It was a long time later when Lark emerged alone, heading north with her light, quick stride. One of the Notch's better brawl-quellers stepped out of a doorway to trail behind her. Elaith was not at all surprised to see the green-eyed elf server emerge from the night to follow them both.

The Serpent joined the tail of this silent procession, a discreet distance behind the elf. When it became clear Lark was going straight to her dismal rooming house, Elaith took a parallel street, gliding along swiftly. Choosing a side way overlooked by no eyes he knew of, he stepped out right in front of the elf warrior.

For a moment she stared at him, her green eyes wide with wonder. Then, to Elaith's astonishment and chagrin, she went down on one knee, fisting her sword hand and touching it to her heart-clan-and then her forehead-a warrior's salute. Archaic tribute not seen at court in Evermeet for many summers, but Elaith knew it well. Old ways died hard among the dark green fastnesses of Evermeet's northern wilderlands.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Do I know you?"

"Ezriel Seawind, my lord," she replied respectfully, "and no, we've never met."

Elaith stood absolutely still. He knew that name. The Seawinds were one of the clans of fisherfolk who lived on his ancestral lands, in the shadow of the scorched shell of Castle Craulnober.

How inconvenient. He'd told Lark he'd deal with those following her. Human liege lords slaughtered their peasants from time to time, but such things were considered bad manners on Evermeet. However…

"We're not on Evermeet," he said quietly.

The young warrior rose, obviously assuming that he was dispensing with elven formalities.

"I started training the year before you resigned as captain of the king's guard, but I heard all the tales about you," she said, hero worship bright in her eyes, "so I came to the mainland to seek adventure, as you did."

Her words both pained and amused him. So that was the tale told to explain away his sudden departure! It was, he supposed, as good as any.

"Yet I've heard many troubling things about you since I came to this city," Ezriel added softly. Her eyes searched his, almost pleading with him to deny them.

"Humans say many strange things," he replied lightly. "I'll give you my hand on that."

Ezriel Seawind read the answer she sought in his words, and took his offered hand eagerly.

Elaith's grip tightened. Ezriel's face went slack… and she slid to the street like a prance-puppet whose strings had been cut.

He held up his hand, palm out, to show her the small pin protruding from one of his rings. A tiny, glistening drop fell from its hollow point as it slid back, disappearing into the thick band.

"Statha. The Bane of Elves. A poison no rarer than it should be," he told her matter-of-factly.

Those trembling lips couldn't reply, of course, but her eyes, oh, her eyes…

He wasn't prepared for the hurt he saw there or his own reaction to it. He'd been betraying allies for decades, but for some reason this doomed young warrior's silent accusation struck him like a blow to the heart.

He could see her tremendous struggle against muscles that could no longer obey her. Green eyes darted this way and that, their flicker slowing as the statha halted even that last fading freedom.

Suddenly Elaith understood what she wanted, what she was fighting to say. Her gaze went repeatedly to the sword on his hip, then back to herself, and then to the sword again.

Of course. This painless, bloodless death was no fitting end for a warrior of Evermeet. She had lived by the sword and wished to die the same way.

She lived as he once had lived and desired the death he no longer deserved.

Elaith thrust his half-drawn weapon back into its scabbard and made a sharp, impatient gesture over a bag at his belt. Its strings flew open, and a small vial soared up into his waiting hand.

Serpent-swift, he unstoppered it and dropped to one knee beside the dying elf. Taking her hand, he poured a few drops of shimmering fluid onto the tiny wound.

Faint motes of light seemed to dance under her pale skin, racing away through her. After a moment she twitched once then sat up, face uncertain but leaving her hand in his.

"What's said of me is true," Elaith said quietly. "Having heard the tales, you were a fool to trust me."

"And yet I live," she breathed, waiting for his explanation.

"Things in Waterdeep are seldom what they seem."

At this, Ezriel did tug her hand free. She rose to her feet, and he rose with her.

"So by poisoning me, you were cautioning me to walk with care?" Her voice was low but incredulous. "Forgive me, Lord Craulnober, but that was a stern lesson. I am neither child nor fool, incapable of learning through the hearing of words."

"Then hear these: An elf lord of Evermeet might rule nothing more than a sprawling, complex, and largely unsavory business empire."

Ezriel regarded him. "Yet you rule it, do you not? At the heart, is this not much the same?"

"Hardly!"

"Whyever not?"

Her quiet question left Elaith blinking. Why indeed? He'd been wont to regard the City of Splendors-such ignorant arrogance in these human names-as a rich treasure chest to plunder, its folk mere minions and victims-in-waiting. He followed city laws when it was convenient to do so and protected Waterdeep only when his interests were at stake.

Why, then, did his absence from Waterdeep during the sahuagin attack grate at him so?

If Evermeet were attacked, he'd empty his vast caches of wealth and magic to aid her. He'd gladly die in her defense, as befitted a former captain of King Zaor's guard, but Waterdeep wasn't Evermeet. He had dwellings here-more than a few-but it was not, and never would be, home.

But then, how congenial had he ever found his family holdings? The Craulnober lands held little charm for him. He'd never bothered to rebuild the ancestral keep, firestruck when he was a babe in arms. Queen Amlaruil had taken him in as a ward of the court, raising him among her own children. Where Amlaruil was, where Amnestria once had been-that was the only home Elaith's heart knew, and he looked to find no other.

Yet he ruled the Craulnober lands, did he not? To this day, he met with his steward each solstice to discuss matters of import to the simple folk who farmed and hunted northernmost Evermeet, and fished the waters about the outer isles. He did these things not from any deep love of those wild places, but because he owed a duty to his ancestral lands and the folk who dwelt there. His folk.

How was Waterdeep any different? He'd inherited here no lands or titles but was widely acknowledged as a crime lord of considerable power and influence. Could this human cesspool rightfully expect him to assume a lord's responsibilities and obligations to the city he'd plundered for so long?

"Lord Craulnober?" Ezriel's voice shattered his thinking.

"To whom to you report?" he asked briskly.

"I'm now a Hawkwinter hiresword."

"No fitting position for a swordmaiden of Evermeet. I'll settle things with Lord Hawkwinter and see you more suitably employed-in one of my legitimate enterprises."

Green eyes glowed with excitement. "Yes, I would see my agreement with the Hawkwinters concluded with honor. Beyond that, I care little for human laws."

"Lack of regard for human laws? Shocking!" Elaith took her hand again and tucked it companionably under his arm. "Walk with me, and tell me more."

Morning sun was stealing into the kitchen as Naoni wiped the last mug dry, and Faendra danced merrily into the room, sparkling-fresh despite her sleepless night.

She rolled her eyes. "Gennior finally left. I'm not entirely certain, but he might think we're betrothed."