The Bladesmiles are among the most powerful and respected families in Keczulla and greater Amn. Why does this one play the fool? Cesira asked absently.

"His wife died," Kall said, drawing the druid's gaze and a noise of sympathy. "A year ago. He cares nothing for status and position now."

Then perhaps Lord Rays has more wisdom than us all. Cesira watched Kall cross the ballroom, weaving purposely among his guests, on to the next stage of his plan.

Suddenly uneasy and feeling eyes upon her, Cesira looked up at the balcony and met the clear blue gaze of Syrek Dantane.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Keczulla, Amn

3 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Dantane inclined his head respectfully to the druid. Her eyes registered surprise, but she concealed it quickly.

So Morel hadn't told her he was here. Dantane wondered why. If Morel distrusted him so thoroughly, wouldn't he wish to have the eyes of those he did trust tracking him constantly?

The wizard took a step toward the stairs, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as silent magical wards hummed. The spell was not powerful, but the relative lack of magic in the room made it seem stronger—akin to tolling a bell in a tomb. Had this been a gala in Waterdeep, the resonant hum would have been lost in the greater cacophony of minor cantrips and protective spells.

Dantane looked to the dais. A young woman had stepped forward with a lute. She sang in a deep, pleasing alto, an unremarkable song, but she livened up the show by pausing in the middle of a verse to tell bawdy jokes or humorous stories, always deftly picking up the tune exactly where she'd left off. The crowd gathered, laughing, at the edge of the dais to listen.

Dantane's eyes fixed on the lute. The bard's instrument, or something inside it, was the source of the magic—an illusion, possibly glamour to conceal some defect on the part of the singer. Dantane scanned the crowd for Morel, wondering if he should inform the young lord.

When Dantane spied him, Kall was still speaking to the drunken man. The wizard headed for the stairs, but halted when he saw Kall's face blanch. Dantane traced the room, seeking a threat, but Morel simply stood, as frozen as one of the statues, staring at a spot beneath the balcony. He said something to the drunkard and stepped away.

Fascinated, Dantane watched him walk across the ballroom like a man caught sleepwalking out of a dream. Whatever Morel saw disturbed him greatly, Dantane thought. He couldn't describe all the emotions that passed over Kall's face, but the still, ravaged look, the vulnerability—that interested Dantane, so much so he forgot the lute player and her song.

* * * * *

"Seven—there it is!" The serving table quivered as Morgan slammed his handful of emerald-stone clusters in front of Laerin. "That you can't beat."

The half-elf flashed him a lazy smile. "Darling, must we compete? It's unseemly."

Morgan turned purple, clenching his fists as if he might cram the stones down Laerin's throat. "Empty your pockets. Turn 'em out, or by the gods I'll do it for you!"

Laerin fluttered his lashes. "Now you're just being saucy."

Morgan took a step forward, reaching for a weapon.

"Oh, all right." The half-elf sighed and emptied a pouch of stones next to Morgan's pile.

"Only six!" Morgan spouted triumphantly, as Cesira looked on with an expression of helpless bemusement.

Laerin raised a hand to either side of Morgan's head, and with a flourish produced two more stones from the man's hairy ears. "Your pardon," the half-elf said.

Morgan swatted his hands away, fuming. "Pretty-faced whore's brat—"

Quiet! Cesira hissed. Hide yourselves. Kall is. . . As she looked, she realized Kall wasn't headed their way. He'd stopped, frozen next to the drunken Bladesmile. At first Cesira thought he was listening to the bard, but then she saw him staring at something through the crowd.

I've never seen that look, she murmured. She traced Kall's stunned gaze across the room to a corner, where a man stood leaning sedately against a marble column. He ignored the rest of the room, and appeared to be listening intently to the lute player. Broken from whatever spell had smote him, Kall began walking directly toward the man.

"I've seen it," Laerin spoke up, a frown creasing his smooth forehead. "When I first met Kall, he had the same look."

Morgan nodded agreement. "Like he just lost his best friend."

Cesira paled, gripping Laerin's arm. Aazen, she whispered.

* * * * *

"Greetings, Lord Morel," said Aazen, as Kall came to stand between him and the dais. He offered Kall one of his rare, genuine smiles. "It is good to see you again."