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After much private deliberation, she decided to lay the matter at Darthoridan's feet. He would know what must be done. Though he was no longer her husband, Anarzee still sought him out when she could and found that his wisdom had more than kept pace with the passing of years.
In the decades since Anarzee's self-imposed exile, Darthoridan had become as skilled a diplomat as he was a warrior. Under his leadership, the Craulnober family had gained in power and honor. They now merited seats on the Council of Elders; in fact, Darthoridan's was among the names spoken when the elves of Leuthilspar speculated upon who might succeed Tammson Amarillis as High Councilor. Accordingly, Darthoridan spent more and more of his time in Leuthilspar, tending to matters of governance.
He was there now, or so Anarzee's daughter-the second and last child she had borne to Darthoridan-had curtly informed her. The Sea elf had not lingered at Craulnober Keep. She had turned toward the south at once, and not just for the urgency of the message she carried.
The memory of that meeting stabbed Anarzee's heart anew with pain sharper than a manta's sting. She had given birth to a daughter two years after her transformation into a Sea elf. But children born of parents from two different elven races did not inherit from both: there was no blending of the moon and the sea in Darthoridan and Anarzee's daughter. The Sea elf had given birth to a perfect Moon elf maiden-and had given the babe into the hands of a land-dwelling nurse to love and to raise.
Abandoning yet another child had nearly broken Anarzee's heart. Upon her insistence, her marriage to Darthoridan had been dissolved, for she could not bear another such loss.
As for Darthoridan, though Anarzee saw him with ever diminishing frequency, her love for him had not been altered by her change of form. It had not been dimmed by the passage of time, or by the grief she carried over the loss of her children. He was her lover only occasionally-and that, not for quite some time-but he would always be her love. She would trust Darthoridan to make good use of her knowledge of Vhoori Durothil, as she trusted him in all things.
The sun rose and set more than once during Anarzee's journey from Craulnober Keep to the southern city. But she pressed on, scarcely pausing for rest or food. When at last the weary Sea elf passed the outpost island Sumbrar and broke the surface, she beheld a harbor ablaze with lights. Though it was near to midnight, the docks and streets of Leuthilspar were bright with festive lanterns, globes of magical fire, and the flickering, darting pinpricks of light that bespoke the presence of tiny fey creatures-sprites, most likely, and perhaps even a faerie dragon or two.
None of these lights were fairer than those that festooned a ship moored just off the docks. An ever-shifting pattern of colored lights played against the rippling sails, and the crystal hull glittered like a dragon's hoard in the reflected light
A wistful smile curved the Sea elf's lips as she gazed at the wondrous sight. It occurred to her that it must be near to midsummer, the time when elves made merry and celebrated alliances of all kinds. Weddings were usually made at midsummer. It was likely that this ship was bedecked to carry a newly wedded couple to the home they would share. It had been so when Darthoridan had first taken her from Leuthilspar to his keep upon the wild northern shores they both had loved.
Anarzee's smile faded as another, less joyous memory edged into her mind. There was something disturbingly familiar about the ship. The Sea elf swam into the harbor and circled around the ship to read the name engraved onto the crystal prow. Her heart thudded painfully as her eyes fell upon the bold runes.
The ship's name was Sea-Riven.
Anarzee dove beneath the water and swam quickly toward the city's docks, her thoughts whirling. Surely it was a coincidence that this ship should bear the same name as Darthoridan's sword! Yet she could not deny that the ship was much like the first vessel they had fashioned together for their fight against the sea trolls, the ship that Anarzee had sailed on her last day as a Moon elf. The ship that had nearly been her tomb was reborn and bedecked for a wedding.
Perhaps Seanchai had taken a bride. He was nearly of age, Anarzee pondered as she climbed a ladder that led from the sea up onto the docks. Even as her mind formed the thought, her ears caught the sound of faint and distant music. It was not so faint that she could not immediately discern the rare beauty of the singing. This made perfect sense. Her son was already a noted bard-his wedding would draw the finest musicians in all of Evermeet to pay tribute.
But if this were so, why had she not been told? Her land-dwelling daughter shu
From her perch on the ladder, Anarzee sca
Her searching gaze fell upon a Gold elf youth. He seemed a likely choice. His simple garb proclaimed him a commoner. He was barefoot and stripped to the waist, displaying the lean strength of one who made a living through hard labor. His clean-shaven head and the large gold hoops in one pointed ear gave him a raffish, almost piratical air, but neither that affectation nor the large goblet in his hand could disguise the fact that he was very young-barely into adulthood. This elf had not yet been born when she was Anarzee Moonflower, daughter of the High Councilor Rolim Durothil and wife to Darthoridan Craulnober. Nor would he have frequented her circle, in any case. The lad might had heard the story of her transformation, but he would have no reason to make any co
Anarzee climbed onto the deck and softly hailed the youth. His eyes lit up when they fell upon her, and he made his way toward her with an unsteady gait. To Anarzee's surprise, the dock worker promptly enfolded her in an exuberant hug.
"Welcome, pretty maid," he said with great enthusiasm-and exceedingly fuzzy diction. "Come from the sea to celebrate midsummer with me, are you? Sea and celebrate… sea shellebration," he improvised, gri
Anarzee wrinkled her nose against the heavy scent of feywine on the lad's breath. "If you take me for a maid, you have drunk far more than that single goblet could hold," she said dryly as she tried to wriggle away.
The young elf leaned back a bit and endeavored to focus his bleary eyes on her face. "Not young," he conceded. "But so very pretty. And blue hair," he marveled, easing his hold long enough to finger one of Anarzee's damp, curling locks.
The Sea elf twisted away and then nimbly sidestepped the lad's attempt to reclaim her. With one hand, she caught his wrist, and with the other she snatched a strand of rosy pearls from her bag and dangled it before his eyes.
"Enough of this foolishness! These are yours, in exchange for some information. A fine midsummer gift for a pretty maid," she suggested, hoping to banish the crestfallen look from the young elf's face. "And surely you will have need of such a trinket! The night is yet young."
He brightened considerably at this thought. "Ask anything, and I will answer as best I can."
"Whose wedding procession is that?" she demanded, raising her voice to be heard over the approaching musicians.
"A northern lord. Clan Craulnober. I drink to his health!" So saying, the young elf raised his goblet for a sip. He looked puzzled for a moment, then made a face when he realized anew that the cup was empty.