Entr'acte

The Four Fair Winds Tavern, Daring Heights
21st Eleasis 1498

There was a knock on the door. Jaezred went up to open it, but no one was there. He heard a shuffling noise from behind him and, turning around, saw Imryll sitting on one side of the bed, already making herself comfortable.

He rolled his eyes and shut the door. “Lady Imryll. How are you today?”

“Fabulous, of course. I see your quaint taste in rooms continues, Lord Jaezred.”

“Yes...quaint,” he muttered, the price tag of the room in mind as he approached her. “Here, I have a gift for you.”

He procured a small black box from inside his jacket and handed it to her. She opened it to reveal a pair of dwarven-craft emerald earrings from Vorsthold within.

“It'd take a lot of work to fix your, uh…” He made a hand gesture circling his face. “But I think these will help a little.”

There was a flash of an excited smile but she maintained the to-and-fro between them without missing a beat: “Oh, but now you have me at a disadvantage. If I knew we were to fix things, I had a mask I was going to bring for you to cover your, uh…” She mimicked his gesture in return.

“If you'd like to cover my face, I'd rather you use something else you already have on yourself,” he shot back with a flirtatious smirk. “Anyway, do prepare yourself for an outing. There is a place I'd like to show you.”

“Oh, well in that case why don't you get yourself a drink downstairs and I'll be down when I'm ready?”

She didn’t seem to have brought anything with her, and this being the first time she visited his room at the Winds, there was therefore nothing here that belonged to her. Jaezred gave her an odd look but nonetheless obliged. He bowed, took his cane, and went downstairs to the tavern.

He stood against the bar, sipping a gin and tonic, whilst eavesdropping on a waiter complaining to the maître d’ about a customer who tried to scam the staff by putting hair on her lobster yesterday. Time went by, and Jaezred was wondering what the Hells was taking Imryll so long. Was she searching his chest? Stealing his cravats? Stuffing his pillows with sea urchins?

Finally, after fifteen minutes, Imryll showed up. Looking exactly the same, save for the new earrings.

He gave her an annoyed stare. “Did it take you that long to snoop through my belongings?”

“Oh sweetie, there's nothing in there I haven't already seen,” she said with a wink.

“Th-then you just...made me wait…” he sputtered, even more annoyed now, before sighing and offering his arm.

“Nooo...I was getting ready...” She seemed terribly pleased with herself as they walked out together.

---

The Paradise Frost patisserie was located in the block next to The Four Fair Winds. It was tea-time on a weekend, so the little cafe was almost full with its regular wealthy clientele. Jaezred greeted the older, colourfully-dressed eladrin behind the counter, baker and co-owner Jorious, as he entered. He pulled up a chair for Imryll at his usual table and ordered two plates of the fey queen cake.

With a devilish grin, he crushed the elven head-shaped cake at the neck with a fork, and chocolatey goo leaked out of the crevice.

“Interesting choice of dessert,” said Imryll as she, rather more delicately, used the edge of her own fork to slice the cake open, also at the neck, before taking a bite. “Mmpphh, though I must say, it is divine!"

Jaezred was hoping the cake would have provoked a more offended reaction, but he wasn’t one to turn down a compliment. “Why, thank you. I thought it up the day after it happened,” he said, scooping up a piece from his own plate. “Remember? When I trounced you in a spell battle?”

“Aha, of course...I did think it was a little too creatively brutal for anyone normal to have come up with. The kind of bizarre and twisted mind that is deluded about their own ability. Mmm, you should stick to cakes, this is good.”

He laughed heartily. “I'm glad your ladyship likes it! I hope the sweetness of the chocolate can drown out the bitterness of losing to me.”

During the course of their exchange, every once in a while, he would crane his head to look through the windows of the patisserie, as if watching out for something. And Imryll noticed that.

“Yes, now if only it could drown out your incessant delusions.” There was a smile on her face as she stabbed another piece with her fork, but instead of eating it, she pointed it at Jaezred, saying, “You know, there is one thing missing that would make this even better...”

Immediately after the words left her mouth, the drow heard her whispered voice in his head — a casting of the message spell: What’s wrong? What are you looking for?

Blinking in surprise, his head swivelled away from the windows and towards Imryll. Nothing at all, don’t worry about it, he whispered back, then resumed their conversation in normal volume. “Yes, what’s missing?”

She narrowed her eyes before replying, “Biscuit, not much and maybe crumbled. Sprinkled over top to give it a slight crunch. From what I remember of that night, it might go some way to recreating the visual display too, though perhaps some people may find it too crass…”

The smile was still plastered to her face, but there was an unmistakable sternness in her eyes as she watched her lover beside her. Jaezred’s mouth turned dry.

“Oh, that is an inspired suggestion!” he exclaimed, trying his damnedest to sound upbeat. “Yes, a little crunch to the flavour would be excellent, just like...the crunch of...having an archfey explode in one's face…”

She looked as though she was about to say something for a second, but stopped herself and put cake in her mouth instead. Jaezred avoided meeting her gaze, now feeling embarrassed and awkward after having been seen behaving strangely, and yet, still peering out the windows occasionally.

After finishing the fey queen, Imryll asked, “So...are there any other deliciously tasteless creations of yours on the menu here I can sample?”

“Aw, have I gained a fan in you?” he said teasingly, though his eyes were still shifty.

“Well, perhaps not a fan...an appreciator of bad taste and chocolate, shall we say?”

He ordered a chocolate butler, and one was put on the table by Jorious, standing statuesque and facing Imryll with a stony stare. “This one was inspired by the time a colleague of mine got petrified by a medusa.”

“You saw them turned to stone, so you decided to remake them in chocolate? There really is no end to your depraved humour, is there?” she giggled. “Did you at least get them out so they could enjoy your...creativity at their expense?”

“We did, though only after his life in the Dawnlands was ruined. He played servant to a cat for a time, before returning to Faerûn,” replied Jaezred. “If you are to ever suffer a horrible and/or humiliating death, I shall hope to witness it, so I can profit off you too.” He mimicked the appraising look she liked to give him sometimes. “Hmm. A mint cake, perhaps...?”

“Haha! It's nice to know you care so much, wishing me death…”

“Come now, I jest…” He placed a hand on top of hers. “Besides, I only wish to immortalise you in dessert. Is that so wicked?”

“It is, especially when you think you could even hope to portray all this in a cake. I should clearly at least have a raspberry compote, by the way...Mint!” she scoffed out the last word and laughed.

He chuckled and leaned in to plant a kiss on her lips, but his body seized up when he noticed, in the corner of his eye, Jorious looking in their direction from behind the counter. Shooting another discreet look out the window, he slowly backed away and withdrew his hand from hers.

“You tease!” she scolded, jabbing a finger at him with a grin. Her voice in his head, however, assumed a radically different tone: The longer you do this, the more obvious you make it. Tell me.

Jaezred let out a big sigh. There was no avoiding it any longer.

“It’s my cousin,” he explained reluctantly, fidgeting with the signet ring on his left pinkie. “She's supposed to be on a trip to Port Ffirst today but it crossed my mind that she might return early, because things in the Dawnlands don’t always go as planned. Whilst she tends to stick to the poorer parts of this town, I remember that she occasionally visits this place.”

She stared intently at him. “And..?”

A long pause. Then: “I haven't told her about...us.”

A wide grin spread across the spring eladrin’s face. “Well, if I knew that, I'd have said we should have ordered more cake! What does she like?”

“No, no, I don’t want her to see us together!" he hissed in panic, now looking her in the eye again. “It's— it's complicated. Because you're…”

“Fabulous, yes,” she cut in a little sharply, though the grin remained. “But shouldn’t matter, now should it?”

He fixed Imryll with a forlorn gaze. “She is half-blood herself. I used to look down on her for it.” He sighed again. “I know, I am a hypocrite.”

“Used to?”

“Well, fine, I still look down on her, but for other reasons,” he mumbled. "However, on that particular regard, I realised how stupid it was.”

Imryll contemplated this for a moment.

“Good. It is stupid, but I already told you, Lord Jaezred, about choices, no? So why do you choose to be so feeble about it? If that really has changed, then embrace it and show her as much. Then continue to look down on her...for other reasons, of course.”

“I’ve told you, it’s complicated. Half-blood or no, she is still drow, and a Vandree, even though she does not possess the surname. And you are...you are a surface elf.

“Besides,” he added lamely, “I don't like to be confronted about my past mistakes.”

Now it’s Imryll’s turn to sigh. “And you don't have to...but neither do you need to let it tether you down so, nor do you need to let it be the root of yet more mistakes.”

Jaezred was silent as her words sank into him. Taking up her hand again and squeezing it lightly, he said, “Forgive me. You deserve better than to be treated like an illicit affair.”

“I do...but it's more than that and you know it.”

“How...how do you mean?”

“Hiding from your cousin? Clinging to these notions of it being complicated due to your family? The same family you don't seem able, or maybe willing, to go back to? Jaezred, I'm quite aware of how drow society functions and, as much as you like to play the game, I don't think you fit in there anymore. You've acclimated and changed...can you honestly tell me that back there, you would have been able to go on a random adventure and then follow it up with a rescue, finally culminating in a chocolate butler?"

She looked troubled.

“Lord Jaezred, I don't mean to imply I know your situation better than you. But maybe you should consider...reconsidering it, for your own sake?”

Listening to this, he felt his stomach plummeting into coldness. Memories of the recent past played in his head: walking around the magical circus with Oziah and Toothy, duelling a bullywug warrior, meeting Root and his plant dogs, solving puzzles in a devil's tower, sharing a belly laugh with G’Lorth seated in his bathtub, pulling a daring heist on a brewery, de-polymorphing a village of sheep, having tea with Igrainne, dancing with Imryll in the Pierre-Vielle ballroom. All of which would be made into bitter ash under the hateful, red-hot gaze of the dark elves of House Vandree.

This was the truth he had been refusing to hear. And it was a frightening truth.

“Shall we go for a walk?” Imryll asked, and he nodded absently.

Jaezred got up and went to the counter to pay the bill. There was an extra gold coin left on top of the pile. As Jorious approached, he whispered, “Not a word. I...I’ll tell her when the time is right.”

Imryll sauntered up next to him and clung to his arm, offering the baker a suggestion of adding a tray of drink to the chocolate butler to give the sculpture an air of sophistication.

As the couple was halfway through the doors, Jaezred stopped and turned back. “Oh, and Jorious? Try crumbling a biscuit over the fey queen cake. See how it goes down with the customers.”

(Continued from The One That Got Away.)

The Mountain Palace, the Witching Court
24th Eleint 1498

The open door revealed a large room overcrowded with rows of tiny drawers, reams of fabrics stacked up to the ceiling, and a floor littered with off-cuts. The entire room was bathed in a strange darkness, the only light being a white glow emanating down into the centre of the room from no discernible source. Amidst this contained chaos is a short human man, pushing seventy years or so with wispy grey hair and a visible hunch on his back. He was sitting at a worktable in an atrocious posture (a likely culprit for the hunch) and, as he looked up at the two elves who just entered, Jaezred saw that he was blind in his left eye.

“Delano here is the one who made your little sheep for me,” Imryll explained. “Delano! I need a new coat, and my friend here is going to help design it!”

Jaezred was taking the time to admire the sheer scale of the organised chaos he’d just stepped into — it was like being in the eye of a colourful storm. He then looked back down at Delano — the first human he knew to live in the Feywild. “Er, greetings. I am Lord Jaezred Vandree,” he said, switching to surface Common.

Delano stared at the drow with a distant gaze for an uncomfortably long time, before grunting in a rough voice, “Delano, The Younger.”

Satisfied with that brief introduction, he promptly returned to whatever work he was doing. Imryll leaned over to her paramour and whispered, still speaking in Elvish, “He must like the look of you if he actually said anything.”

“Right,” Jaezred huffed, putting his hands on his hips. “You must be quite the tailor, sir, if you managed to create that little monstrosity for my dearest here in an hour.”

There was a grunt in response. It’s not clear what it’s supposed to mean. Jaezred turned to Imryll and gave her a look that said what the Hells am I supposed to do.

“Just wait a minute…” she murmured.

The room was quiet for another awkward stretch of time as she just watched Delano work. Eventually, he stood up — bones cracking as he did — let out a loud, chest-rattling cough, and placed the item he was working on atop a nearby pile of fabric. It was an unfinished, but rather intricately stitched miniature depiction of a rearing black dragon with the wings missing, crafted in a dark material that seemed to ripple under the light. He ambled over towards the elven couple, slightly quicker than Jaezred expected him to be, and grumbled out something that sounded like, “Hmerghummerghah.”

Without missing a beat, Imryll responded, “A raincoat, Something in yellow...perhaps dappled autumn sunlight, or something like a bee glow. What do you think, Jaezred?"

The pair of them looked at him. He gaped a little back at them. “Uh...Who is this for?”

“Me. Who else?”

Jaezred burst out laughing. He shook his head and, with one hand, cupped Imryll’s face lovingly. “You...are ridiculous.” He turned to Delano and said, “I think that sounds excellent.”

She winked at him and there was a “Hmerphma…” from Delano. He gestured for them to follow him to the back of the room, towards a faintly glowing yellow fabric that seemed to slowly flow off its ream, like a thick, viscous liquid.

Jaezred studied it curiously. “I know I dress suavely but I don’t have any experience in tailoring myself. I fear I might ruin this gorgeous fabric if I’m to work on it...”

“You’re not working on it, dear, just helping the design process. Delano here will be actually making it.”

The tailor scooped up some of the fabric, which came apart like a glob of honey, and gently tossed it into the air, where it hung. He spent a few moments molding the yellow glob into the shape of a simple, but still quite detailed, raincoat, before vaguely waving at an impressed Jaezred and wandering off into the dark little passageways between reams of cloth.

Imryll looked thoughtfully at the floating miniature jacket. “I was thinking something a bit more flowery and loose, maybe something longer this time.”

He approached the model and started experimentally molding it with his hands, mimicking Delano’s movements. “Yes, how about something like…” He shaped the coat into something longer, looser, with a feminine cut and tasteful folds; a garment that would be fit for Mavis Thovian’s runway.

Imryll examined it critically as she always does, turning the jacket around a few times, opening and closing it, holding up the sleeves, et cetera. “Is it to your liking? Do you want it slimmer? You do have a fantastic figure,” he said, putting an arm around her slender waist whilst inspecting his work alongside her.

“I like it, but maybe it's too simple still. Perhaps some sort of pattern embossed in?” She waved a hand, and a creeping vine pattern grew upwards from the rim, to form an elegant, swirling pattern at the bottom of the raincoat. “Too much?”

He smiled. “No. It's very...you.”

“Perfect.” She gave him a kiss before turning her attention back to the model and admiring it in the white light.

Peering into the dark passage that Delano disappeared into, Jaezred whispered in her ear, “He’s not trapped in this closet, is he? Was he perhaps stuck in a bad deal and forced to create outfits for the whole palace for the rest of his life?”

She smirked. “He’s not stuck, no. He can leave whenever he wants, but he did make a deal in his younger days.”

From somewhere in the surrounding darkness, the opposite direction of where Jaezred was looking, they heard a “Bragphermerlurghum...”

“Some of the Elysium aurora, I think, would be good!” Imryll shouted back. There was no response. “He seems happy enough here, though. He isn’t quite keen on visitors and most people don’t understand his true genius.”

Jaezred just nodded.

A little while later, he ambled past the two of them, having made his way back without a sound, whilst dragging what appeared to be a ream of concentrated sunlight (strangely, it did not hurt Jaezred’s eyes) and several dozen large, multi-coloured feathers. Without a word, he scrutinised the model jacket, turning it this way and that, grumbling to himself, scratching his face here, letting out a heavy sigh there, before turning to the bee glow yellow fabric on the floor and pulling some of it off.

“So, tell me, Jaezred, will you be sullying this court with your presence for long before going gallivanting around the planes again, or was this a flying visit?” Imryll asked, the trademark smirk in place.

“I shall be staying here awhile, much to your dismay, I'm sure,” he replied, eyes on Delano as he worked his craft. “I don't have any plans for next tenday, except— Oh yes, it’s Highharvestide next week. There’s bound to be a festival somewhere, perhaps in New Hillborrow. Why don’t we go together? It’d be a chance for you to show off this new coat.”

“Perhaps, though I may still need a hat...I was thinking something in ‘call of the void’ black, but that may be too stark a contrast for this coat.”

“Agreed. Then you’d really look like a bee.”

“And you my busy little drone,” she said with a smile.

Even simply watching Delano work was taxing. The actual process was painstakingly slow, yet every time Jaezred glanced away, he seemed to have made unprecedented amounts of progress. One second, he was watching him slowly count out lengths of fabric by hand, mouthing the numbers to himself as he went along at what felt like a glacial pace, but in the next, he’d already had it cut and was stitching two large panels together with an incredibly still — but painfully slow — hand. The materials he used were equally odd. A coat made out of honey would presumably be thick, heavy, and translucent; however, as each panel was crafted, it turned out to have a very fine and opaque finish. The feathers were stitched inside the bee glow fabric, then the Elysium aurora fabric was laid down and cut out to be sewn in as the lining of the coat.

The finished article was an exact copy of the model they had created. It was warm and soft to the touch and felt weightless when lifted.

Jaezred helped Imryll put the jacket on, handling it carefully and with great admiration as one would a precious artefact. He took one of her hands and held it up so she could have a delighted little twirl-around. She smiled at him and said, “Of course, the real showstopper is what is on the inside!”

Her smile turned roguish as she opened the jacket and let it drape off her shoulders. The fabric of the lining, which glowed brightly when it was on the ream, was now radiating in a kaleidoscope of colours much like a true aurora, creating a beacon of northern lights that framed her figure.

His jaw dropped. Mavis Thovian would have to eat their heart out. He simply could not hide his awe — this small, rather decrepit old man had somehow created a light show in a coat. “That’s...incredible. Now you must really show it off in New Hillborrow. Imagine what those halflings’ faces would look like. Their rustic little minds would be blown.”

She grinned, flicking the jacket back up. “I think it will do nicely. Delano, you treasure. It has been a pleasure as always.”

The man himself was already hunched over his black dragon miniature again, stitching delicate, glass-like wings to its back. He gave no response other than another short grunt.

Even though he got nothing for himself, Jaezred was quite pleased. He felt as if he’d discovered a hidden gem of a shop tucked away in a tiny, cobblestone-lined alleyway, despite this being a palace. He offered an arm to Imryll. “Suppose that’s our cue to leave.”

She took it and strutted out the door with him, literally and figuratively glowing.

(Continued from By Light of Moon and Ray of Star and Mysteries Far Below.)

The Mountain Palace, the Witching Court
12th Uktar 1498

When Jaezred woke up the next day, having actually gotten some proper rest this time, he turned over to see that Imryll had already reverted to her spring form, with verdant skin and dark, greenish-blonde locks strewn about her sleepy face. Her green eyes slowly opened to meet his crimson ones, and the two lovers smiled lazily at each other in the warmth of their shared bed.

“I much prefer you this way,” he murmured, a look of relief visible on his face as a hand went up to stroke her cheek.

“You don’t think I can pull off yellow?”

“No, I just don’t think I can handle making love to someone who looks like a banana.”

She scoffed. “You sure you’re not just worried you won’t be able to keep up with me like that?”

A brow went up. “What, do you have different…tastes and habits when you’re…?”

She winked and giggled and left the question unanswered.

“Interesting,” he said, mulling over the idea.

Now that he was well-rested, Jaezred spent the morning and most of the afternoon pampering Imryll with home-cooked meals, foot rubs, physical intimacy, and showers of compliments — an apology for his behaviour the previous day. He’d cringed internally at some of the saccharine lines he came up with, and her smug responses and seemingly endless appetite for praise only doubled his embarrassment. But this time, he didn’t care; it was well worth it just to see her happy again.

Once he felt that Imryll had been sufficiently appeased, he went out into the palace halls to search for Margotin.

---

Nicnevin’s personal butler proved to be a bit difficult to find. Asking around led to Jaezred being sent on a little wild goose chase around the sprawling palace — oh, he was seen here; no, he went to see so-and-so; ah, he was with what’s-her-face earlier on; et cetera, et cetera. After a short while, Jaezred gave up and casted sending to the man.

He now found himself in a small, empty lounge area with soft cushions and music playing from somewhere unseen. Some 10 seconds after he entered, a middle-aged drow man with angular features and brilliant white hair, swept back and neatly-combed, appeared in the doorway, carrying a tea set and what appeared to be bright blue-coloured scones on a tray. He was dressed in the typical uniform of servants of the Mountain Palace — white shirt primly tucked under a black waistcoat, with matching trousers and shoes — save for one distinct article: a black half-cloak draped over one shoulder, pinned in place with a copper brooch in the shape of a ring.

“Good afternoon, Lord Jaezred. I trust wild berry scones are to your fancy?” said Margotin as he began to set the table.

“Thank you. I'll have one as the quality of food in the palace has been good so far, but I must say, this colour looks terribly garish and unappetising! How much dye went into this, exactly?” Jaezred replied, picking up a scone and holding it aloft, turning it about slightly, examining it with a critical eye, before biting into it.

“Ah, I can assure you, lord, that no colouring has been added, but the particular wild berries added are fairly luminous when growing in the wild, and some of that does transfer over during the baking process. What you may find interesting, though, is that the berries themselves are actually green on the bush and turn blue when baked.”

“Hmm…” He chewed the bread slowly to savour all the flavours. “When it comes to food, presentation is half the battle, but I suppose it can’t be helped, seeing as even berries in this blasted plane have to be so whimsical.”

Margotin delicately poured tea into two cups, and he smelled subtle hints of citrus and smoke. “But I do believe there were other matters you wished to see me for today besides baking. I do know some talented bakers who may be more knowledgeable than I?”

He put down the half-eaten scone on his plate. “Yes. This may take a while, so please have a seat.”

Jaezred proceeded to tell the older man of his recent brushes with the divine — the transformation (begetting a frown from him), the vision from Eilistraee (nods to signal that he remembered), and the vision from Lolth (a mildly surprised look). He waited patiently until Jaezred was finished before taking a sip from his cup.

“I presume Lady Elamaris is aware of all this?” he asked.

Jaezred nodded. “Except for the visions. I have never mentioned that to her.”

“I see. Would I be correct in assuming you would prefer it to stay that way?”

“For the time being,” he answered after a bit of hesitation.

“As you wish, my lord, but if you do not mind my asking, sir, what is it precisely that you would like to know from me?”

He put his teacup and saucer down. “Lady Imryll advised me to speak to you. She said you’ve had an experience similar to mine.”

Margotin’s dark eyes looked distant at the mention of his experience, but quickly refocused on Jaezred. After a moment, he stood up and walked towards the door, opened it to look up and down the corridor, before closing it again gently and returning to his seat.

“I have indeed,” he admitted. “It is something I am required to remain secretive about, but I see why Lady Elamaris has advised as such. Nonetheless, I do hope you would respect the nature of it.”

“I am a discreet man, sir, you need not worry,” said Jaezred. He realised then that he’d been fidgeting nervously with the House Vandree signet ring on his left pinkie. He dropped a sugar cube into his tea and stirred it with a spoon, just to have something to occupy his hands with.

Margotin nodded. “I confess, my lord, the majority of the finer details are not known to me. I shall endeavour to be as clear as I can, but it may be brief…”

He let out a deep sigh before continuing.

“It is, of course, no secret to you that the males of our species do not enjoy the freedom of our female counterparts in most drow societies, and I was no exception to that. Much like you, however — and forgive me if I presume wrongly — I did enjoy a slightly elevated social standing, in part due to my lineage but also in part for my relation to a priestess of the Spider Queen.”

He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.

“As many drow do, we both received a sign from Elistraee. For myself, it was the sound of singing and visions of the moon. They came several times, usually when I was alone but, like most, I dismissed these as fancies and spoke to no one of them. My sister—” He paused again briefly, realising he had unintentionally revealed the true nature of his kinship to this priestess. “My sister, however, took some profound meaning in whatever she was shown and, in time, she defected from the Spider Queen — quite simply vanishing one day without so much as a word to anyone. Now, there was not much love lost between us, I confess, so I was not worried at the time. I had presumed she had simply fulfilled her duty to Lolth or had been sacrificed herself. In my youth, I was…much more cynical and distrusting, as I’m sure you can imagine. Familial bonds among the drow are not always as…affectionate as other races.

“I did not consider her disappearance of much significance to myself, until several months later. I had been having more visions, more singing and… If I am honest, sir, it was beginning to become quite concerning. I had begun questioning whether I was being slowly poisoned and began my own scheming against others within my family. That is, until I began receiving similar visions from the Spider Queen as you described. What started as small spiders grinning a wicked smile at me soon turned to whispers. Soon enough, the whispers became a clear-cut voice ringing through my head with one clear message: sororicide.”

Jaezred, who had been listening intently thus far, suddenly dropped his gaze when Margotin described his visions. Something about it made him more nervous. “Go on,” he said softly after recovering.

“Needless to say, I have not the skills or abilities you possess. I was not a — forgive the term — ‘chosen’ of the Spider Queen, and settled on more mundane measures. Looking back, I was rather inept, however. I schemed but, in truth, my lord, that was as far as I believe I could have ever really taken matters… As for my sister, I had no idea what she had done but I was not inclined to deny the whims of our Goddess. Of course, I had no idea where she was… However, all of my worrying proved unfounded as within hours it seemed my sister had come to me.”

Margotin’s face took on a pained expression.

“She began very quickly speaking, talking of saving me and guiding me to the light. Most of what she said, however, I don’t remember, as the voice of the Spider Queen immediately screamed in my mind, demanding her death. And for whatever reason…I hesitated.” Margotin rose slowly to his feet and removed his cloak, then unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. All the while, he continued telling his tale, “Perhaps it was the singing or her own claims of rescue had confused me but, whatever the exact reasoning, it seemed too long a hesitation for Lolth…and she transformed me into her weapon.”

He took off his shirt and turned his body around to show a pair of long scars on either side of his spine, running down the length of his back.

A clattering noise echoed around the room as Jaezred dropped the teaspoon he was holding, bouncing off the edge of the table and onto the floor. He could not hide the way his hand and his breath now trembled. Margotin promptly put his clothes back on.

“How…how did you… Was it Queen Nicnevin who…healed you?” Jaezred said.

“No. The Lady is very powerful and I don’t presume to know her limitations, but this was just prior to my joining the Witching Court as her aide.”

Ever the diligent butler, Margotin bent down to collect the fallen spoon and placed it to one side. He offered Jaezred an unused one from the tray as he prepared to refill both cups of tea.

“I do not remember precisely what transpired following the transformation, only an urgent need to destroy. My next memories actually begin several hours later. I had attacked my sister but some help she had brought with her managed to subdue me, enough for her to use one of her new ‘gifts’ and somehow reverse the transformation… I awoke in excruciating pain and delirium, unable to move. She remained with me long enough to tell me what had happened but I was not in the right mind to listen or discuss them. She spoke of Eilistraee and her new calling, of saving the drow from their torturous existence…of danger and the need to hide… The Spider Queen is naturally quite enraged at her defection to Elistraee…

“And then she left me there, in a room I had never seen before, alone, unable to move, wracked with pain, the trauma of having been forcibly transformed, and the inner conflict of fearing retribution, while still having these visions of moonlight and peace. Her words danced through my mind for what felt like days… Finally, I gathered the strength to stand and leave the room, finding myself in a tunnel I did not know, and I realised then that I knew not where to go. Not only in the physical sense, but in the grander scheme of things. Returning home was out of the question. The fear of retribution had been outweighed by the fear of another transformation, yet the idea of anything else was…beyond comprehension.

“Needless to say, I chose to follow the path I did not know as what I did know of the other was…well, quite frankly, not something I wished to risk again. I walked towards the surface and became…somewhat of a vagrant on the surface for a while. I shall spare you the details of that period as it is not quite so pertinent to your own concerns, my lord. But suffice to say, in time, I began having visions of Eilistraee once again. This time, I followed them, still hesitantly, of course. In time, they led me here where I met the Lady. I have remained here ever since.”

Jaezred was at a loss for what to say. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to decide on what to think. This apostate should not have left those tunnels alive. Why was he, a Favoured of Lolth, entertaining the blasphemy spilling out of his mouth instead of slaying him right then and there?

“Why the Witching Court?” he demanded. “What’s Eilistraee got to do with this place?”

“In truth, I believe, nothing. I had wondered the same for many years, assuming there was some unseen connection. The Lady is, of course, widely known as the Moonweaver and the moon is a common symbol of Eilistraee…perhaps there still is? I have, however, come to consider that she has guided me here, where I may be better positioned to further her cause. Forgive my being blunt, my lord but, I believe this to be one such case. Were I not here, I would not be able to share this with you… The decision, of course, always seems to remain with each individual. I have helped many drow move onto a new chapter in their life. And many more have spurned her help. But my being here has still afforded them the chance.”

At that, Jaezred looked a little surprised. “A long-term schemer, huh? Like mother, like daughter after all,” he scoffed. “But why do so many drow end up here in the first place?”

“I don’t know. Some are guided here. Some merely by chance. Others willingly come because the Lady. I myself have come to greatly respect the Lady of Copper and that is a large reason as to why I stay. My service to Eilistraee happens to coincide with that. The Lady is aware of some of my endeavours and she affords me the freedom to do as I wish. Much like the Lady Elamaris, I do not hold an official named position at the court like some others, but serve her directly. People are drawn to her, much like with the other fey nobility, I presume.”

Lord Jaezred sighed and turned his gaze to a corner of the room. “How many of you are here?” he asked, not looking at Margotin. “Your church. How many of the drow here are members of it?”

“Unfortunately, my lord, that I do not know. There is no central place of worship established. I am aware of at least a few; some others, I have my suspicions but not confirmation. A lifetime of secrecy is not an easy habit to shift and, as much as some have faith, there is still fear… Many of those I have helped do not tarry long in the court.”

Jaezred fixed his gaze back onto Margotin. No doubt, the primly-dressed butler had learned at least some self-defence skills in his centuries-long lifetime, and it was hard to gauge exactly what those skills were, but he did not appear to have any concealed weapons or armour on his person at this very moment. The mage’s right hand, inches away from the wand inside his coat, twitched ever so slightly. His crimson stare bored into the old man sitting across from him.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Margotin raised an eyebrow. “Should I be, my lord?”

He rolled up a sleeve and laid his left arm down on the table. The hollow gaze of the spider-legged humanoid skull — the Mark of the Spider Queen — stared out at the two dark elves. His eyes did not once leave Margotin. “She’s watching right now. She always does. Does that make you afraid?”

Before Margotin could answer, he added, “I don’t need her to whisper in my head to tell me what she wants. I already know what she wants me to do.”

The butler’s expression did not budge an inch, and maintained eye contact himself. “I see… No, Lord Jaezred, that does not scare me. She is indeed watching, much as she has watched through many others before you and shall likely continue to watch through more. I can also assume what she would like done… Losing her priestess must still be a sore point.”

The air in the room was growing tense.

“It’s not you she wants me to kill.”

“Nor did I think it was.”

Jaezred rolled down his sleeve and leaned back in his chair, taking his teacup and saucer to his lap and crossing his legs. He turned his head away, face full of contemplation.

“Do you think I’ll do it?” he asked.

“That is not my place to say, my lord.”

He exhaled through his nose and was silent for a time. Then he looked at Margotin again.

“You speak as if followers of Eilistraee live in constant fear of persecution. Yet you have no fear of the Spider Queen,” he said quietly. “I have been living in fear for my entire life; even more so in the last five years, since my arrival in the surface world. I assume it was the same for you in your youth. Are you that desensitised to fear, or have you just lost your common sense? I do not understand it.”

“Excuse me, my lord, perhaps I was not as clear as I had hoped to be. It is not so much that all followers of Eilistraee live that way. I meant to imply merely that some do. As I said, old habits… But for myself, I am not so foolish to believe I am immune to the whims of the gods. I merely believe in mine. She rid me of a fate worse than death, has guided me towards a place I can now call home and allows me the chance to help others see her light. It is not fear that drives me, but faith.”

Jaezred pursed his lips and tried not to show how much that message resonated with him.

He set his empty cup and saucer down on the table and stood up. “Thank you for your time, Margotin. I shan’t hold you from your duties any longer.”

Margotin stood up as well. “I understand this may be a difficult time for you, my lord,” he said. “You live an adventurous life with its own risks and challenges. The visions you have experienced I do not imagine make matters any easier to process. I do not presume to know how you feel on these matters, nor do I wish to assume to know what challenges may lie ahead. But please feel free to speak to me again, if you so wish.”

Jaezred nodded and gave him a stiff handshake, and Margotin bowed to him as he walked out of the door.

He was really being much too open-minded these days. Sleeping with a surface elf must have had that effect on him.

---

Jaezred returned to Imryll’s chambers neck-deep in thought. He made a beeline for the sofa, staring into the fire. Imryll came up behind him and asked how the conversation went. He turned to her with a cheeky grin and said, “He took off his shirt for me.”

That was when he noticed, for the first time, the small, potted banana tree, with the bear statuette standing next to it, in the corner of the sitting area. That wasn’t there when he left a couple hours ago. He pointed at it. “Why is that there now?”

“I just thought it would be a nice addition…”

“Hm. I wonder what other fruits you resemble in your other forms. Apple in autumn, perhaps? Blueberry in winter?” he mused, rubbing his chin. “Will I get to see them all, I wonder?”

She shot him her trademark smirk. “Really now, Jaezred, if I knew you were so interested in fruits, I would have some sent up at night for us to play with.”

“I already told you, I’d let you do most things to me if you ask.”

“Yes, I know…and were I still in summer, you would soon regret it. But I’m sure we can still have some fun…”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time. Now come here, let me spoil you again. What do you want for dinner?”

As Imryll plopped down next to him on the sofa, leaned against his chest, and listed off her various gastronomic desires for the night, he rested his chin on her head and held her close. Lolth would love to see her heart cut out and presented on an altar — that would be a fine gift for the Dread Queen of Spiders indeed.

But he knew in his heart that he couldn’t bear to do it. He could never bear to hurt her. Love was making him weak.

However, so was fear.

There was much to think about. Options to consider where he previously thought he had only one — but none with a guaranteed outcome.

The only thing he knew for certain was that, whatever he chose, he would have to walk through fire.

Waterdeep
1st Nightal 1498

It had been eight days since the fair folk of the Witching Court began their search for the anchor — elves, hags, satyrs, and others fanning out across three planes of existence, looking for something they don’t know the look of, and with only an old myth as a clue to go off of. Despite their efforts, still nothing had turned up, and the lines of stress were visible on Imryll’s face every time she came home empty-handed. Jaezred, for his part, stayed at the Mountain Palace to welcome his beloved home with a cup of tea or a glass of wine every day, just as he had promised. He had funny anecdotes to tell whenever she needed a distraction, massages to give when her muscles were sore, and breakfasts to serve in bed before she had to go out into the field again.

In keeping her spirits up, he had found his own, albeit small, way of contributing to the cause short of going out there and joining the search himself. No, for that to happen, he would need Aurelia’s go signal, but the archmage was biding her time, locked away in her office doing Goddess-knows-what.

It worried him. Because they didn’t have time on their side.

Tonight, however, was the one night for which Jaezred and Imryll allowed themselves to cast aside all their worries. The words “anchor”, “Farstep”, and “Jack” shouldn’t even go anywhere near their minds, for tonight marked the anniversary of their first meeting: a hostile, spell-fuelled confrontation in the storeroom of Fort Ettin which preceded the signing of the Aegis Accords and the assassination of Queen Sarastra by mere moments. As it happens, Jaezred had acquired a dinner reservation at one of Faerûn’s top restaurants to celebrate the occasion.

Behold was Waterdeep’s premiere restaurant, boasting of a dining experience unlike any other, but one wouldn’t know it from standing outside of it. It was a nondescript, totally unassuming stone building in the Trade Ward; there were no hanging signs to indicate what it was, and the only hint towards its true nature were the richly-dressed people occasionally walking in or out. Strange as it seemed, it was entirely the point: only those who are supposed to know would know what this was.

Jaezred had teleported off to Waterdeep ahead of time to “get some finishing touches done”, but even so, when he made arrived at the restaurant well after sunset — dressed in his finest tailcoat and breeches underneath a fur-lined coat and top hat and carrying a bouquet of flowers in his arm — Imryll was already there, wearing the blue dress he’d bought for her with a matching coat. She was speaking to a halfling man in a fancy uniform, and whatever she was saying seemed to be making him incredibly uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he eventually nodded expressively to her, before backing away and disappearing into the building.

Jaezred approached her with an adoring smile on his lips. He took off his hat and put it to his chest as he bowed slightly to her. “My lady. You look beautiful tonight,” he said.

“Well, of course I do. I must say, you have managed to clean up quite well yourself, my lord.”

He glanced at the door through which the halfling left. “Who was that you were talking to? It was giving me a bit of déjà vu. Do we need to have a chat about magically charming halflings into doing your bidding, my dearest?”

“Really now, you must stop assuming the worst in me. I told you then, all I was doing was asking the nervous man some questions, he was really quite fine… And yes, the same applies here. I was merely pulling in some old favours, making sure they were ready for our arrival.”

“Yes, asking them questions by way of prying answers out of them using the suggestion spell. You forget that I fell victim to this trick of yours once, but I do not forget.” He offered her the bouquet in his hand: yellow roses, peonies, and watercress. “Now these are for you. In the language of flowers, it means: ‘wench defeated and shamed in battle’. I thought it perfect to remind you of the occasion that we are celebrating today!”

She took the bouquet with a smile. “Ah yes, of course, your delusions of a great battle and triumphant victory in the case of the spoiled soup… Shame you couldn’t save the murdered queen too, really, the job you were actually hired to do.” She made a show of sniffing the flowers, in case the buds were stuffed with cold iron fillings or something. “Perhaps one day, we might actually have a real sparring session and I can punish you there too. But really, foreplay aside, dear, I think they should be ready for us by now… Shall we?”

With Imryll on his arm, they walked into the building together, stepping into a dark reception room, the back of which was covered with a large, heavy, black curtain. The sounds of the city were completely blocked out within the room, and it would have been perfectly quiet were it not for a human cloakroom attendant offering them a polite greeting. He took the couple’s coats and hat and slipped each item onto a small hanger with tiny wings that took flight into a small, circular portal to a tiny demiplane, akin to the rope trick spell. After that, he handed Jaezred a glass token. “Your coat plane, sir. Should you need any of your belongings, simply tap this and it shall open for you at any time. This way, please.”

The attendant walked over to the curtain and parted it, allowing them to enter the restaurant proper.

---

The two elves emerged from darkness and into a soft, blue light, and the first notes of an orchestral symphony began playing just as they stepped through the doorway, almost as if it was announcing their entrance. Behold’s dining area was larger than Jaezred expected it to be, with numerous tables widely spaced out from each other. There were many other diners present already, all dressed to the nines and deep in conversation, but the typical din and hubbub was noticeably absent, and a faint shimmer surrounding each table was the telltale reason why — each individual table was enveloped in a magical barrier that suppressed sound from within.

The floor is polished black stone, embedded with glittering gems arrayed in a large spread throughout the room, giving one the impression of walking on a starry night sky. The soft, blue light that permeated the entire room came from perfectly spherical orbs floating in place in the spaces between the tables. Jaezred realised now that the orbs were, in fact, small bodies of water, containing a wide variety of luminous fish and aquatic plants.

Movement from above caught his eye and he looked up, and that was when he saw the restaurant’s kitchen, on the ceiling of the room, with chefs busy at their different stations and porters scurrying about completely upside-down, and yet working in perfect order. A big blue beholder was stationed in the centre, the seat of the executive chef; they were performing several tasks at once: scanning the dining area with their many eye stalks, barking orders at the other chefs, and magically heating and cooling various dishes in a complex dance amidst the already busy yet quiet kitchen, as it appeared to be shrouded in the same muffling barrier as the tables. A porter above grabbed a few plates, trotted to one side of the kitchen, and magically levitated the plates down towards the floor, where an elegantly-dressed elven trapeze artist flew in to nimbly collect them from the air to be deposited in the hands of a personal waiter standing by a table.

The halfling man from earlier was waiting for the elven couple and greeted them with a deep bow, then immediately turned to lead them to their private table. As they walked through this exceedingly ostentatious scene, Jaezred noticed several pairs of eyes on them from the tables they passed by, the occasional face subtly inclining their head or politely waving at Imryll, who returned the gestures in kind with a wide smile across her face.

He spotted a red dragonborn outfitted in a black suit with a vibrant purple cravat sitting at one table, watching the pair before turning to his raven birdfolk waitress to say something and inclining his head towards them. The waitress then pointed at the halfling and her beak moved ever so slightly to whisper something — casting the message cantrip. The halfling glanced at that table’s direction and gave a nod.

They reached the table that had been reserved for them for the night and entered the bubble of quiet, which only the gentle orchestral music seemed to pierce through. Like the other tables, it was illuminated only by small, floating aquariums nearby, bathing it in an oceanic blue glow to create a rather special ambience, a marriage between sophisticated and serene. The halfling waiter seated pulled out the chairs for each of them before going to stand at one side of the table.

“Good evening, Lady Imryll, Lord Jaezred. It is our most sincere pleasure having you dine with us today. My name is Artran and I shall be your personal waiter tonight. If you need anything or have any questions, I shall be at your disposal. To start, one of our esteemed guests has already ordered you a bottle of champagne and sends his regards.”

And right on cue, an elven acrobat swooped down to pass Artran a chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses. The glasses had stems with no base, and they hovered in place as Artran poured the expensive liquor into them.

The tiny hairs on the back of Jaezred’s neck stood upright as he still felt the stares boring into his back. His gaze drifted from table to table. “How do all these people know you?” he asked Imryll. “They must be the elite of the city, the wealthiest lords and ladies and whatnot…”

“Oh sweetie, it’s my job to know these people. Let’s just say you have your little spiders running around for you, and well, my spiders run in slightly different circles. Truth be told, most of them are feckless idiots, of course”—she raised a glass of champagne at the red dragonborn, who responded in kind, looking quite pleased with himself—“but even they have their uses at times. Isn’t that right, Artie?”

The halfling smiled, a little uncomfortably, and inclined his head to her.

Jaezred was astounded, but he shouldn’t be. Imryll was a fey queen’s right-hand woman, of course she would have mingled with the upper echelons of Faerûnian society — the scions of eminent noble houses and the merchant-princes rich as Mammon. Him, on the other hand? Nothing but a petty aristocrat from a hostile, isolated city in an underground cave. He did not even obtain the reservation himself, it was a reward for a mercenary job he did. Should he even be there?

For the first time during their time together, he felt like a small fish in a massive ocean; Waterdeep alone was a far cry from the quaint, little pond that was the Dawnlands. The old, familiar feelings of insignificance were coming back to him in a rush.

He sat up straighter, adjusted the lapels of his tailcoat, then picked up his glass and took a respectably tiny sip. “Ah, please deliver to the gentleman my most gracious thanks for this wonderful champagne, Artran,” he said. He had spoken in his regular voice and accent but somehow, it felt like an affectation.

Artran nodded and pointed at the waitress over at the other table. He conveyed the message to the dragonborn, who now had an exceedingly smug look on his face. Once that exchange was concluded, Artran turned back to the pair and continued, “Forgive my presumption, my lord, but I do believe this may be your first visit with us, so allow me to explain. Typically, we serve only a small selection of meals, each exquisite and perfected by our master chefs. Tonight, however, as per request from the lady, the kitchen is open to you for all requests. If it helps your decision at all, however, I would be happy to provide today’s menu.”

Jaezred put on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he looked between Imryll and the waiter. “Ah, most wonderful! Well then, since we are being indulged, we shall have your most famous dishes.” Being a man of culture, he had heard before the songs of praise for Behold’s culinary offerings from his fellow bon vivants and committed them to memory. This was his chance to shine. “Swallow’s nest soup first of all, roasted Luskani oysters with warm butter mignonette and caviar for the appetiser, then beet salad with Nrav’Garat harvest cheese, duck breast with apricot chutney for the entrée…oh, chef’s choice for the amuse-bouche, naturally, and as for dessert… Well, Artran, you may have been informed that I have made special arrangements.” He winked at them both.

Artran had been smiling and nodding along to Jaezred reciting his order, but there was an uncomfortable shift and a very brief glance towards Imryll when dessert was mentioned. He cleared his throat before answering, “Ah, yes, my lord, I have been informed of your dessert choice prior to your arrival and instruction has been passed on to the kitchen accordingly.”

Imryll had not taken her eyes off Jaezred and was smiling her trademark wicked grin. He raised an inquisitive brow. “Has…my dearest perhaps made a different arrangement for dessert?” he asked, gaze bouncing between the two of them.

Artran averted his eyes and cleared his throat again to reply, but before he could get a word out, Imryll cut in, “Oh no, not at all. I’ll have you know, I was actually quite looking forward to having the coconut mousse with frozen berries for dessert myself. Simple but quite refreshing. I am pleased to see such initiative on your part though, dear…”

By now, Jaezred had been around her long enough to know the bullshit when he smelled it. He loosened his cravat a little so he would not feel so choked. “Aha! Well, I’m always in the mood for surprises. Culinary surprises. Yes,” he replied, laughed, and gulped down more champagne.

“Excellent,” said Imryll.

“Grand. If my lord is happy with his order, I shall instruct the chef. Is the lady happy with this choice?”

"Yes, but would you add the mushroom mousse onto the side of the entrée for us, Artran? I believe you normally serve it with the lamb?”

“Of course, my lady. I understand Izzsan has also arrived, as per your request. Would you like me to hold their performance for dinner?”

“No, I think now is fine. She has come a long way after all, it would be rude to make her wait on us now!”

“Most excellent. Please let me know if you need anything.” With that, Artran quietly stepped out of the light from the mini aquarium to stand at one edge of the anti-noise barrier, sending off the orders placed and waiting to be called on.

Jaezred went right back to glancing around the room, even catching some of the other guests looking in the direction of their table again, and he wondered what great Waterdavian houses they come from. He barely noticed Imryll speaking to him.

“I may have also been in touch prior to arriving to call in a few favours myself. I hadn’t really planned on using them any time soon and, well, seemed a shame to not make the most of being here…” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Between the two of us, this venue is more about the experience and grandeur of being seen here rather than the food— Although it is, of course, delicious and the head chef is a master of the craft.”

There was a quick glance upwards to the hanging kitchen, and he followed her gaze to the beholder in the centre. One eye stalk was looking them up and down, frowning a little, before something else grabbed its attention and it moved away. “Needless to say, I feel it’s only right to make it as showy as possible, don’t you think?” she concluded.

A moment later, the music died down and a voice gently announced to the restaurant that a surprise performance, featuring legendary soprano Izzsan Ashborn, had been arranged. At one end of the restaurant, next to the small orchestra that had been playing, a tiny kobold in black dress walked out and took centre stage. She gazed out at the audience with a smile and waved at Jaezred and Imryll’s table as the musicians began to play the accompaniment to her aria. This small and brief gesture caused more and more heads to turn their way.

With every glance stolen at them, Jaezred swore he could hear, in spite of the barriers in place, the pointed whispers and the pompous laughter growing increasingly louder, as if they were right next to his ear.

“What’s wrong, dear, you seem uncomfortable? I thought you might enjoy basking in the envy of others?”

“Uh…yes. I’m fine.”

“…But…?”

“No, no buts. I’m fine. She-She’s quite good.” He pointed at Izzsan with his glass.

“Well, she is better than good… But come now, no one can hear us and Artran is a trustworthy sort. What’s wrong, why are you acting so off?”

“Am I?” He let out a nervous chuckle as he sipped from his glass. “I suppose I’m just excited for the food.”

She cocked an eyebrow, not seeming to buy it. “I can, of course, draw us a little more attention if you prefer? Though I do feel like we have already won the little posturing game by now.”

So many pairs of eyes on him now. He couldn’t keep track of them all. This felt off — someone as insignificant as him shouldn’t be drawing this much attention. His left hand slowly pressed against his coat to feel for the wand of the war mage underneath. “I…I think we’re good, dearest.”

Imryll narrowed her eyes but said nothing more to him. Instead, she addressed the waiter. “Artie, I realise Lord Jaezred is perhaps a little hungrier than anticipated. Would you be able to check on how things are coming for us?”

“Of course, my lady.”

Following a series of subtle messages being sent, the acrobatic delivery service arrived with two small plates that Artran deftly placed before the two of them in one swift motion. “The chef’s choice: pressed, dried, and sautéed bananas with soured cream cheese and snail caviar.”

“Now, dearest, keep your hands busy on the food and your eyes on me,” she instructed her lover. “This really is an easy game for you but I fear you are overthinking it… The less attention you pay to the rest of the room, the better you are doing.”

It struck him then that, after sitting down, besides the toast to the dragonborn, looking at the singer, and the glance to the beholder chef, her eyes had never left him. Even when she spoke to Artran, her gaze remained steadfastly stuck in his direction.

And thus he gazed back at her, into those green eyes where he could always find solace. As things quieted down in his head, he also began to sense that the other tables, in between the glances at him and Imryll, were also looking at one another fairly frequently. His breath steadied and he picked up an amuse-bouche, the food beautifully portioned and arranged on a Shou-style spoon to be consumed in one bite. “This place has that effect on people, huh?”

“It’s all a game, dear.” She popped a caviar and cheese-laden banana crisp into her mouth with a satisfied grin before continuing, “Artie here can tell you. No one explicitly says as much but everyone here is after the same thing: power and influence. Isn’t that right?”

The halfling had an odd expression on his face, as if he was a celebrated chef being asked to divulge the secret recipe to his most famous dish. But he smiled again and turned to Jaezred. “The lady is speaking the truth. Of course, we pride ourselves on the sublime service and distinguished food we craft.”

“Of course, of course, it’s nothing against you, Artie, you really have done fabulously well. I’m merely commenting on the nature of the clientele you draw in.” He smiled still but only inclined his head. “Take, for example, the champagne we received. A simple gesture of little normal consequence, but the true motive is to endear himself upon us so as to gain our favour. Sending your thanks earlier has no doubt only doubled that self-entitled fool’s ego and he probably feels very good about himself. Everyone has seen the gesture and will no doubt talk about it, and soon enough, he has driven attention to whatever endeavour it is he has his sticky little hands on… However, we have now played an even bigger hand, arranging for our dear local celebrity”—she indicated to the singing Izssan with a subtle tilt of her head—“has been an unexpected gift for everyone here, a gift they now attribute to this table. His bottle of champagne is likely already forgotten and he is desperately thinking of ways to claw back that little lead he thought he had… Artie, would you mind telling me what is going on at said table?”

“My lady, you know I shouldn’t.”

“And yet…” She smiled sweetly, still maintaining eye contact with Jaezred.

There was a defeated sigh from Artran as he casted another message. A moment later, he said, “It seems the honourable Eltash Baltrin has been asking who your illustrious guest tonight might be, my lady. Nver has, however, maintained she is unable to pass on such information, of course. It seems he is keen to try and talk to you as you leave, my lord, that he might ingratiate himself with you.”

Imryll’s smile widened. “See? He is unable to match our play and now feels he must come to you. Power, dear… And by ignoring him from here on out, we cement it.”

Jaezred stared at her for a second, then his shoulders slumped as he relaxed and let out a sigh of relief. “Is that all? Oh, thank the Goddess,” he said. “But that explains why it made me feel so on edge. You play a completely different game up here — or…the same, but inverted. Where I come from, when people look at you the way we’ve been stared at tonight, there’s a good chance you won’t walk out the door in one piece.”

“Hmmm, yes, I had thought so… No, dear, this is a much duller affair, I’m afraid, but one I suspect you’d be quite good at: eating and generally trying to be more important than everyone else in the room.”

The drow nodded slowly and scooped a spoonful of banana crisps into his mouth. “The honourable gentleman would doubtlessly be disappointed to learn that I am a nobody… So we shouldn’t let him know that, now should we?” A smile spread across his face.

She grinned. “Precisely.”

He reached across the table to intertwine his fingers with hers. “I’m sorry about getting distracted. I should be paying attention to you tonight. It’s our night, after all.”

“Yes, you should,” she replied, the roguish smile dancing her across her lips.

As the last of the banana crisps were eaten, another acrobatic fly-by was performed and plates were swapped for small bowls filled with a creamy soup and topped with a delicate latticework of a hardened gelatin-like substance. Beside each bowl, a smaller-than-usual shot glass of a clear liquid was also placed. “Swallow’s nest soup, as requested by the lord. The nests have been gently steamed and cradled over the cream broth to maintain its subtle flavour. Besides this, the chef has prepared a small palette cleanser to be taken after, our house special fruit brandy of fermented plums and spice.”

Jaezred beheld the soup delightedly like a giddy child. “This dish sounds simple and rustic but it’s terribly hard to source. Behold is famous for being one of the few restaurants that do serve it, and serve it well.” A well-concealed look of pride flashed across Artran’s face at that.

“Is that so? I confess I haven’t tried it myself though I have heard good things…” Imryll said as she lightly broke part of the nest with her spoon, letting it sink into the soup.

“Go on then. It should be light and sweet.” The both of them slurped from their respective spoons and took a moment to savour the taste of something so rare.

“You know, it is quite funny to think about… I had not expected, when I met you last year, to be sitting here with you now like this. Maybe under different circumstances… Perhaps applying some pressure to your delicate body as I ply it for something I want… Though I suppose that is exactly what I do now sometimes anyway.” She winked over the spoon at him as she took another sip of the soup.

He laughed heartily. “Neither did I. I had not given you much thought after our first meeting, to be honest, and it gave me quite the surprise when I ran into you again at the Pierre-Vielles’ ball. After that, though, you invaded my thoughts quite frequently… But that aside, you admit to thinking about me after I defeated you so gloriously? Even if it was about torturing me?” He flashed a cheeky grin at her. “I must’ve made an impression.”

“Oh you certainly made an impression… I was quite sure you were an oafish, inept magic-user who just seemed to be popping up all too often. As for being gloriously defeated, dear, I must once again remind you I was under strict orders to play nice by our dear queen, remember? It wouldn’t do to go blowing up your toy castle so soon after having it built… Oh, of course, there is the slight matter of the ruling monarch you were supposed to protect who died that night, right? Sterling effort, really, a job well done.”

She chuckled as she snapped off another section of the nest and popped it into her mouth. “Yes, an impression is what I would call it,” she continued with a smirk, “But not one I am wholly unhappy about.”

“Well, that seals it then. Not only have I won the battle that day, I have also seized the long-term moral victory.” He pointed his spoon at her and the smile on his face turned smug. “I made you fall madly in love with me.”

She scoffed in response. “Please, if anything, it’s clear you fell for me. And, quite frankly, who could blame you? I am a treasure to be adored!”

“I didn’t hear a denial…”

“I don’t need to, dear. It’s plain to see for everyone but you.”

“Besides, I have done nothing but insult you and still you were infatuated with me. If that isn’t a testament to my natural charms, I don’t know what is.”

“Oh, is that what you were doing? And here I thought you just had no manners. My, you must really have been taken with me to go to such lengths to get my attention. Some would say…infatuated, maybe?”

“Oh, you are mistaken, my love. I was simply intrigued by the mystery of how an incompetent spy-come-mage managed to rise through the ranks of a fey court. And maybe, just maybe…” He shot her a coy look in between spoonfuls of soup. “…I found you a little charming.”

“I’m quite sure you mean irresistible.” She smirked, finishing her soup and raising a glass of fruit brandy to him. “Well, if nothing else, it certainly is interesting having you around to play with and tease… I’m sure we can find enough ways to torture you until next year.”

The smugness disappeared from his expression as it morphed into a look of gentle adoration, and his voice was warm with affection when he spoke again. “I never thought I’d feel this way for anyone, much less a surface elf from the Feywild, but it makes me happy. You make me happy, Imryll.” He picked up his own shot glass and knocked it against hers with a clink. “Here’s to more years of you irritating me for no reason.”

A genuine smile of joy blossomed across her face, creating a small wrinkle in her nose as it did. Jaezred’s heart skipped a beat — it was almost too adorable of a sight to handle.

They both downed the brandy at the same time. It had a surprisingly strong alcohol taste that did the job of cleansing the palate, but also mixed well with the fruity flavour and warm spices, and overall it was delicious. Thirty seconds after drinking it, however, Jaezred felt the alcohol wash back over him again, though he managed to maintain his composure. Imryll, on the other hand, struggled to keep a straight face and eventually let out a slight cough and a laugh, shaking her head as the second wave hit her too. It appeared this brandy was really quite stronger than expected.

He laughed. “Are you alright, dearest? Need some water?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said with another laugh. He patted her hand and turned to Artie with an expectant look. It was time for an appetiser.

Artran stepped forward and deftly cleared the table, passing the used plates and glasses to a passing acrobat just as a second delivered the appetisers. “Roasted Luskani oysters, drizzled with a generous warm butter mignonette, dressed with fresh parsley and garlic, finished with Osetra caviar. To pair with this, the sommelier has selected a white wine, Saerloonian Topaz. You should find it quite crisp, with a nutty quality.”

Jaezred took in the sight and smell of the dish, his eyes glittering. “Magnificent, truly magnificent,” he muttered. He picked up an oyster and half-rises from his chair to point out the beautiful colour of the flesh to Imryll, which was just the right hue of off-white. “Cooked to perfection!”

She chuckled delightedly at the display and at the earnestly impressed look on his face. “Have you cooked much oyster before? I do believe if you have, you have been holding out on me, dearest.”

“Well, needless to say, oyster is hardly ever cooked because it is often good as it is, so no, I have never tried it myself. But I will give it a shot, just for you.”

“I cannot wait!”

A flicker of movement from the ceiling, and Jaezred caught a wandering eye stalk stealing a glimpse at him showing the food to his lover. Wondering why, he threw a cursory glance around the room — it appeared that none of the other tables tonight were having oyster.

A smug grin crept back onto his lips. He sat back down, sipped his Saerloonian Topaz, then forked some oyster and caviar into his mouth, making sure the shell in his hand was in plain view of everyone in the room.

“Tsk, tsk, dear… They have seen, don’t worry about that. You should be looking this way, remember?”

“Very well, very well. It’s hard to take my eyes off of you, anyway.”

“I’m sure it is… Of course, now we need to make up for that little error. How do you suppose we do that?”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“Well, I think offering our dear Artran some oyster might ruffle a few feathers.” For the first time since sitting down, she broke eye contact with Jaezred to look at Artran. “Artie, be a dear, would you?”

“Ooh… You are a devious one, my lady.” He beckoned for Artran to come, then gestured at the plate. “Your choice, lad.”

He came over as ordered, giving the couple a curious look. “Thank you, my lord, but I’m afraid I can not do that, as the lady knows, I’m sure.” He smiled and bowed.

“Oh, of course Artie, I knew you wouldn’t but well, it’s polite to ask, isn’t it?”

Imryll gesticulated quite a bit as she said that, in order to draw the other guests’ attention to her, no doubt; and as the waiter returned to his station with many pairs of eyes watching him, the two elves basked in the satisfaction of their ploy succeeding.

“We certainly have the room’s attention now,” said Jaezred.

“As it should be, dear, as it should be…” She smiled at him, and he winked a thanks at Artie.

The next acrobatic sweep brought with it the salad course. “A simple but favourite of the restaurant owners: finely-sliced beets and mixed leaf salad, topped with a hard Nrav’Garat harvest cheese, decorated with star croutons for an extra crisp, dressed with a sharp vinaigrette.”

“Mmm,” Imryll intoned as she took a bite. “You know, this one is actually quite a common appearance on the menu, but is one of their least chosen salads. The few people who do get it usually know the owner to some degree, isn’t that so, Artran?” He politely nodded his agreement. “Apparently, it was the first dish they prepared and has been his favourite since.”

“Is that so? Then his taste palate is refined from the very beginning. Beet salad is underrated indeed. Do you know the owner yourself, Lady Imryll?”

She smiled. “Oh, I’d say we’ve met once or twice.”

There was something coy about that smile, and it quickly became apparent why. In the corner of Jaezred’s vision — and he very nearly missed it — Artran was wearing a proud look on his little face. Jaezred’s eyes widened. He casted his own message to Imryll and whispered, “Is he…?”

She looked terribly smug.

He immediately turned to face the halfling man. “Why sir!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “What a trick you’ve both been playing on me!”

Imryll cackled, whilst Artran himself maintained his professional air. “No trick at all, my lord. When the lady arrived, she made herself known and requested I attend to your needs personally.”

“Is she blackmailing you, my good man? She is a wicked one, this witch…” Jaezred said, taking Imryll’s hand and kissing it on the knuckles.

“Of course not, my lord. The Lady Imryll is well known to us and always a welcome guest. Though I should add, my lady, that I would appreciate it if tonight does not have quite so explosive a conclusion as last time?”

“Of course not Artie, I’ll make sure Lord Jaezred here behaves himself.”

“Oh come now, you can’t just say that and not tell me the whole story.”

“Another time, darling, but please do continue to tell Artran how good his restaurant is, I'm enjoying this.”

Artran looked slightly uncomfortable again. “Please, my lord, do not feel pressured to do so.”

“Oh, sir, I can rave about it all night, no pressure necessary. I must apologise for my dearest though, she can be very trying, as you have no doubt already discovered.” He grabbed the other man’s hand and shook it vigorously. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Artran.”

“Please, my lord, the pleasure is mine.”

This caused quite a stir in the other tables. Another one of the beholder’s eye stalks stared up and down at them. Imryll chuckled.

The acrobat swung by again, and the entrée was laid out. “Roasted duck breast, served on a bed of blood orange, fennel and avocado salad with apricot chutney. As per the lady’s request, the chef has also prepared a light mushroom foam for a delicate accoutrement.”

Jaezred rubbed his palms in glee. “Are you a fan of their mushroom sauce, dearest?”

“I am… It’s not merely just a sauce however, it’s like—” She scooped up a bit of the mushroom mousse-looking concoction on the plate with the edge of her fork and put it in her mouth. “—It’s like eating a bite of mushroom-flavoured air. So light, yet so flavourful!”

“Ah! Alright then, let’s see how well it pairs with the apricot chutney.” He excitedly carved some meat and dipped one side of it in the chutney and the mousse before eating it. As the flavours seeped out onto his tongue, his eyes rolled upwards. “By the Goddess,” he said, still chewing but unable to resist interjecting. “Pleasure on the tongue. A sensuous dance of flavours.”

The eye stalk watching from above seemed quite happy with itself, then turned away to blast a freeze ray at a long tray of desserts.

After a couple of slowly savoured bites, Jaezred addressed Imryll again with a conspiratorial look: “So, your ladyship seems to know quite a lot of people here. Out of all of them, who would say is the juiciest of the bunch?”

“Mmm—” She swallowed the duck she was savouring. “Sorry, hmm… Well, if you are talking juicy, that would, of course, be the chef— But that would indeed be an unwise subject to gossip about.” A couple of eye stalks had turned again towards the table for a moment. Jaezred shrunk away, just a tiny bit. “But if we are talking more mundane… Oh don’t worry, Artie, your secret is still safe with me.”

Artran was visibly trying to keep a straight face but forced a smile at Imryll.

“Hmm, well…” she continued. “Remember the rules, you are not allowed to look or you give the game away… But the elven woman two tables over to your left, no doubt wearing a black dress, has so far gone through three husbands — all very peculiar circumstances around their ‘deaths’. She has recently started trying to promote her fabrics trade in a bid to try and provide a better quality of life for her fourth husband, in case he befalls another strange illness.”

Jaezred did not look, but one attentively-watching eye stalk from above did glance across to the table Imryll mentioned. “I suppose that’s abnormal up here, isn’t it? Not so much in Menzoberranzan. Maybe she’s got a bit of drow blood in her,” he joked. “Anyone else?”

“Well now, the juicy part of this particular arrangement is that I helped her set up that trade business by putting her in touch with an interested but silent partner… The really juicy part is that the silent partner is actually two of her supposed dead husbands who both individually faked their own deaths to get away from her, met, and have since run off together as lovers and business partners. The third actually died, it was very sad.”

“Well, now that is juicy. Did she ever find out?”

The eladrin smiled innocently. “None of them have. The runaways are unaware she is the business they have invested in.”

He laughed out loud. “You don’t get this kind of gossip in a small town like Daring or Port Ffirst! Although, our friends Oziah and Delilah prove to be the exception to the rule…”

The innocent smile took on a wicked air. “Oh yes! I have high hopes for those two!”

“Oh right, I haven’t told you, have I? Oziah did swing by after our chat with Delilah, and Delilah surely saw her, but chose to be a coward once again.” He tut-tutted. “Oziah told me that Delilah left her a letter, but she’s still a bit cross at her.”

“Such a tease… When they finally work this game out, they are going to have a seriously messy night of reconciling all these pent-up feelings they drag around. One delicious night of awkward feelings bubbling to the surface in a hot, sordid affair…” She trailed off into contemplation, taking another bite of duck.

“You sound as if you’re about to write erotica based on our dear acquaintances.”

“Oh no, far too tedious… I just want the juicy details.” She chuckled again. “But do tell me, any other exciting tidbits from the little stone box you all live in?”

“Ah… There is the case of Miss Celina Zabinski and her estranged husband, some nice, young, halfling fellow. She’d been avoiding him for some reason and it got to the point where he started putting up missing wife posters across the Dawnlands. At first, I thought he was violating her boundaries, so I made an arrangement with her to take the posters down in exchange for a favour. Naturally, I did that by telling him to back off, and he agreed, even giving me his wedding ring to deliver back to her. But it turns out, she does return his feelings for her, simply lacking the courage to face it. Seems to be a recurring theme in the adventuring community…”

She contemplatively took a bite of chutney-slathered salad as she listened. “More missing spouses… Honestly, you’d think people would just talk things out and work on a healthy relationship rather than do this constant dancing around…”

“Some people are just not emotionally mature,” he sighed.

The remains of the entrée were soon cleared away by Artran’s deft hands. There was a final display of elves flying on trapezes and plates of food were whisked around the sphere of quiet as he put empty plates on the table, then brought over a large platter domed with a silver cloche. He set it down between Jaezred and Imryll and gripped the small handle on the cloche, seeming to hesitate for a second as he looked between the two of them.

Imryll had put on another deceptively innocent smile. Jaezred was getting nervous again.

“As per the lord’s request, a custom cake was procured and kept aside for a special display… And as per the lady’s request, alterations have been made to said cake by the patissier in the assumed manner. He has taken the liberty of adding his own flair to the piece, however, and is quite keen on feedback.” Artran indicated upwards to the kitchen, where a goliath in a frosting-covered apron was standing upside down, staring at their table with crossed arms. A couple of the kitchen workers, as well as an eye stalk from the beholder head chef, had also turned towards them.

The large, silver cloche was drawing a lot of attention from the other guests too, some even craning their necks to see it, especially as the kobold soprano had finally finished her performance. The colour drained slightly from Jaezred’s complexion. It had become clear that Imryll had, perhaps in trying to make similar arrangements, discovered the “surprise” he had planned for dessert, and intervened somehow.

After what felt like an eternity, Artran lifted the cloche with a flourish.

Now, prior to this, Jaezred had been in touch with a local bakery to craft a specific cake to be delivered to Behold on the night of the date. He’d requested a round chocolate cake drizzled with raspberry compote, and on top of it, a frosted chocolate figurine of a green-skinned elf woman with chin-length blonde hair lying ungracefully on her derrière — to commemorate the moment when the esteemed Sergeant Grimes knocked Imryll on her arse with a thunderous smite.

However, the cake that was currently before them was slightly different. For one, they had added delicate chocolate moulds of twisting vine flowers and spiders crawling between crystalline structures of white chocolate that framed the round cake. The female elven figure now had fair skin and longer, golden curls and was wearing a revealing dress, though she was still lying on her behind. To one edge of the cake, silhouetted in one of the white chocolate shards were two figures — one masculine, the other feminine — both of which seem to be laughing at the elven woman.

Jaezred himself burst out laughing, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head in disbelief. Other than adding decorations to the cake, Imryll had changed the subject of the punchline from herself to Xantha Addington, and the two silhouettes must have been meant to be the two of them having a laugh at Xantha’s expense. Meanwhile, the spring eladrin turned around to look up at the patissier and gave him a small round of applause, one which was quietly echoed by some other tables.

“Oh dear Goddess. Should we show this to her?” he asked in between fits of chortles.

She flashed her wicked grin again. “I think it would be rude not to!”

“Oh yes. But we should say it came from her dear neighbour Dr. Killian…”

She looked back at him, that genuine, happy smile back in place. She had the face of someone who had found their ideal partner-in-crime and was relishing the sheer bliss in the chaos they would cause together.

After a moment, Jaezred regained his composure, and said, “Bravo, you outplayed me, well done. Though my plan was to balance out the embarrassment you would have suffered with this little thing.”

He procured a flat, black box, roughly the size of his palm, from within his coat pocket and put it on Imryll’s side of the table. She uncovered it and saw what lay within: a gold chain necklace with a small, golden spider hugging a peridot gemstone with its legs, simple but elegant. Her eyes lit up with delight and she gave him a coy smile. “Really now, you shouldn’t have!”

“Oh no. It’s really a gift for your conversation partners, to distract them from the road accident that is your face.”

“I don’t think that should be too much of a problem if you are anywhere nearby, you are quite a tragic sight, you might actually outdo me at that.”

He smiled as he stood up and walked around her to help her put the necklace on. Linking the two ends of the chain in place behind her neck, he said in a soft voice, “I’m…tired of hiding us. Tired of only holding you in the shadows or when no one else is looking. I hope you’ll forgive me one day for being that foolish. I’ll not do that again.”

“Oh Jaezred… You will absolutely be as foolish, if not more, again. Probably by tomorrow, I don’t doubt. But…thank you.” She leaned back to look up at him. “Though I must admit, being the secret woman definitely had more mystique to it… I suppose I’ll have to make do!” she teased.

“You have enough mystique around you, I think,” he said, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “It’s getting late. I have one last gift for you, if your ladyship would care to teleport us to Port Ffirst?”

He offered a hand to her. She looked intrigued, and accepted his hand and rose to her feet. The cake was expertly spirited away by the team of trapeze artists.

“Artran, it has been a delight as always.” The halfling bowed deeply in response. She then turned to the kitchen and blew a kiss at the head chef.

“Oh yes! And one more thing, Artran. You said the honourable gentleman was planning to speak to me, did you not?” Jaezred gestured towards the red dragonborn across the room without looking at him. In the corner of his eye, the dragonborn was frustratedly craning his thick neck, trying to see what was going on. “Please tell the honourable gentleman that I cannot do that, for I’m afraid I don’t have any change on me.”

“Very good, my lord. At the risk of another fire incident”—Artie threw a glance at Imryll—“I may perhaps choose a kinder turn of phrase, however.”

“No. Tell him exactly that. Verbatim. Thank you, Artran, it has been an utmost pleasure and I wish you good luck in whatever follows. Thank you, chef, for the dinner of a lifetime!”

He did not look pleased about that but nodded his head and casted another look at Imryll, who was the very picture of innocence.

Jaezred tapped the crystal he was given by the cloakroom attendant and a small portal opened in the air. Two winged hangers flew out carrying their coats; after the coats were taken off, they obediently flew back into the closing portal. He returned the crystal to Artran, who afterwards turned to point at the waitress over by the other table with a hesitant expression.

Nver had genuine concern etched into her bird-like features and she visibly mouthed an incredulous “What?” in response. Artran simply closed his eyes and nodded. With puffed out cheeks, she spun around to face the dragonborn, seemingly trying to gather courage. Several other waiters and a few acrobats hovered closer to the table. A couple eye stalks rotated themselves towards it to watch. Imryll giggled and began casting the teleportation spell.

A few more seconds passed, and the look of smugness on the honourable Eltash Baltrin’s face — recently skyrocketed into new stratospheres upon hearing a message was sent over — eroded away into shock, then hurt, and finally leading into burning rage. Two others guests at the table, a halfling and a gnome, began cackling, and the fourth, a human woman, turned away abruptly from what was unfolding, and Nver smoothly took a large step back as the dragonborn bolted to his feet, literally steaming at the mouth and glowering across the room at Jaezred.

The last thing Jaezred saw as the restaurant faded quickly into a blur was the red dragonborn marching at him with several people dodging out the way, fury in his eyes and black smoke billowing out from his jaws. The last thing the dragonborn saw of Jaezred, before he blinked out of space, was the shit-eating grin on his handsome face.

---

They reappeared in front of the Flourished Hook, doubled over in laughter.

“Ohhh, that gets them every time!” he said, wiping a tear from one eye.

“Now, I’m not normally one for burning bridges but even I have to admit that was pretty funny!”

He looked up at the full moon high in the sky. A light snow was falling around them. “It’s almost midnight. Come, my lady.”

“Oooh, secret rendezvous under moonlight, this is fun!”

Jaezred guided her to the townhouse of Root Penrosea, not far from the Hook along the Old Town Road. Knocking on the door, they were let into the beautiful, plant-filled home, where Imryll looked around in fascination, not expecting this in Port Ffirst of all places. He made quick introductions between Imryll and their hosts, Root and Ted the iron golem, before leading her upstairs, past the arcane horticultural laboratory, and into the rooftop garden.

The garden was crowded with snowdrops, spring crocuses, red roses and carnations, lavenders, and lilies-of-the-valley. The floor had been fitted with thick outdoor mats that were glamoured to look like grass, and the cascading snow disappeared between the illusory blades of grass. And furthermore, there was harp music in the air, coming from an inflorescence of angel’s trumpets flowers sitting by the koi pool in the centre of the garden. The flowers were wrapped around themselves, each being of a different colour and size and emanating different musical notes.

The two elves were immediately drawn towards it. “I commissioned this from Root. He’s really quite the genius,” Jaezred explained. “We can take it home afterwards and put it in the sitting area. But first…”

He clapped his hands twice and the harp music stopped, then a waltz began to play. Imryll was visibly very impressed and at a loss of words for once. He extended a hand out to her. “Would you honour me with a dance, Lady Imryll?”

She took his offered hand with a smile. “Since you asked so nicely, yes, Lord Jaezred I shall.”

“Wonderful.”

And they held each other and danced around the garden, among the snow-touched blooms of reds, purples, and whites. Below them, there was a faint, rhythmic, thumping noise of metal against wood — they reckoned Root was likely teaching Ted about the concept of dancing. A rippling reflection of the full moon covered the surface of the koi pond, and the real thing above their heads shone a light down on them that strangely felt almost protective, almost warm in the winter breeze.

“I don’t know what will happen in the next few days,” Jaezred said. “But…I hope we both get through it fine, and with each other.”

“I have no doubt, my sweet fool, that, no matter what happens, you will be back here annoying me. No matter what.”

“You can count on that.”

(Continued from Time to Breathe.)

The Mountain Palace, the Witching Court
16th Nightal 1498

The Mountain Palace was a city in its own right, one that was carved into the inside of a large mountain range. The labyrinthine, meandering tunnels were its streets and the sedimentary layers of the mountain served as its districts. The denizens of the palace never said 1st floor, 2nd floor, etc., but rather referred to the area they were in with the name of the rock layer it was carved into.

Imryll had teleported them both into the Granite stratum of the palace. Jaezred found himself seated on a wooden bench in a wide, long, low-ceilinged room, lined with market stands and lit dimly by small, floating orbs of light — a marketplace of some kind. The walls were solid granite and the floor, though littered with straw and small items of rubbish, was inlaid with a mosaic made of various coloured stones and metal depicting a vast, mountainous expanse.

There were a few kobolds, sweeping the floor or carrying crates of goods around, but the marketplace was otherwise quiet, apart from one stand displaying a treasure trove of hand-made jewellery, delicately balanced over crudely-carved rocks piled on the stall. Behind the stand was a small, female kobold, adorned in as much jewellery as the display.

Jaezred rose to his feet to greet her and immediately bumped his head on the ceiling. Imryll, who had wisely remained seated, laughed at him. He blushed and sat back down.

“Hello, Nex. Yes, it seems I was able to talk my charming friend here into looking at your stall far sooner than I expected!” Imryll said, whilst flashing that deceptively innocent smile that meant she had meticulously planned this encounter. He gritted his teeth in annoyance and a sudden wariness sprung up within him, but he inwardly reminded himself to trust the woman he loves.

The kobold clattered her way around the stand and towards him with a wooden cup of water in her claws. The mass of jewellery on her diminutive body clinked and jingled noisily as she moved. “Ah, Tall Lord okay? Hit head hard on ceiling, yes? Tall Lord should rest, have drink,” she said, and passed the cup to him.

He peered curiously over to the stall as he sipped the water. The jewellery appeared to be mostly copper and silver with adornments made out of an array of baubles and oddities: bones, crystals, bits of wood; one necklace was a chain of silver threaded through a large redcap mushroom. Nex peppered his look-around with comments such as “Tall Lord has good taste!” and “Fine detail, difficult to make.”

“Have you got anything new in, Nex? My love here got me the most remarkable necklace”—Imryll pressed her fingers flat against her clavicle to draw attention to the golden spider necklace—“and I was rather hoping to find something to match it?”

At that, Nex clattered back around the stand and disappeared under it for a while to rummage through their belongings. Soon, there was a long, raspy moan. “Earrings to match necklace the Lady should have, but Nex does not have!”

“Do you perhaps have a bracelet with a yellow gemstone, perhaps vine-like or having vine adornments?” Jaezred suggested.

Nex’s head popped up from behind the stand, somehow covered in even more trinkets now. “Yes! Yes! Bracelet vines for the Tall Lord! Nex can add Gems if he wishes.”

She made her way back to him and showed him a few pieces of jewellery on her body that matched the description, some of them worn on the arms, fitting on her biceps rather than on her thin forearms, and others were hanging from a chain around her neck. One item caught his eye — a bracelet composed of thin copper wires, woven and twisted around one another like vine tendrils with tiny, delicate, curled leaves branching off of them.

He pointed at it. “Could you add a slight green hue to the metal to this one? ‘Round the edges of the leaves and a sheen in the vines. Oh, and a topaz gemstone.”

Nex excitedly pulled it off her arm and began turning it over and muttering to herself, though he couldn’t hear what she was saying over the noise of all her jewellery knocking around. He threw a quick glance at Imryll to see what she thought. She seemed to be trying to maintain a passive, neutral expression, but a slight hint of a smile betrayed her approval when he picked that bracelet. He smiled at her, gradually being put back at ease.

"Nex can not but knows smith who can. Nex ask to temper for Lord, greens and blues or green and copper? Then gemstone maybe held here”—the kobold pointed at the center of the bracelet—“held by small vines?” She looked at Jaezred saucer-eyed, almost as if she was pleading with him to be given this task that she would very much enjoy doing.

“Ah yes, copper turns green when oxidised, does it not? But it’s not the right shade of green. I’d like it to be a verdant sort of green,” he answered, thinking aloud. “Copper and green it is, with a copper majority. The topaz can go there, yes, but extra plant life would not be necessary.”

She looked elated. “Nex pass this on, maybe smith can dye? Nex ask!” she exclaimed, before scurrying back behind the stand to dig out a box. She put the bracelet into the box and scribbled a note to be stuck on top of it, then clambered over to an alcove in the wall a few feet behind her stand, where she dropped the box, and it fell into the darkness.

Jaezred nodded. “Thank you, Nex. How much will cost m—”

He stopped as soon as he remembered that they did not trade in regular currency in the Feywild. He looked nervously over at Imryll.

“Nex and I have a little bit of an arrangement already — she won’t be taking payment, only inspiration. Careful not to move though, or it may sting a little.”

In the same moment the last words came out of her mouth, he felt a tiny pinprick on the back of his right hand. Nex had reappeared by his side without a sound, which was worrying given the racket she usually made when moving around, and had pricked his hand with a remarkably sharpened claw. A reptilian tongue slithered out of her snout to lick the single bead of blood on the tip of the claw, and she tasted it as if she was tasting an expensive wine. She then turned her head to stare at him. “Spiders… Elegance… Food?” she said, making a quizzical expression at the last one.

“What…? Are you a…a vampire?”

She looked confused. “No?”

Jaezred gaped at Imryll as if to say What the fuck is going on? She simply smiled innocently. Meanwhile, Nex, now clattering again, returned to her stand. “Nex make sophisticated bangles from the Lord, spiders and etched designs. Drow may like. Nex do good business!”

“How did you do that? Sense what I like from a drop of my blood?”

She shrugged. “Always do. No taste, people no like Nex jewellery. Nex taste, people like Nex jewellery. Nex make good jewellery now. Lord will like!”

It was at this point that Imryll leaned over to him and explained, “Nex is an odd one I found a while back, gifted by some deity or another with a type of premonition based on ritual sacrifice. She isn’t very creative on her own, unfortunately, but once she has tasted blood, she is really quite accurate to people’s tastes and, well, I couldn’t let that go to waste, so I brought her here.”

“What? Isn’t selling jewellery precisely a waste of this incredible talent? She could be out there serving Tiamat or whoever!”

“Well, I suppose that depends on your position. A priest of Tiamat may certainly think so. I wanted some nice jewellery, so I think she is best served here… Nex just wanted to make people happy and, well, she seems quite happy here, don’t you think? She is, of course, free to leave whenever she wants.” She indicated to the kobold, who was already sketching something in her notebook. “She takes samples from people, like you now, dear, and uses that to make new designs. In turn, she sells and trades for whatever she wants here in the low market. She is her own boss now.”

“I suppose…” he muttered, still mulling it over.

“Don’t worry, darling, no shady deals or the like have been made with Nex… She was offered a choice and she made it herself. Do try not to let Xantha know about her though, I fear she may try to take advantage of her.”

Nex was now on sketch number 3, a design of what appeared to be a reversed tiara in the shape of a large spider, whose body would sit on the back of the wearer’s head whilst its long legs reached forward to clasp a sizeable gemstone meant to be on the wearer’s forehead. Jaezred arched his brows, a little impressed.

“Why do you say that? Do you think Miss Addington will sacrifice a whole bunch of innocent mortals just to expand her jewellery collection?” he asked.

“Perhaps. Or maybe she might try to coerce the poor girl into some sort of espionage to see what other visions she can get. Failing that, she may just try to take over her little operation here and claim it as her own. But Nex is quite happy with her stand here. She was offered a cave opening to use as a store/workshop but she seemed to prefer it down here.”

“Why is Miss Addington like that? No, I suppose that’s quite normal for hags, but why does she insist on not presenting as one?”

“I think she fancies herself some sort of a businesswoman, out to take over the world, under our magnificent queen, of course. Beyond that, I’m afraid she is just a spiteful crone who longs to be something she isn’t.”

Imryll looked smug about her description of Xantha, and he was certainly no stranger to her habit of obfuscating upon being asked for information, but this time, he sensed that she did not know about the good Miss Addington as much as she would normally care to, given her profession as a spy.

He turned back to Nex. “Well, alright. But we’re not exactly here for jewellery and gossip, now are we?”

“Oh yes! Of course… Nex, darling, do you think you could tell us where we might find Sarin’s temple? I’ve heard it’s supposed to be in a bar of some sort?”

Nex looked up just as she was moving on to a 4th sketch — something larger that could hang across the body. She stared at Imryll and her eyes glossed over for a second before refocusing again. “The naked one! Behind Moon and Web. Bad drinks there but good food!” And she proceeded to rattle off some directions for the next minute, although it amounted to, essentially, turning right at the market’s exit and keep going.

He stood up, slowly this time so as to prevent any further embarrassing collisions. “We should get going then,” he said, turning to the direction Nex indicated towards, dragging his head along the ceiling as he did.

The elven couple headed out of the low market, ducking through the exit and into a (thankfully) larger corridor. It was a five-minute walk from there to The Moon and Web Tavern, and Jaezred filled the silence with some salacious gossip about Sorrel Darkfire and Silvia, which Imryll heard with delight. Eventually, they stopped at a door with a small, wooden sign above, a painting of a crescent moon emblazoned over a spider web upon it.

“Shall we?” Imryll asked, and opened the door.

The sounds of raised voices and the smells of greasy food and spilt beer blasted out of the open door. The room was large, cavernous in height, at least 100 feet across and entirely made of wood, with no windows in sight. A myriad of doors of all sizes and colours lined the walls and a cavalcade of different-coloured flags, most of which Jaezred did not recognise, hung from the ceiling. One wall was filled with paintings of people in matching uniforms, holding various items of equipment, most seeming to be out in fields. Another was plastered in a wild mix of items: various oddly-shaped clubs, hats, more paintings, shirts, and what appeared to be a saddle — many of these also had strange scribbles of writing on them.

A third wall was covered in a massive black sheet. Several pixies were hovering near it, flitting back and forth and casting spells to display several images on the sheet — some of them big and moving, others smaller and static, showing various series of numbers and words — and a few of the pixies seemed to be in charge of projecting sound that synchronised with the moving images across the room. The centre of the sheet was taken up by the largest moving image, showing a number of hags dressed in either blue or gold tunics, running and flying across a field of grass, furiously casting spells at one another whilst passing a grey sphere around, with a crowd of spectators cheering them on in the background; occasionally, the grey ball hit the ground, where it vanished and reappeared elsewhere in the field, causing the stream of manic hags to suddenly change directions. Another, smaller image showed two small armies battling over a golden idol of some sort, and another one was a more familiar sight to Jaezred — giant spider rodeo, where competitors rode giant jumping spiders that zip around, buck, and leap high into the air in an attempt to throw their riders off their backs, just like what he saw in the frog bog many months ago.

The tavern was packed with all manners of people, most of their eyes glued onto the image-laden screen, but others were staring into crystal orbs fixed to the centre of some tables, also displaying moving images. Amongst all this, waiters scurried around carrying drinks and food, collecting empty tankards and plates, pausing once in a while to take orders. Most of them were pixies and fairies, but Jaezred also caught a glimpse of a glowing spider the size of a small dog scuttling along the wall with a tray of drinks on its body, disappearing into a puff of smoke when it had delivered its order to a table in one of three mezzanine levels. If only cousin Igrainne could train her pet like that.

A loud cheer erupted across the room when one of the hags in a gold tunic was polymorphed into an otter and consequently dropped the grey ball she was holding. Imryll turned back to him with her hands on her hips and a grin on her face. “I think we need to come down here more often, my lord. This does look fun!”

“What in the name of Lolth?” he cried. “This—! Unbelievable. It is bad enough that they disgrace their own religion by hiding it in a tavern, but this place? And you do not expect me to step in here.”

“I absolutely do!” she said, and grabbed him by the arm to drag his petrified body inside, like a cat about being plunged into water.

She dropped him off at an empty table, the crystal orb showing the same game of hag rugby as on the screen, and picked up a menu that had been left there. She grimaced when she realised what her skin was touching and casted a quick prestidigitation spell over it. “A drink, darling? I’m sure they have something a little rough and ready for you.”

“No, thank you!” he shouted above the din as he dodged a slosh of beer, accidentally splashed his way, and casted mage armour on himself.

“Shame. It says here their cockatrice wings are planes-famous… That doesn’t really seem right, though, does it?”

She wrinkled her nose as she continued reading the menu. A summoned mage hand plucked it out of her hands and tossed it onto the sticky floors below. “I’ll cook you dinner later, no need to lower our life expectancies here,” said Jaezred.

There was another cheer, this time from the smaller crowd that was watching the spider rodeo. The moving image on the sheet showed a replay of what had happened: a dwarven rider losing his grip on his arachnid mount, tumbling out of a tree and into a pool of murky water. Someone across the room shouted something in what sounded like a slurred Gnomish to his ears, earning a few crude gestures back.

“Or, I suppose, we could ask at the bar if they know Sarin?” Imryll suggested.

The bar was located in the centre of the room, crescent-shaped and backed by a wall of mirrors decorated with a spider web pattern, upon which was stacked many bottles of liquor. A few well-dressed dark elves were working behind it whilst an older, tired-looking male drow wearing an apron watched over them. A gap was made in the line of patrons sitting on the stools when one of them stumbled away, perhaps to heed nature’s call, and Jaezred seized this opportunity to approach and grab one barkeep’s attention. Not bothering to try his voice against the background roar of the spectators and patrons, he instead made a flurry of hand signs in Drow Sign Language to ask, Sarin Aleannder — where can I find him?

The barkeep looked confused for a second, but understood him. He held up one finger as he spoke into the aproned man’s ear, who then stepped in front of Jaezred and asked, shouting above the noise, “Sarin?”

Jaezred nodded, and the older drow pointed at the large black sheet. “Behind there, under the score sheet. Just be quick or get ready to duck!”

“What?”

He leaned over and pointed again. “Through there, move quick!”

Looking now, there appeared to be a slit in the fabric, just under a static image with numbers on it. Jaezred wasn’t about to be told twice. He grabbed Imryll’s hand and dashed for the opening. As they moved in front of the screen, there was a shout from somewhere behind them, followed by jeers, and a rogue chicken bone sailed through the air towards them, bouncing off his mage armour. The two elves slipped inside a small corridor full of doors, barely missing the barrage of flying food debris.

“Lolth’s bloated thorax!” he cursed loudly. “I have never seen a public house worse than this since the fucking Seashank! That this place is dark elf-owned is a smear on our people’s name!”

Imryll was laughing. “Oh I don’t know, it has a certain charm… And well, they all seem to be enjoying themselves. Stickier than I’d like, though.”

The corridor was actually rather quiet, the sounds from the tavern being muffled by the thick curtain. They walked down the hallway, past sets of doors that seemed to be shops of various kinds, until they reached a door marked with a crescent moon symbol.

“Our man is an obvious one, and not just because he walks around arse-naked.”

“I think this is far more subtle than the nudity, dear.” She looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

They had made it this far. There was no point in turning back now. Jaezred took a deep breath and rapped thrice on the door.

---

The door swung open, seemingly of its own accord, to reveal a small, plain chapel. Standing on a raised dais, in front of a carved stone effigy of Eilistraee, dancing with her sword, was the naked form of Sarin Aleannder, his lower half thankfully concealed behind a lectern.

“I was expecting this, but somehow, I’m still surprised,” Jaezred muttered to Imryll.

There were a few rows of pews lined up to face the dais, with a handful of drow seated there, listening to him speak, all spaced out from each other. They were all fully dressed, save for one who was wearing a loincloth, with his clothes folded neatly next to him. The only source of light in the room was a large orb hanging above where Jaezred and Imryll had entered, glowing with a white light that made it reminiscent of the moon. He noticed now that they were standing in a circle that had been carved into the floorboards — perhaps a space used for practicing sacred dances.

Sarin was preaching to his congregation about the light of Eilistraee, but his gaze wandered briefly over to the two of them in the back of the room, and he decided to remind everyone of her “great sacrifice” and how she worked to save “her children”. To begin, he recounted the tale of how she was used by the Spider Queen in the attempt on Corellon’s life. Corellon survived, as all here knew, and Lolth and the Dark Seldarine were banished eternally from Arvandor. Eilistraee, however, chose this fate herself, choosing expulsion so that she might continue to guide the drow out of the darkness to a life in the light on the surface, for no one else would take up the task of looking out for them.

Then he spoke of the evils of Lolth. The naturally soft, dulcet tone of his voice made it almost impossible for him to sound judgmental, but nonetheless the condemnation in his words were all Jaezred heard. He spoke of the nature of the society she bred, where dark elves live in constant fear of assassination, manipulation, and exploitation, where they slaughter one another for her amusement in this system of abuse she created; he spoke of how the drow are goaded by her into conflict against not only the so-called surface elves (a few heads on the pews turned to glance at Imryll at this) but many other races on Toril; he spoke of how her “faithful” are mercilessly tested by standards beyond rhyme or reason, how they are made to jump through hoops like animals cowed under the ringmaster’s whip, and of those who fail, how, rather being allowed to learn from their mistakes and grow, they are broken and discarded like forgotten playthings.

Jaezred bristled as he listened to the poison and sewage that spilled out of his mouth. The boy had lived most of his life on the surface world, in the fucking Feywild, he thought, what would he know about what it’s actually like down there? He understood nothing of the need to be strong, the need to rise above a world that is hostile to them. Strength arises from hate, might from vengeance won.

His right hand inched towards the wand of the war mage hidden within his frock coat. The chapel was not large. It was possible to catch all of them in a fire storm spell, and then leave them in the burning room.

Finally, Sarin brought the sermon to a full circle as he returned to praising Eilistraee, Lolth’s own, wayward daughter. “She guides and visits us, saves us from darkness, but affords us the choice of that change to life. Not manipulated and driven like rothé — instead, her guiding radiance is shown through the tiny visions all drow see, yet many hide away from: the fleeting music, the dancing figure, the yearning to explore a world unknown, a life of peace.

“All of you have felt her call, else you would not be here. You must be brave enough to accept her grace, to step out of the darkness and embrace this new life.”

He walked slowly down the aisle towards the carved circle and invited everyone to join him in a dance to celebrate the liberty of life his goddess had given him, the same life she offered to all her children of the dark. Jaezred and Imryll moved out of the way, stepping to the side as there was not much room in the small chapel. They watched him perform a simple dance in the circular space, his movements more competent and confident than they were in Sorrel’s exorcism, now that he was fully nude. The drow in the loincloth eagerly joined in, twirling and spinning around the circle. Midway through the dance, the worshipper was overcome with emotion and started weeping, and after the performance was concluded, Sarin kissed him on the forehead. He padded towards the effigy of Eilistraee and fell to his knees in prayer.

The remainder of the congregation slowly shuffled towards the exit, uttering quiet goodbyes to Sarin, though one male drow lingered briefly by the effigy before joining the rest. None of them ever made eye contact with one another.

Jaezred glowered at each and every one of them as they passed by him, his crimson eyes burning with a silent, judging fury. Most of them meekly looked down and quickened their pace. One gasped and stumbled into the doorframe, rapidly fleeing from his glare. The last one to leave, the man who stopped by the effigy, met his gaze for a brief moment, and walked out with his head held high.

Play nice now, he heard Imryll’s voice whisper in his head. You won’t learn anything by just scaring them. Oh good, he’s coming here now, maybe he’ll want to hug you!

“What— Naked?!”

Right on cue, Sarin approached the two of them, beaming. “Lord Jaezred, it is a pleasure to see you again!” He spread his arms wide, and for a moment Jaezred did think he was about to be bear hugged, but fortunately he stayed in place.

“…Priest,” replied Jaezred, turning his head slightly away and moving an outstretched palm up into his field of vision in order to block out Sarin’s privates from his view. He wasn’t normally this prudish, but there was something about a drow carrying himself in such a shameless manner, in full view of surface-dwellers, that made him deeply uncomfortable. Imryll, meanwhile, was trying very hard to not laugh at his discomfort.

“Ah yes, the bothersome clothing again… Since you have come so far to see me, I shall do my best to make you feel at ease,” Sarin said. He walked back to the effigy behind the dais and picked up what seemed to be the raiment of his clergy — a white sash that sat on the hips, affixed with a crescent moon pin. Somehow, even though he was relieved he wouldn’t have to look at Sarin’s gently swinging knob again, this made Jaezred feel even more disheartened. This was what they had for vestments? A posh loincloth?

“I try to spend as much time in the nude as possible, you understand, in the style of our beautiful goddess.” He indicated to the effigy behind him. “But unfortunately, most people are not so welcoming to the naked form.”

“Well, I don’t think there is anything wrong with being naked, though I must admit, I would be slightly worried in here about…” Imryll glanced around the room, at the wooden furnishings and walls. “…splinters?”

The priest smiled. “The lady jests, but I do not mind. Of course, unfortunate bodily piercings aside, I’m sure the Lord Jaezred has come with other intentions in mind?”

“There is only one person currently in this room whom I ever want to see naked, and it isn’t you,” he said scornfully to Sarin. “I don’t have any other intention than to see what is going on here, and to have the Spider Queen watch through my eyes as she always does. And I must say”—he spread his arms and swivelled his head as he made a show of looking around the lonely chapel—“every aspect of it is absolutely terrible. From the awful tavern outside to this pathetic excuse of a temple. Just what you infidels deserve, I suppose.”

Sarin did not seem to take offence at his words. “The Spider Queen may watch me prance and cavort bare as she much as she pleases, as I’m sure she has watched before. My humble temple is safe from the prying and twisted souls who would follow her will, and is the reason for it being here, of course.” He turned to address Imryll. “Truth be told, I find the rabble outside a little close-minded, there have been several occasions they have cried out at my naked form emerging from behind the cloth, but the owner is a dear friend and sympathetic to our cause.”

“Such a shame, really difficult to find those really invested in the naked form these days,” she said with a smirk.

“Yes…” He turned back to Jaezred again. “But our lord here is not wrong. I would much love to conduct our service out under the sky more often, but there are dangers to be had where the Chosen of Lolth roam. Another reason for this location — I presume you noted the oddness of this location? The many doors, yet lack of windows?”

“Yes.” The sorcerer took a few steps closer towards Sarin. “No quick way out for you, if one of those twisted souls do manage to find their way here.” He drew his wand and jabbed it into the centre of the younger man’s bare chest. “The renegade goddess forbid that would ever happen…right?”

Sarin simply smiled. “Actually, many… Come!”

With that, he stepped past Jaezred and made for the door. He paused momentarily by the threshold, and walked to the back of the room quickly to grab the poncho he wore on his trip to Daring Heights, muttering to himself about the shame of it all before strolling back out the door.

Jaezred’s eyes widened in disbelief at this casual brush-off of his threat. Imryll, surprised at this turn of events, looked at him with eyes alight, and then practically skipped out after Sarin. “Come on!” she called out to her paramour.

Visibly frustrated, he followed.

---

The priest went to open a seemingly random door in the small corridor, which opened to yet another corridor. He strolled along this too and stopped by the seventh door on the left, one that looked like it was made out of living bark.

The trio stepped through it and, to Jaezred’s surprise, into the outdoors. It was cold. There was the winter chill and the smell of fire in the air, and a tiny village lit by the full moon set against the backdrop of the unmistakable shape of the Mountain Palace. He turned around just in time to see the outline of a door fade receding into the bark of a fir tree.

Imryll looked around, trying to get her bearings, then laughed out loud. “Very clever! I thought it was odd Nex gave us directions that were so close. Margo has always said there was no church in the palace.”

Sarin still had his gaze on Jaezred. “The temple, while not quite what I would hope it to be, is rather safe, I assure his lordship,” he said. A wind picked up and blew his long, silvery hair around him and made his poncho billow. “It strikes me, however, that threats are not what brings you here today? Surely if destruction of my quaint church were your intention, then you would have done so whilst our flock was gathered. Exterminating everything is, I believe, how Lolth would typically handle such a situation, no?”

“Don’t think I wasn’t sorely tempted to do just that,” he snapped back at the priest. “As I said, I was merely curious. Nothing more.”

He smiled and spread his arms again. “In which case, Lord Jaezred, allow me to satiate that curiosity. What brings you the Dark Maiden’s embrace?”

“I was brought here against my will. Your damned goddess keeps invading my head with visions!”

“She speaks to all her children, my lord. Sadly, most do not heed her call. Still, I sense more than curiosity in you… Most who see her flee to the darkness below and bury their heads in the sand. Yet you seek me here, and deign not to incinerate us on a whim.”

“Her children? No. No matter how far you stray, all dark elves — all elves — are the children of Lolth. The dark power of the Spider Queen runs in our blood,” Jaezred said, stepping closer yet again and pointing at Sarin. “Even your goddess, too. Especially your goddess.”

“Of course, it is merely a metaphorical use of the term.” He gently lowered Jaezred’s accusing finger away. “We may not be her actual children, but she cares for us as though we are. You heard my story in the temple. Who else other than a mother would sacrifice so much? Eilistraee guides all drow to a life away from the pain and suffering we have previously been bred to expect and, despite your anger, you continue to show the same mercy even now. So I ask you, Lord Jaezred, why have you come? I offer you compassion and love in the name of the Dark Maiden, she who calls to you, and ask you only be honest about your intentions so I may help you.”

“I don’t want your help, boy!” he sputtered angrily. “I do not need it, I do not want it, I…”

In the middle of his tirade, his eye caught a glimpse of Imryll, who had been watching the exchange intently, in the corner of his vision, and the mask faltered for just a second. He remembered then why he was here, why he was even remotely entertaining the notion of apostasy.

But he’d be damned if he let this upstart fool of a priest tell him what to do.

“A life of persecution is a difficult burden to lift, one many have struggled with. I am blessed to have found my path so early in life. And now I only wish to help others who wish to explore an alternative way. I take no offence to your harsh words, Lord Jaezred, I understand the conflict within. Just know, as the great Elistraee welcomes you, I too welcome your time and questions, should they come.”

Jaezred wanted to yell more, but he found the energy had been drained out of him. So he just stared in hopeless silence.

Sarin shifted uncomfortably in his poncho. “Come,” he said, turning around and walking towards the village.

They did not go far, just to a closed shop at the edge of the village. Sarin knocked on the door. A tabaxi woman with pale grey, mottled fur answered the door, staring first at Sarin, then at Jaezred and Imryll behind him with weary eyes. “Fine, but you’re keeping your clothes on!” she said, sounding defeated somehow, and turned to walk back inside.

It was a quaint, little tea shop. Sarin sat himself down at a table by a window, offering the other chairs to the two of them, and began removing his poncho before a voice from behind a curtain of beads in the back shouted, “I SAID, ON!”

He grumbled and left the poncho on.

The tabaxi soon returned with two chilled bottles of a type of mushroom tea that was particularly popular in the Witching Court. “Just don’t be too noisy, some of us keep sociable hours, remember,” she said, looking at Sarin in particular as she set three cups down on the table.

“May the Dark Maiden bless you Madam Proud Garden—”

“May she bless me with sleep. And I mean it, CLOTHES ON!” She threw a glance at Imryll and Jaezred. “All of you.”

“No promises, I’m afraid, but I shall try my best,” Imryll called out after Madam Proud Garden as she disappeared behind the beaded curtain once more. Jaezred could faintly hear a disdainful purr from the back of the shop.

“Iced tea, I find, is a nicer alternative to this kind of conversation, more so than the sticky cups of beer at the Moon and Web. Nice enough crowd, but they can be a bit loud and, well…noisome, shall we say,” Sarin said, pouring tea into all three cups. “I imagine his lordship has many questions, some of which he may not be aware of just yet, but is there anywhere you would like to begin? Lady Imryll?”

“Oh no, I’m afraid I am only here for the experience of it all. And the chance of naked moonlight dancing, of course,” she giggled.

“I don’t have any questions,” he said stiffly.

“Then might I ask what these visions are? Faint, whimsical singing? The urge to dance?”

“Not in the fucking least…”

“Oh?”

“I’m afraid our rather sour lord here has more…involved visions, Sarin,” Imryll chimed in.

He looked intrigued. “What have you seen?”

Jaezred slurped his cold tea loudly, narrowing his eyes at Sarin over the cup, but otherwise remained silent.

The quiet stretched on. Imryll stared at him. “Really?”

“It’s fine, my lady, his lordship is not obliged to answer. I shall still be waiting if he changes his mind. For now, we can enjoy this tea.”

The silence was long, uncomfortable, and unspeakably awkward. There was not a single word exchanged between the three of them — a stubbornly spiteful Jaezred, a patiently serene Sarin, and a slightly uneasy Imryll — until Jaezred finished his cup. “Thanks for the tea, but we’re going home now. Come, Imryll,” he said.

She rose to her feet. “This has been…incredibly awkward. Until next time, I’m sure!”

As he stood in the threshold of the door, he half-turned head to regard Sarin. “As I’ve said. I do not need your help. I already know what the vision meant, what promises the renegade goddess offers to me.” He looked ahead again. “I cannot accept them.”

“Each drow must face their own challenge. I pray you are happy with the outcome of yours, Lord Jaezred.”

The two elves made their way back to the tree whence they came. Only to find that the door was no longer there. Just a regular, old fir tree.

Imryll let out another laugh. “Well… A fitting end to an odd night, I suppose. Did you enjoy the awkward tea party?”

Jaezred roared out a scream. He drew his wand and fired a thin, green ray that struck the centre of the fir tree’s trunk. It disintegrated into a shower of ashes, leaving a stump on the ground and orphaned branches that began falling all around them.

His chest heaved in and out with deep breaths as he recomposed himself and sheathed his wand. She picked a twig out of her hair.

“Well, will you teleport us back or shall I summon a circle?” he asked her, fixing his coat back to its immaculate state.

“That depends, are you finished destroying things?” She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless, and she teleported them both back to the palace, directly into her room, where Jaezred spent the rest of the evening brooding.

---

Later in the night, he came up behind Imryll and wrapped his arms around her.

“Thank you…for coming with me,” he murmured. “I’m sorry if it did not go the way you hoped it would.”

“My love, I had but only one hope for how tonight would go: dancing in the moonlight with the cold wind prickling our skin,” she giggled. “It was your journey to take, dear, I was just tagging along this time. I’m sorry Sarin may not have been what you hoped he would be, but I’m sure there are answers for you somewhere. And I shall be here with you as you look for them, if you look for them.”

She turned around in his arms and pressed her lips against his. His eyes fluttered shut and he kissed back, his thumb stroking her jawline, his tired body feeling like it was melting into hers. After a while, an idea popped into his head, and he pulled away to peer at the balcony door behind her. “There’s enough space in the balcony, if you fancy a dance. I can’t say I have enough energy left in me for anything more complex than swaying, though…”

She cocked an eyebrow. “…Naked?”

He considered it for a moment. “Topless is as far as I will go. You can do whatever you please.”

“You’re no fun!” she said teasingly as she pulled him towards the balcony.