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“Flew straight to Eilistraee’s domain, with those of the other two priestesses, as the gate opened. By the grace of our goddess, it was not consumed.”

Halisstra’s brother gave a relieved sigh. Perhaps he wasn’t as unfeeling as he seemed, or perhaps he was just a good liar.

“Lady,” he exclaimed. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.” He bowed again then hurried away.

Cavatina watched Q’arlynd make his way out of the cavern then turned to Qilué. “What a tale that one told!”

The high priestess nodded. “It’s true. If not every word, at least in its essence.”

That made Cavatina blink. “It is? Vhaeraun’s really dead?”

Another nod. “I expected that Q’arlynd might fail in the task I assigned him, despite the geas I placed on him. Shortly after I sent him on his way, I entered communion with Eilistraee and warned her that Vhaeraun was poised to enter Svartalfheim. The goddess was prepared. Vhaeraun might be a master of stealth, but when the advantage of surprise was taken away from him, Eilistraee’s prowess with the sword prevailed.”

Cavatina let out a long, slow breath. “So it is true. Two deities, dead. In one day.” She gave a fierce grin, unable to contain her pride. “And one of them by my hand.”

Qilué glanced at the Crescent Blade. “Your sword served you well.”

A voice whispered into Cavatina’s mind from the sword. Dead, it chuckled. By my blade.

Cavatina bristled. It had been her victory. The sword was just … a sword. Not only was she irritated at it, but also at Qilué’s almost blasé response to the news. Chosen of Mystra Qilué might be, but surely she would acknowledge that Cavatina had just slain a demigod. Instead the high priestess just seemed … weary.

“You already knew that Selvetarm was dead?” Cavatina asked.

Qilué gestured at the dead cleric who lay a few steps away. “The Selvetargtlin nearly prevailed. They came within a blade’s edge of taking the Promenade then all at once, their prayers failed them.”

Cavatina noted Qilué’s bloodstained armor and her freshly healed scars, one of which completely encircled her right arm. It had been a close thing. That realization sent a chill through Cavatina, one that tempered the thrill of her triumph.

“Make your report,” Qilué said. “Tell me everything that happened.” She clapped a hand on Cavatina’s web-shrouded shoulder. “And … well done. I owe you my life.”

That was better. Taking a deep breath, Cavatina related her tale, ending with her escape from the Demonweb Pits.

“I’m worried about Halisstra,” she concluded. “There was no sign of her on the other side of the portal. I would have returned to the Demonweb Pits to search for her, but I didn’t want to run the risk of the Crescent Blade falling into Lolth’s hands. I came here instead, as quickly as I could.”

“You did the right thing,” Qilué answered. “I’ll scry for Halisstra. We’ll find her.”

The conviction in the high priestess’s voice reassured Cavatina, who felt terrible about leaving Halisstra behind. Not only had the former priestess redeemed herself, she’d tipped the balance between victory and defeat. Halisstra deserved better than to fall into Lolth’s hands.

“If Halisstra is still within the Demonweb Pits, I’d like to lead the mission to rescue her,” Cavatina said.

“Of course.” Qilué pointed at the Crescent Blade. “But that will remain here, in the Promenade, where I can keep an eye on it. Until the time comes to challenge Lolth herself, it will be safer in my keeping.”

Yes, the blade whispered. It quivered, slightly, leaning toward the high priestess.

Cavatina realized that Qilué was holding out her hand, but she didn’t want to give up the sword, not just then. The Crescent Blade felt so right in her grip. Her fingers seemed loath to uncurl from it.

She glanced down at the singing sword sheathed at her hip, a holy weapon of the Promenade. It was a magical weapon, yet it seemed like a novice’s wooden practice sword in comparison to the Crescent Blade—in comparison to a weapon forged for slaying deities.

A sudden realization came to her then. No matter what she hunted