The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [37]
The four nobles exchanged uneasy looks.
The one called Malark frowned. "Stands this, ah, site on Redcloak Lane?"
"It does."
Four throats were cleared in unison. "Good ladies," Lord Roaringhorn said stiffly, "you're probably not going to like these next words of mine well…"
"That's a certainty," Lark said under her breath, causing Faendra to giggle and Malark to grin.
Naoni sent both girls a quelling look and turned it into a warning frown when Malark offered his arm to Faendra. Ignoring her, Faendra slipped her hand into the crook of Lord Kothont's arm with an easy grace that suggested long practice in front of a mirror.
"Mistress Naoni," Korvaun Helmfast murmured gravely as he took her hand in both of his, "will you suffer our protection as you take us to your father? Those ruffians are not the only dangers in Dock Ward."
"Ah, of course, but why take you such an interest in us?" Then, belatedly, "My father?"
"Mistress," Lark said crisply, "these four fine noblemen are obviously responsible for the worksite damage. And, being men of honor, they're planning to make restitution. Isn't that so, Lord Roaringhorn?"
"It is," Beldar said stiffly.
"Then my two lady mistresses here will be happy to take you to the man you wish to see. No," she corrected herself, "the man you need to see. No one wishes to see Master Dyre in his present mood, but… the gods don't always grant wishes." She looked at Naoni. "Does that cover it, mistress?"
"It does," she agreed absently. "Most thoroughly."
Lark firmly took Lord Hawkwinter's arm, leaving Beldar with no partner, and gave him a glare. "Have a care where you walk, Lord Roaringhorn. It would be a shame to spoil those fine boots."
Naoni opened her mouth to order Lark into silence, but the words stuck in her throat. The girl's loyalty meant much, and her judgment could hardly be faulted. Everything Naoni knew warned her to distrust these noblemen-even kindly Lord Helmfast.
She glanced up at his handsome face, and something leaped inside her.
Especially Korvaun Helmfast.
* * * * *
Varandros Dyre reached his front door as the third imperious volley of rapping began. Even before its sharp thunder befell, he was scowling.
Someone was ignoring a perfectly good bellpull and striking his knocker-plate with hard metal.
The Master Stonemason shook the old sword that lived in the stave-stand beside the door out of its sheath and kept one hand near it as he shot the bolts. He didn't take the blade into his hand to heft meaningfully lest the rapping-now crack-crack-cracking on his good door again, by Tempus!-prove to be the Watch.
Dyre swung the stout door wide and stood back, his hand hovering by his blade, and saw what waited beyond his threshold.
His eyes flashed even before his mouth dropped open.
His daughters stood outside with the housemaid and a seeming army of smiling, fashionably garbed young men. There was color in everyone's cheeks, and hair askew, and faces that looked as if they'd been laughing and were holding back mirth even now!
And looming right in front of him, in the elegantly gloved hand of one of these laughing young pups, was a dagger, reversed and raised to strike his knocker-plate once more.
It was the twin of the one he'd found at the worksite, monogram and all.
Dyre raised a hand sharply, cutting off Faendra's excited flood of explanation of how their lives had been so bravely saved, by these very-
"Enough, daughter. I'll be having a word with these… gentlesirs," he growled at her, his fierce gaze brooking no argument.
Fire to match his own kindled briefly in those blue eyes-not for nothing was her name Dyre!-but Naoni placed a quelling hand on her sister's shoulder. Her gray eyes fixed on him in some sort of mute appeal. Before she could speak, the maid deftly herded both girls back from the doors and drew them firmly down the hall.
Dyre gave a curt nod of approval. Lark's wages were well spent; she at least had sense. Though in truth, he cared not if his daughters