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He gave her a wistful shrug. “I’m a wizard. They taught us about Miyeritar at the Conservatory in Ched Nasad.”

“But not about ordinary rain?” she scoffed. “It sounds like a strangely lopsided education.”

Q’arlynd gave an embarrassed shrug.

“If you studied Miyeritar, then you know that we were all ‘surface elves’ once,” she continued.

Flinderspeld turned to her. “Drow lived on the surface?”

“Dark elves,” Leliana told him, “not yet dhaerrow. Not yet drow.”

“Your point being?” Q’arlynd asked.

“That we came from the surface and must return to it. The drow are not naturally creatures of the Underdark.”

Q’arlynd pointed at her eyes. “Then how do you explain darkvision?”

“Adaptation,” Leliana. “Our race developed it slowly, over many generations, after being driven below.”

“In Ched Nasad, we were taught that darkvision was a gift, bestowed upon us by Lolth during the Descent,” Q’arlynd said, “that drow were meant to live in the Underdark.”

Leliana folded her arms across her chest. Q’arlynd could tell that, like him, she enjoyed the debate. “Then why do our eyes adapt, over time, to the light of the surface realms?” she countered. “And if darkvision is a gift from Lolth, then why am I—and the other drow who worship Eilistraee, Lolth’s chief rival—still capable of seeing in complete darkness?”

“Because Lolth—” Q’arlynd abruptly checked what he’d been about to say, not because he didn’t have an argument to counter what Leliana had just said, but because he realized what she was doing. Drawing him out. Probing. Trying to get a sense of whether he truly desired to convert to Eilistraee’s faith.

Of course, he had no intention of doing so, unless there was something in it for him.

Flinderspeld had moved closer during the debate. He stood beside Q’arlynd, head cocked. “Lots of races that don’t worship Lolth have darkvision,” he commented. He held up his gloved fingers and began counting them off. “Svirfneblin, duergar—”

Q’arlynd nearly laughed out loud. Flinderspeld had just provided the perfect distraction. Whirling, he grabbed his slave by the cloak, feigning anger at the deep gnome having taken Leliana’s side in the debate. “Keep silent, you!” he ordered, flicking a finger at the gnome.

A bolt of magical energy—a small one, painful rather than harmful—crackled out of his gloved fingertip. It barely touched the skin of Flinderspeld’s wide forehead—Q’arlynd wasn’t about to damage a valuable slave—but Flinderspeld gave a loud howl of pain. He’d feigned it so many times he was getting good at it. For a moment, Q’arlynd thought his slave had actually been stung by the bolt.

Their act deflected Leliana’s attention, but not in the way Q’arlynd had planned. Steel hissed as her sword left its scabbard. Before Q’arlynd could blink, the point of the weapon was at his throat. Leliana’s voice was hard as steel.

“Don’t do that again. This gnome,” she said, pointing down at Flinderspeld, “is under the goddess’s protection.”

Q’arlynd swallowed. Steel pricked the bulge in his throat as it moved. He gave Leliana his best mournful look, blinked long-lashed eyes, then glanced down at the sword-token that hung on a cord around his neck.

“As am I, surely?” he suggested sweetly.

Leliana removed the blade from his throat. “As are you,” she agreed, sheathing her sword. “But remember this: whatever your previous relationship with the deep gnome was below, here under Eilistraee’s bright moon, we are all equals. There are no slaves, no matron mothers … and no masters.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Or did Milass’ni neglect to tell you that?”

“Of course not,” Q’arlynd said, instantly realizing that Leliana must be talking about the priestess the falling stone had killed. “The instructions she gave were quite clear. It’s just that old habits are hard to break.” He bowed deeply, holding the submissive posture for longer than was necessary.

When he rose, he saw two things he didn’t like. A wary expression in Leliana’s eye.

And Flinderspeld, staring thoughtfully