Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [112]
They quietly left the elfling's room. "You should get some rest, my friend," the patriarch told him. "There is little more you can do this night. You are welcome to stay here in the temple complex for the night."
The elf smiled suddenly. "It suddenly occurred to me that it has been some time since the temple was graced by the presence of a spellsinger."
"Life is full of these little ironies," Danilo murmured.
Evindal's soft chuckle echoed down the silent halls.
*****
Later that night a chill easterly wind drove the storm out to sea, and the captive Waterdhavians ventured out of their shelters. The quiet that the storm left behind felt unnatural, and to Caladorn's eyes and ears the city seemed as dispirited and demoralized as his own fighters.
As he made his way home through the puddles and the swirling mist, Caladorn's thoughts turned to his seafaring cronies, and he wondered how their ships would fare in the approaching storm. He almost envied them a peril as straightforward as Umberlee's wrath, for at least the goddess of sea and storm was a force that could be understood and appeased. The threats to his beloved Waterdeep, and to his own peace of mind, were far more complex.
To his surprise, Lucia met him at the door of his town-house. She greeted him with a warm embrace and a goblet of his favorite wine.
"Where is Antony?" Caladorn asked, looked over her dark head toward the kitchens. The lower level of the townhouse was unusually chill and unwelcoming, not at all what he had come to expect from his competent manservant. Caladorn was tired and hungry and disgruntled with life; in short, he was in no mood to endure domestic incompetence.
"Oh, I gave him the night off," the noblewoman said air-dy. "Tonight I will see to all your wants personally." After giving him another kiss, she drifted off toward the kitchen to see to dinner.
As Caladorn watched her go, Danilo Thann's accusations rang in his head. He did not want to believe this of Lucia-he did not believe!-but neither could he dismiss the notion entirely. It occurred to him, suddenly, that there were no cooking odors emanating from the kitchen. The lower hall was usually redolent with the scent of roasts, steaming vegetables, and fresh bread.
Caladorn looked down at the goblet in his hand. After a moment of indecision, he poured the wine into a potted plant.
Following a decent interval in the cold darkness of the kitchen, Lucia returned to the front hall to find Caladorn lying on the floor, facedown. Quickly she picked up the goblet. It had been drained. Antony had died from half the dose, and the twisted, tormented posture in which her lover lay suggested that he had suffered from the corrosive acid as painfully as had his manservant. Regrettable, but it could not be helped. This was the quickest acting of all Diloontier's poisons, and Lucia was painfully short of time.
With quick, expert movements she patted Caladorn down for his keys. When she found the small ring of keys, she turned and ran lightly up two flights of stairs. After a few moments, she hurried back down to the front hall, a large square box in her arms and a dark, hooded traveling coat obscuring her face and form. Thus garbed, Lucia Thione left her lover's home for the last time without a backward glance.
So intent was she on her purpose that she did not notice the quickly withering plant beside the body of her lover.
Silence filled the hall for a long moment. When he was certain that Lucia was gone, Caladorn rose to his feet. The pain in his heart and the bleak emptiness in his soul dimmed the memory of any battle wound he'd ever received.
What then, was he to do? His heart and his hopes were not the only casualties of Lucia's treachery. Should he treat her like a wily trout, and give her enough line to maneuver, so that she would give proof to her evil intentions? Or should he bring her to instant and immediate justice?