The full moon hung in the cloudless sky overhead like a flawless pearl in the ocean of night, its silvery light providing more than enough illumination for Khaelin to spot the opening of the pathway leading into the forest. Not that the light was necessary; he had walked this way so often that he could probably make the journey with his eyes closed.
He pulled his cloak more closely around him as he entered the trees. It was still early enough in spring that there was a slight chill in the air at night, and he wore only his tunic and trousers. It felt odd, being out without his armor, but there was no way to don plate mail quietly, and he had not wanted to risk waking his roommates. None of them would have stopped him from going, but for a novice to be out after curfew was an offence punished by official reprimand and a week of the most onerous duties that could be devised, and he wanted to spare them any part of his crime.
He cursed his carelessness in leaving the book behind; he had lost track of time, and when he had realized how close he was to being late for evening chapel, he had hurriedly gathered up the rest of his belongings, forgetting the book where he had laid it on the moss-covered altar. Ordinarily, he would have simply gone back for it the next day, but the novices were scheduled to leave on a training exercise in the morning and be gone for several days; he'd seen signs of rats and other animal life within the temple, though only the squirrels were bold enough to scamper through the hole in the crumbling roof to watch him as he read or daydreamed. The book of poetry had been his mother's final gift to him, and he could not bear the thought of its pages being shredded to line a nest or burrow.
He had found the ancient and abandoned temple several weeks earlier on one of his walks, and it had quickly become his favorite place for solitude. Who the temple had been dedicated to, he did not know, although the form of the crumbling statue overlooking the altar seemed to indicate a female deity. The roof had crumbled in several places, admitting ample light to allow him to read while leaning back against the altar (it struck him as sacrilegious to actually sit upon the altar itself), but still provided areas of shelter against the afternoon showers that were frequent in the spring.
He moved easily through the trees, his feet instinctively avoiding the twigs and leaves that would betray his passage; much of his youth had been spent in the forest, in the company of his uncle, a ranger, and the skills that he had learned persisted, though he had chosen the path that would lead to paladinhood and a lifetime in the service of Helm.
As the pale stones of the temple became visible in the broken light that filtered through the trees, he slowed his pace, approaching cautiously. He had seen signs in the past that other humans had taken shelter within the temple: old firepits and discarded garbage that he took out and buried. He had left his sword with his armor, and while he was confident that he could handle common ruffians with the dagger at his belt, the element of surprise was an advantage that he preferred to have on his side.
Pausing, he reached out, probing cautiously with his mind, using one of the first magics that novices were taught, but felt no trace of evil in the area. Still cautious, he remained silent as he approached the threshold, the door having rotted away centuries earlier, and in the preternatural silence, he heard the faint whisper of a page being turned.
My book. The image of some illiterate peasant's grubby fingers smudging the parchment pages or – worse – tearing out a few sheets to clean up after relieving himself in a corner made him throw caution to the wind. He stepped around the threshold – and froze, the words of warning dying on his lips.
The moon's light shone through the holes in the roof, casting much of the room into shadow, but falling in a silvery cascade upon the crumbling statue and the solitary figure stretched out upon the altar.
Drow! He felt a surge of instinctive antipathy, but confusion followed close behind, for he could still sense no evil within the room. While he remembered his uncle telling him that not all drow were evil, he had received no such teachings from the Order. As he pondered this contradiction, he became aware of two other facts: the drow was female…and she was completely nude.
She was utterly engrossed in the book – his book – that lay open before her, and had not yet noticed his presence, giving his stunned gaze ample time to travel over her.
She lay on her stomach, her skin gleaming like black satin in the moonlight, hair white as frost cascading over her shoulders. Her body was lithely muscled, and his eyes traced the curves seemingly of their own will, from the rounded shoulder down to the small of her back, over the taut curve of her buttocks and along her legs, cocked back at the knees and ankles crossed lazily. His gaze moved forward, drawn to the gleam of metal: a coil of silver about her upper arm that was the only adornment on her. Much of the swell of her breast was concealed by her arms, but there was more than enough visible to make his mouth go as dry as a desert, and he hastily raised his eyes to her face. Her eyes were lavender, still fixed intently upon the book, and the look of unguarded wonder on her face held him spellbound. By the gods, she is beautiful.
As though feeling his eyes upon her, she raised her head. For an instant, the look of dreamy wonder remained in her eyes, before being abruptly replaced with shock, fear and hostility. In a flash, she was off the altar, backing away from him as her eyes darted about, looking for an escape route, teeth bared in a silent snarl as she realized that he blocked the only way out of the temple.
"Peace, my lady," he called softly, holding out his hands so that she could see they were empty. "I mean you no harm. I simply came to retrieve the book that I left here today."
"Your book?" She spoke in the common tongue with a lilting accent, her eyes darting to the open book, then back to his face, narrowing in suspicion. "Why were you here?"
"I come here often," he told her. "It is a peaceful place to read and reflect." He looked at her thoughtfully, fighting to keep his gaze above her neck; fortunately, the shadows into which she had retreated assisted his endeavor. "This is not your first visit here, is it?"
"My comings and goings are none of your concern, male!" she snapped.
"My name is Khaelin," he replied, keeping his voice low and calm, "and I simply wondered if you knew the deity for whom this temple was made; I have been unable to find any identifying marks or inscriptions."
She relaxed somewhat, though her wary gaze never left him. "I know not to whom it was originally dedicated," she said with a shake of her head, "and if this is your book," she added, stepping forward to retrieve it from the altar, "then take it and go."
As she moved toward him, holding out the book, her body left the concealment of the shadows. Khaelin gasped and hastily averted his eyes. She stopped, regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and impatience. "You seemed willing enough to look upon my body earlier," she observed acerbically, "or was your boldness due to the fact that I was unaware of your presence?"
"I was taken by surprise," he admitted, aware that he was blushing to the roots of his hair. "I did not expect to find anyone here, and certainly not one so beautiful."
"If you find me beautiful, why do you not wish to look at me?"
"It is not proper for a man to look upon an unclothed woman if they are not married," he stammered. "It was wrong of me to look at you before, and I apologize."
"Apologies are for the weak," she scoffed, but there was no real bite in her words. She was silent for a long moment, then said, "You have read this book?"
"Several times," he replied. "It was a gift to me from my mother."
"A gift," she mused. "And you – loved – your mother?" She used the word hesitatingly, as though uncertain if its meaning was correct.
"Very much so," Khaelin said softly. "She died two years ago."
"And you grieve for her death," the drow observed thoughtfully. "If my mother died, I would not grieve," she added matter-of-factly. "My only regret would be that my eldest sister would have the rest of us killed to secure her position."
He started to turn to stare at her in shock, then brought himself up short, sliding his cloak from his shoulders. "My lady, if we are to converse, might I prevail upon you to wear this?" he asked, holding the cloak out while continuing to avert his eyes.
He heard a low chuckle, then felt the cloak being taken from his hand. "Very well," she said. "You may turn around now; I have covered myself."
Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned to find lavender eyes regarding him with amusement and more than a hint of appraisal. The dark blue cloak now covered her from neck to toes, and she fingered the clasp, glancing down at the symbol of the Watcher, the eye and the gauntlet, that adorned it. "You are a Helmite?" she asked with obvious surprise.
"I am in the final year of my novitiate," he replied.
"So you are not yet a true paladin," she observed. "Is that why you did not slay me on the spot?"
He blinked. "I did not try to harm you because I sense no evil in you," he answered. "The orders of Helm fight evil; they do not kill indiscriminately."
"There are few who kill indiscriminately," the drow observed with a bitter smile. "Even among the drow, those who kill do so for a reason…although those who die undoubtedly disagree with those reasons."
"A harsh way to live, my lady," Khaelin replied gently.
"It is all that I have known," she replied simply, then raised her eyes to him questioningly. "This book…the poems within it…they speak of things: love, trust, devotion. Is this truly what the surface world is like?"
He hesitated, trying to frame his reply honestly. "The poems seek to honor those ideals that are considered best in our world. There is evil here on the surface, or more often indifference, but there are many good men and women, as well, and the ideals extolled in these poems is what they strive for."
"I see." She was silent for a moment, then a hint of mischief crept into her eyes. "And do you consider yourself a good man?"
"I try to do what is good," he answered awkwardly. "I can only hope that I succeed more often than I fail."
Unexpectedly, she reached out a hand, feeling his bicep experimentally. He held his breath, feeling her touch burn like fire through the cloth of his tunic. "You are strong," she observed, lavender eyes gazing up at him piercingly. "It would have been no challenge for you to overpower me and take me. Even now, I can feel your desire for me, yet you are not even willing to look upon me unclothed. If you were a drow, it would be a sign of weakness, a reason for contempt, but here, on the surface, it is considered," she hesitated, her brow furrowing as she searched for the right word. "Chivalry?" she said uncertainly.
He nodded. "And courtesy, also." Looking down at her, he felt himself getting lost in those incredible eyes. "Why were you here?" he found himself asking suddenly. "This is not your first time in this temple, is it?"
She dropped her gaze and stepped away from him, hugging the book to her chest. "I'm sorry," he said instantly, fearing that he had pushed too hard. "It's none of my business, really."
"Apologies are for the weak," she repeated, but there was a gleam of humor in her eyes as her gaze returned to his. "You are correct in thinking that I have been here before. I discovered this place several years ago, and return here every full moon. I worship Eilistraee, and I found this temple to be an ideal place to commune with the Dark Maiden."
Khaelin frowned, searching his mind for what knowledge of the drow his uncle had passed to him. "Eilistraee? But isn't her worship –"
"Punishable by death," the drow finished for him flatly. "Lolth is a jealous goddess and will tolerate no rivals within her realms. Several days ago, a group was found out and sacrificed; they confided their faith to one who betrayed them. No other drow knows that I worship Eilistraee. You are the first living soul that I have told."
"I am honored by such trust," he replied.
She gave him a wry smile. "Do not think overly much of it; who would you tell, after all?"
"There is that," he admitted with a chuckle.
She grew serious again. "After the others were sacrificed, I prayed to Eilistraee, asking her for a sign…some hope that the way things are is not the way that they must always be. Then I came here tonight and found this." She glanced down at the book in her hands. "Is it her answer…or simply a book left behind by a forgetful paladin?"
"Novice," he corrected her automatically, "but perhaps it is both? I have been here many times, and have never forgotten that book before."
"Perhaps," she conceded, staring past him at the sky that was beginning to show the first hint if dawn. "But I must go now." She held the book out to him, but he shook his head.
"Keep it, if you like," he offered.
"I cannot," she replied regretfully, pressing the book into his hands. "If such an item were to be found in my possession, it would arouse too much suspicion." She paused, then raised her eyes to meet his again. "I will return here each full moon, however, and I would welcome further discussion on these matters."
The thought of punishment never entered his mind. "I'll be here," he promised.
"Good," she said with a slight smile. "Thank you for the use of your cloak," she added, slipping out of the garment and standing naked before him, chuckling as he immediately averted his eyes. "Does the sight of my body truly offend you so greatly?"
"It – affects me greatly," he said at last, searching for a delicate way to describe the surge of desire that her nearness excited in him, "but it does not offend me."
A cool hand touched his face, turning it so that he was once more gazing into those lavender eyes. "Then perhaps that is something else that we can discuss when we meet again, Khaelin," she whispered, brushing her lips against his in the gentlest of kisses.
He stood stunned as she sauntered out the door, then remembered something. "What is your name?" he called after her, striding to the door.
"Amaleari," she replied without looking back. Within seconds, she was lost in the shadows of the forest.
"Amaleari," he repeated softly, glancing east to the rapidly lightening sky. His chances of sneaking back into the barracks undetected were diminishing with every minute, but whatever the punishment, it had been worth it.