The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [147]
"Naoni!"
Not bothering with his breeches-the knee-length inn nightshirt would do-Dyre rolled out of bed, shot the bolt, and pawed the bolt open.
Faendra staggered back, wide-eyed. "Father!"
"What, lass?"
His youngest daughter peered past him frantically. "She's not here!"
"Naoni? Why would she be here? Out with it! Where is she?"
"I… I don't know!" Faendra looked ready to cry. "I thought she was in here! S-she-"
Fear closed iron fingers around Dyre's throat. There'd been some sort of brawl in the City of the Dead last night, with the Watch and half the Guard called out! What if Naoni'd been there? She went betimes to put flowers on…
Gods, what if she'd somehow still been inside when they closed the gates at nightfall?
"No!" he growled fiercely, "She's a stubborn lass, and houseproud to a fault. Most likely she went back to the house for some of her spinning and stayed to work, trusting she could keep it standing if the Lords came a-calling by… well, by sheer pride."
The trembling beginnings of a smile touched Faendra's worried face. "Yes, that sounds like Naoni. We must go and make sure!"
"Aye." Varandros Dyre looked at his younger daughter, so pale, dark hollows hooding her eyes. Her mother had looked just so, when the fever'd begun… "I'll hire a carriage."
She winced. "If it's all the same to you, Father, I'd rather walk."
* * * * *
It was past full dawn as Lark hurried down the street. She was late for work two days running, and Master Dyre wasn't one to dismiss that.
Her misadventure with Beldar Roaringhorn had kept her from her duties for too long, yesterday; by the time she'd reached the Dyres' it was locked and empty. Her employers must have been making their worksite rounds, and with the fire out and no food ready to hand, they'd likely take their evening meal out, perhaps even at the Notch.
So she'd gone to serve there at her appointed time, planning to arrive at the Dyres' very early the next morn, but her cheek was so bruised from Lord Roaringhorn's blow that she looked frightful. She'd lingered too long at her mirror trying to cover the damage with tinted unguent lent by a sympathetic highcoin lass at the rooming house.
Her face felt stiff and strange under the unfamiliar paint, but she strode through the Dyres' kitchen garden with her usual swift step. To her surprise, the buttery door was still locked. The kitchen door, the front entrance: locked tight, all. No smoke rose from the chimney, and no sounds came from within.
A strong hand descended on her shoulder and spun her around to face-
Her grim-faced master, with tearful Faendra at his side, her gaze fixed on the chimney.
Lark's heart sank. Every morning, Naoni rose before dawn to stoke the kitchen fire. By now she'd have a pot of broth or spiced cider simmering, and morningfeast would be bubbling and sizzling. The cold chimney proclaimed all too loudly that the mistress of hearth was absent.
Master Dyre's eyes were flint-hard. "Where's Naoni?"
Lark shook her head, swallowing. "I know not. The house's locked up tighter than a Calishite harem."
The rattle of an approaching coach rose behind them, and the hooves of its horses were slowing. Everyone turned.
They were in time to see Lord Korvaun Helmfast leap out, even before the coach had quite stopped.
Varandros Dyre stared in disbelief. The noble's blue gemcloak was gone, and his fine clothes were stiff with dried blood. As the horses snorted and pawed, Korvaun reached up to help someone alight from the coach-and Naoni Dyre's slender form and bright head suddenly filled its door.
Varandros Dyre growled something wordless and took a step forward, but by then Faendra had flung herself past him with a cry and thrown her arms around her sister, bursting into tears.
Naoni soothed her, murmuring reassurances and stroking her sister's hair as they rocked together in Faendra's tight embrace.
As Lord Taeros Hawkwinter emerged from the coach,