The Dream Spheres

Most of the chamber doors were open. At the end of a long hall, near a balcony overlooking the garden, one door was firmly shut. Arilyn tried the door and found it locked. She took a bit of thin paper from her pack and slid it under the door handle to catch the key, then inserted a pick into the lock. To her chagrin, the key had been removed from the lock. Picking it would take several minutes more. The task felt familiar to her fingers, and she overcame the lock in short order. Carefully she eased open the door.

Moonlight poured in through the round window placed high on one wall, lingering on the sleeping woman and the abundant dark locks strewn about the pillow. It was without doubt Isabeau Thione. Before confronting the woman, Arilyn took a few moments to take stock of her surroundings.

The chamber was luxurious, but macabre. The bed was enormous, and it was covered with a heavy coverlet of blood-red velvet. Drapes of similar fabric shrouded the tall bed frame and the windows. A statue of a man with the head of a cat stood vigil in the corner, and winged cat gargoyles leered down at her from their perches on pillars and shelves scattered about the room. Other than the sleeping Isabeau, the only sign of life in the room was the gray tabby curled up at the foot of the bed. The cat raised his head and regarded Arilyn with a somnolent stare, then yawned hugely and went back to sleep.

Arilyn quickly sca

The half-elf pounced onto the bed and seized Isabeau's wrists, pi

"Call out, and I'll break your fingers," Arilyn said softly.

It was a potent threat, for hands were a thief's most valuable tools. A dancer would sooner lose the use of her legs or an artist his eyes.

Isabeau went very still. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you that." Arilyn cast a quick glance around the room. "What is this place? It's got more cats than Cormyr."

"This is the Eltorchul estate," the woman said haughtily. "I am here by invitation."

"Who did the inviting?"

"Lord Oth, of course. He and I are . . . dear friends."

Arilyn considered the possible layers of deception that formed this boast. Oth obviously had not invited her, but was this claim meant to cloak a darker deed? She decided to go on attack, for people often stumbled over themselves in an effort to explain and justify their claims. "You're a liar," she accused.

Isabeau didn't take the bait. "You will have to be more specific."

"All right, how's this: Lord Oth is dead," Arilyn said plainly.

Panic jolted into the woman's eyes. "Let me up, and I'll tell you what I know," she said in a subdued voice.

Arilyn eased away. She rose to her feet and stood by the bed, arms folded. The former barmaid sat, pushing aside the heavy mass of her hair from a face that had suddenly grown pale.

"You are certain he is dead? Who killed him?"

Interesting, Arilyn thought, that she would immediately come to this conclusion. "How do you know his death wasn't illness, or accident?"

The woman scoffed, dismissing that notion with a small, spitting sound. "From what I knew of him, I'd say it's a marvel he lived so long."

"Yet you seemed upset to learn of his death."

"Naturally! Lord Oth was a wealthy man, a powerful man. He could have been useful. See this?" Isabeau brandished one hand, her fingers spread to show the pink and gold ring on her middle finger. "He gave me this as a token and bade me present it when I wanted use of the estates."

"You picked an interesting time to use it," Arilyn said coldly. "The woman whose place you took is dead."

Isabeau didn't so much as blink her heavy lashes. "What of it? The Dock Ward is a dangerous place."

"Especially when there are tren lurking about."

"Tren?" The woman shifted one silk-clad shoulder. "That word means nothing to me."

The half-elf tamped down her temper. "All right then, what is your co

"Who?"

Her bored, derisive tone did not match the defiant challenge in her eyes. Arilyn saw that she had two choices: she could play this woman's game by rules Isabeau understood, or allow herself to be played like a cheap fiddle.

She backhanded the woman across her lovely, sneering face, then hauled her up by her hair. "Let's try that again," she suggested in a cold, dangerous voice.

A measure of respect crept into Isabeau's eyes, and she eased Arilyn's hands from her hair. "You are speaking of the red-haired serving wench. Yes, I took her place. I overheard a man and woman talking about seeing a young woman to safety out of the city. Why should that be her and not me? I seized the chance, as a drowning man might take hold of a rope. Would you begrudge that man his rescue, demanding that he die while he considers whether someone else might be more worthy of it?"

Arilyn folded her arms. "Drowning, were you? In what cesspool?"

She tossed her dark head. "I fled the elf. You know the one. He was pursuing me."

The half-elf carefully kept her face neutral as she considered this revelation. She had to admit that Isabeau's story was plausible. Elaith had promised Danilo months ago that he would let Isabeau live. Perhaps the elven rogue thought that he'd kept the promise long enough. If indeed he had followed Isabeau, he was most likely behind Lilly's death. With all the weapons at his command, it would not be difficult to imitate the cutting patterns of tren claws. Certainly Elaith had some knowledge of tren.

Another, darker thought occurred to her. Perhaps the tren assassins she had come across in the Tha

Even as the thought formed, Arilyn acknowledged this was an extreme measure. For one thing, it courted tren vendetta. For another, Elaith and five tren could have easily overcome her, and there would have been no one left to tell the tale. However, as Arilyn had told Lady Cassandra, she had never heard that Elaith had slain another elf.

She turned her attention fully upon the watchful Isabeau. There was room for truth in the woman's words, yet Arilyn did not trust her and did not believe her claim that she "just happened" to wander into Lilly's tavern. Arilyn knew what would have led Elaith to Lilly's door, and she could easily imagine Isabeau having a part in its acquisition.

"As you say, the Dock Ward is a dangerous place," Arilyn said, as if she conceded the woman's argument. "Lilly recently sold a large ruby to a fence and probably had ready coin."

Isabeau's eyes went dark with rage, and she pounded on the bed with both fists. "The little cheat!"

Immediately she recognized the error of her words, realized that she had been tricked into admitting more than she had intended to. The vindictive, malevolent rage that twisted her face robbed her of beauty and stole Arilyn's breath.

Arilyn fought away the instinct to take a step back. The last time she had retreated from anything was a chance confrontation with a wounded panther, and that was a tactical move rather than one motivated by fear. Nonetheless, she recognized this was a truly dangerous woman.

Even as the thought formed, Isabeau sprang, catlike, from the bed. She lunged not at Arilyn, but at the statue with the feline head. This she shoved with all her strength, sending it toppling toward the pursuing half-elf.