Sacrifice of the Widow_ Lady Penitent - Lisa Smedman [78]
He paused, however, without knocking. He’d gone to seduce Rowaan into accompanying him to the Promenade and introducing him to Qilué. He had the perfect story, carefully rehearsed to earn Rowaan’s sympathy, the tale of how Halisstra had saved his life after his riding accident. He’d tell her that that had stirred feelings in him he’d never known he possessed, that he’d discovered that he cared for Halisstra. How he even—what was the word for it?—yes, that was it, how he loved his sister. He’d follow that up with a plea that if he could just talk to Qilué—briefly, and without interrupting the high priestess’s doubtlessly important duties—that maybe he could learn more about the one person who truly mattered to him in the world. Floating on Rowaan’s threshold, however, it all seemed too easy—about as exciting as jumping from a table to the floor. He wanted more of a challenge than that.
Above him, he could see Leliana’s doorway.
He smiled. Now that would be a leap. And being introduced to Qilué by a more powerful priestess certainly wouldn’t hurt.
He levitated to her door and dispelled the warding on it as well. Then he knocked, a light, seemingly hesitant tap. As he waited for the door to open, he ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it.
The door opened, revealing a small room that was comfortably dark. Q’arlynd bowed his head. “May I come in?”
Leliana glanced between the wizard and the door. “How did—?”
Q’arlynd waggled his fingers. “Magic.”
Leliana’s eyes blazed. “You’re not permitted here. Only priestesses—”
“I know, but I need to speak to you.” He lowered his voice, as if afraid someone might be listening. “It’s about the Nightshadows. I have information I think you should hear.”
Leliana glanced away, muttering something under her breath. “All right,” she said. “Come in.”
Q’arlynd pulled himself inside and allowed his levitation to end. The room was furnished with two cushioned stools and an intricately carved table whose legs were joined to the floor. It must have been carved when the burl was hollowed out. Pegs on the wall held Leliana’s armor, weapons, and cloak. Wide notches, carved into the walls, were stuffed with baskets, folded clothes and books. Q’arlynd nodded. He wasn’t surprised that Leliana read. She had a lively mind. Something else caught his eye, a crescent-shaped harp in an alcove next to the door. He reached out to touch it then lowered his hand, as if suddenly remembering his manners.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t touch your things, but it … reminds me of my sister.” He glanced up at Leliana. “Did you know Halisstra well?”
“I met her only once.”
Q’arlynd brushed the strings of the harp with a fingertip. A shiver of notes filled the air. “She was a musician, too. She played the lyre.”
“Quit stalling. You came here to tell me something about the Nightshadows. Spit it out.”
Q’arlynd raised an eyebrow as he bowed. “As you command … Mistress.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” Q’arlynd countered. “You were born in the Underdark, weren’t you? Menzoberranzan, if I’m not mistaken about your accent. Born into a noble House, no doubt. You certainly have an aristocratic bearing.”
Leliana ignored the flattery. She closed the door against the chill wind then folded her arms across her chest. Now that she was no longer wearing her armor, Q’arlynd could appreciate the curve of her breasts and the lean muscles of her folded arms. She was only a little taller than he was—short, for a female.
“Get to the point,” she said.
Q’arlynd sighed. “Things really are done differently in the surface realms, aren’t they?” he said. “Very well, then. I gather, from our conversation of last night, that you’re worried about an attack by Vhaeraun’s assassins.”
The silence stretched. Leliana neither confirmed nor denied what he’d just said. “Go on.”
“The Nightshadows are masters of deception and disguise,” Q’arlynd said. He leaned closer, as if about