Is that how you intend to make this announcement? Present them with that thing?"
"Credit me with some small measure of sense! Cer shy;tainly you must admit that once the tale is told, they have every right to this box. Even if they do not elect to seek resurrection, they will want to inter Oth's remains. The Eltorchul family has a tomb in the City of the Dead-quite an impressive one, I hear: a dimensional door, leading into their private catacombs. I suppose they'd need it," he mused. "They are a large family, with a rather high rate of tragedy. A hazard, I suppose, of being in the business of magical research and mage schooling. Now that I think of it, some of my early tutors had rather close calls. Did I ever tell you about the time Athol's beard caught fire from the lighted ink I created?"
She silenced him with a glare, then turned to regard the passing city. The Eltorchul family, like many of Waterdeep's nobility, had more than one prop shy;erty in the city and probably several outside the city walls. Their hired carriage took them through the Sea Ward, the wealthiest and most sought after district of the city.
Arilyn seldom had reason to come here, and she carefully marked the byways and buildings in her mind. The streets were broad and paved with smooth, dressed stone. Lining them were tall walls, behind which lay lavish estates or temple complexes. Towers rose against the clouds. Many were so fanciful in design that they could only have been contrived and sustained by magic. Turrets, balconies, and gables decked the heights. Gar shy;goyles kept stony-eyed watch over the city. Bright ban shy;ners whipped about in the driving rain and wind.
"This ward will soon be all but deserted," Danilo com shy;mented after a few moments of silence. "There's a prom shy;ise of winter in that wind."
Arilyn nodded glum assent. Her spirits sank still fur shy;ther as they turned off Morningstar Way and the Eltorchul tower came into view.
The elaborate structure defined the easternmost corner of the narrow street known as The Ghost Walk. Even without the name-and without her own wariness of human magic-Arilyn felt distinctly chilled as she eyed the uncanny place.
Towers of mist-gray stone rose into the sky, most of them connected by walkways and stairs that seemed to go everywhere, and nowhere. Several homunculi-small, bat-winged imps that served as wizards' familiars-winged silently through the architectural tangle, disap shy;pearing and reappearing without apparent reason or pattern. Wisps of acrid blue smoke rose from one of the towers, evidence of magical activity within.
As they alighted from the carriage, Arilyn noted that the stone walk near the front gate was as blackened as if it had entertained a hundred campfires-or a few bolts of lightning.
"So much for unwanted guests," Danilo murmured as he reached for the bellpull.
A dark-skinned young woman clad in the robe and apron of an Eltorchul apprentice came to answer their summons. Danilo requested an audience with Thesp Eltorchul, the family patriarch. They were shown into the hall. While the apprentice went off to dry their sodden wraps, they took a seat under a tapestry depict shy;ing the coronation of some distant monarch-an ances shy;tor of Azoun of Cormyr, most likely, though Arilyn was uncertain exactly which of several Azouns the weaver intended to commemorate.
After a few moments Lord Eltorchul came to meet them. The old mage was a tall man, not at all stooped by his years, with a dignified manner and hair of the indeterminate gray-beige color to which red often faded. It was not difficult to imagine the mage's hair as it once had been, for the young woman who walked by his side was crowned by ringlets the color of flame.
Arilyn's heart sank. She knew Errya Eltorchul, if only by reputation, as a spoiled, spiteful viper. Though the family fortunes, by all reports, were dwindling, the young woman wore an exquisite russet gown, a fortune in garnets, and a supremely haughty expression. Her emerald gaze slid down Arilyn boldly, and her expres shy;sion turned disdainful. Dismissing the half-elf with a sniff, she turned her attention upon Danilo.
"You have taken long enough in returning," she said with an artful pout.
Danilo acknowledged her comment with a slight bow but directed his first response to the patriarch, as custom demanded. "It has been quite some time since I studied with Lord Eltorchul." He bowed again to the old mage. "I have been remiss, sir, in not paying my respects sooner."
The mage sent a fond, long-suffering look at his daughter. "It is a comfort to see that not all of Waterdeep's young have forgotten their manners! Lord Thann, my apprentice said you wished to speak to me concerning my son Oth, about a matter you could not entrust to another?"
"That is so. Perhaps we could speak in private?"