The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [57]
The elf's silver brows rose. "Well said, indeed. You know the fair flower of our citizenry well for a foreigner."
He allowed himself a certain dark pleasure at the sudden panic that flashed into her eyes. "You must be enjoying our sea breezes, Lady Evenmoon. Tashluta's very warm during the Flamerule moon."
If the girl harbored any uncertainty about this matter, she hid it well. "Warmer than in winter, certainly."
Elaith chuckled at her deft parry. He swept one hand lightly toward her, subtly unleashing a minor spell. "Please be seated. Not on the carpet, preferably, though I can see why you were on the floor when I entered the room."
Her eyes were wary as she moved away from the desk and took the chair he'd indicated. "I'm not sure I understand, my lord."
"Why, you've lost an ornament, of course."
The girl's hand immediately went to the green ribbon around her left arm-precisely the response Elaith had anticipated. He suppressed a smile. Toying with this girl was the most pleasure he'd had all evening.
"I was speaking of your earring," he said lightly. Striding around behind the desk, he plucked from the carpet a hoop of silver wire, from which was suspended an intricately knotted web of gem-like threads.
The girl's brown eyes widened and her hand lifted to her ear. She'd not felt the earring vanish with his simple theft-spell.
"Thank you," she said, accepting the pretty thing.
Her eyes followed him as he went directly to the hiding place and touched the carved wood in precisely the spot that released the hidden panel.
The young woman relaxed noticeably, hardly the response he'd expected from someone whose secret message had just been intercepted.
Elaith skimmed the note, a report about some merchants seeking to unmask the Lords of Waterdeep. From its tone, it was apparent that this girl, or someone who paid her hire, was an agent of one of the Lords. He raised his eyes from it to meet her watchful gaze.
"For whom are you working, girl?"
Uncertainty flickered over her face, swiftly blossoming into suspicion. Elaith realized, to his surprise and delight, that she assumed he was her contact!
Logical enough, being as he'd shown familiarity with the hiding place. Folk who knew little of magic seldom stopped to think about the precautions taken by those who did. Elaith knew of every magic in this villa, including those borne by each of his guests. Magical toys of his own collected such information.
"Who do you work for?" he repeated, phrasing his query in less formal terms and, not incidentally, in a manner one of his magical devices would recognize.
He glanced at one of several portraits hanging on the wall. The nondescript image shifted, taking on the features of Texter the paladin-an image taken from the girl's thoughts.
Well, well. Little surprise there; Texter had long been on Elaith's private short list of suspected Lords. The paladin's business often took him north, and he was the sort to rescue maidens in distress. No doubt he'd extricated this girl from the clutches of a rough-handed patron, thinking her a set-upon serving girl.
"A reasonable question," he continued, staring into her increasingly suspicious face, "given your former employment. Our good friend Texter holds a far more optimistic view of human nature than I do."
Color drained from the girl's face. "What do you know of that?" she whispered.
In a heartbeat, he was standing over her, dangling the ribbon from her arm tauntingly before her eyes. Too late, she slapped a hand over the small brand burned into her upper arm.
"A mark of indenture," Elaith said softly, recognizing the shape of the old scar. "All too common on the docks of barbarous Luskan. Your mother was a tavern slut and owed more than she