The gambling hall was two stories and a basement. One would assume that the VIP lounge was on the second floor, where the well-to-do could look down on the lesser creatures below them, the way a child watched ants.

One would assume incorrectly; the upper floors were for business, and the basement had a more private hall.

Arcedi was making his way there, but he wasn't on a time limit, and didn't care to rush. He moved about the carpeted floor, looked in at the tables and quickly moved away. There were two bars, and the owner actually worked at the larger of them. The rumor was that she was dating Zelvier.

Who wasn't these days?

He wondered if it would be enough to dissuade Aestith, or at least make the cleric lose interest. Trouble was, Aestith wasn't a jealous person by nature-and if Zelvier fucking every other whore in Waterdeep hadn't driven Aestith away, what would really?

Arcedi didn't hate Zelvier, not exactly. Zelvier paid well and always had interesting jobs for him. If he didn't, Arcedi would not be here. But he wished Aestith would stay away from him; Zelvier tended to use people. It was what Drow did almost by instinct, and Arcedi knew he let Aestith use him, but he had set his boundaries before; Aestith was still in double digits in age and wasn't yet good at advocating for himself. Aestith let Zelvier buy him out, and that irritated Arcedi.

He wanted to shake Aestith and remind him that he was a cleric, and he should not be bound to anyone, let alone Zelvier. Not that Aestith would listen. Aestith was blinded by the temple funds and a good lay if he didn't have to contend with the other being bullheaded to boot.

Zelvier had his crew put pressure on Aestith, and the other, being overwhelmingly lonely and a child himself, of course bent to the pressure. What did Aestith see in the man?

Arcedi stuffed down his own jealousy. He had seen the way Aestith had looked at Zelvier. The cleric would never look at him that way-and that was fine-so long as he didn't look at Zelvier that way. He was glad they were in different cities. Aestith, you could have gotten into bed with anyone, why'd it have to be this jackass? He was almost glad that Zelvier had, as a cat coughed up a hairball, reluctantly mentioned to Aestith that he would contact the one paladin he knew on the surface. Arcedi had met Evyxes a time or two, several years past, and that the other would be wholly devoted to a priestess of Lolth over Zelvier did a great deal for the tension in his stomach.

He went up to Margarite and leaned against the bar. Her golden brown eyes flicked up. He couldn't distinguish if she were really human. "I'm here to see Zelvier."

A pause. "Well. He might be here." She looked down at the glass she was drying.

He made a face, and said, "I have the package he ordered."

Her eyes rolled toward him and some judgment passed. Instinctively and almost by self-defence, he talked. He laughed and made jokes, told her the story of how he arrived. Admittedly, it wasn't an interesting one-not as interesting as some anyway, but he could find humor anywhere and the tale of the misery of the sailors who had to deal with him on the way here was amusing, to him at least. He wove it the way he usually did, in a nonlinear fashion with backtracking and stopping for exposition and too much detail in way of explanation. Her eyes glazed, and still he kept going. What he didn't remember, he filled in with what he imagined it was supposed to be, a white thread of lies in a tapestry of the tale, so innocuous and sprinkled in that most would never notice it. People rarely ever did. He had learned a long time ago that if he simply kept talking, eventually people would break.

Perhaps to make him stop, she went to the swing door on the side of the bar and lifted the lock. He pushed past and opened the trapdoor. He would have left it open, but she shut it behind him. Not ominous at all.

He trotted down the stairs. Some paranoia itched in the back of his brain, something he attributed to his nature, the parts of him that were Drow. He ignored them, even when they screamed at him to turn back around, to listen to the bits of him that were raised by moon elves and go play elsewhere.

What could Zelvier really give him that was worth the cost of the package anyway? Fencing it would be next to impossible, so it would have to be broken down a bit. It wouldn't make it worth it.

The stairs led into a narrow hall. An open door at the end of the hall had a beaded curtain with little bells at the end of each strand. It was impossible to move through it without making noise.

Arcedi steeled himself and marched through. He posed dramatically and was a little disappointed that Zelvier barely even glanced at him. The man was seated at a table that was clearly meant to have either food or a game on it, instead of whatever paperwork he was doing. Zanisernix sat on one side of the table.

The other tables in the room were open, airy. It wasn't at all what drow ordinarily liked, despite that it had been made, more or less, specifically for drow. And Zelvier doubtless did it on purpose, forcing them to mingle. The crew had had a large payout recently, from the heist, and most of them had vacated to go spend it. The few who didn't bother played at cards or dice, mostly drinking with an occasional plate of something.

Arcedi had once asked Aestith why it was that all the Drow he had seen on the surface were male, when the Drow claimed that their race tended to skew more toward female. Aestith had told him that it was because even a female slave had more upwards mobility than a male noble. That even if a woman fell into poverty, she stood a chance of getting out. Males lacked that option, so fleeing somewhere like the surface looked more attractive to them. He had also explained that, in Ryze and Bingath's case, as they were male and neither of them a wizard or suchlike, despite having been noble, they would end up as slaves to some other house, possibly the one that destroyed them, since neither could name which house had destroyed their own. And even if they could, they're both male, so there would be room for doubt.

Arcedi wove his way slowly around the room and plopped into the seat opposite Zelvier. Before the other had quite acknowledged him, Arcedi launched into a long greeting and an even longer description of how he acquired the package, full of too many details in some areas and too few details in others. He backtracked consistently to go back and illustrate further detail, skipping ahead to more interesting parts, then realized he needed to describe the less interesting ones so the others made sense. Halfway through this, Zelvier held up a single finger for silence. Arcedi internally debated ignoring it, then slowed to a silence of sorts.

Zelvier said, "I'm glad to see you were successful. Where is it?"

Arcedi dropped the leather-wrapped package on the table. "So like I was sayin'—"

Zanisernix pulled the package across the table and cut the cord with a knife. He opened it enough to peer inside, then flipped the leather back over it before he pushed it toward Zelvier. The other pried the leather apart. He propped his chin in one hand and lifted one of the black diamonds, as big as a thumbnail, pinched between finger and thumb.

Zelvier looked at Zanisernix and tilted his head. The other's gaze flicked toward Arcedi. His lips seemed to curl into a sneer at the leucistic drow, then he got up and left the room.

Arcedi made a face. "Now what do you want?"

"Well, I imagine you want payment."

Arcedi glanced at the diamonds. "That would do."
Zelvier raised one white eyebrow. "Do you mean to imply that that's where you'd like to start?"

"I want to know what you intend with Aestith."

"Must I 'intend' anything?" Zelvier's lips curved into a slanted grin.

Arcedi leaned back in the chair. "Aestith is powerful and a cleric, but he is far too young for you to be interested in him, innit? You're over twice my age. You can't possibly want anything more than to manipulate a young cleric already eager to get into bed with you."

Zelvier's face was unreadable. "Are you really trying to make sure my intentions are pure? Moon elf indeed."

The tattooed drow shook his head. "I thought you were shrewder than that, but maybe I've misjudged you. No. I want you to leave Aestith alone. I only request that you don't interfere. Let Aestith run his temple. A cleric needs no guidance from a wizard."

"Or a rogue."

Arcedi smirked. "But a cleric has uses for a paladin, don't they?"

Zelvier's eye twitched, the barest hint of discomfort, and Arcedi's smirk widened to a grin. Zelvier leaned back in the chair. "Tell me, how does my temple progress?"
Arcedi's eyebrows arched. "Your temple? Is it customary for Lolthite drow to fund a temple and then keep ownership of it when they are not affiliated with the church? Because in every other religion, such a gift is exactly that-a donation."

"Aestith is a child. And he's no priestess capable of leading a temple either. He is a cleric, yes, but only a cleric."

"That doesn't entitle you to ownership of a temple. And neither does funding it. It belongs to the church, not to you. Aestith doesn't belong to you."

Zanisernix returned with a small box, which he set on the table. "Your payment."

Zelvier waved a hand. "Thank you." Zanisernix frowned, but slunk away. "I'd never impede a cleric."
Arcedi's lips pressed together. "Then stop trying to put Aestith on the rails you've made and let him go his own way." He flipped the box open, then shut it.

"You spend too much time playing music. All the metaphors have gone to your head. Thank you for the diamonds, Arcedi." He looked at them, and his expression seemed to soften, ever so slightly. "Aestith will look lovely in them."

Arcedi's fingers clenched under the table. Zelvier hadn't heard a damned word he had said. "Aestith never needed you."
"No. He wants me. And he wants the temple." He held up one hand to produce a dim light that made the diamonds sparkle. "I see so clearly what Aestith could be if he allowed himself to become it." He sighed and glanced at Arcedi. Something wistful caught in the other's eyes. Arcedi's heart pounded, and he couldn't explain why he so suddenly wanted to flee. He didn't want to hear whatever Zelvier was going to say next. "He'll be so powerful, Arcedi. I only wish for him to succeed."

You only give Aestith what he wants, not what he needs. What had first attracted him to the young cleric was Aestith's passion; Arcedi had never been that passionate about anything, and a person who was passionate about something attracted others to them, no matter the subject matter. Arcedi just wanted to be close to that passion, so he could feel some of the heat of its fire and hope to kindle something like it in himself. That fire needed to blaze, not only to burn. Zelvier would give Aestith a candle when he could have ignited a town. He forced himself to stay still. "He'll fly farther if you release him from your tether."

He snorted. "Aestith is on no tether. If I happen to point him in a direction on occasion, it is his business if he wishes to follow it. He certainly didn't listen to me when I told him not to go back into the Underdark."

Arcedi tilted his head. "You told him not to go?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "I wanted him to stay, for admittedly selfish reasons. I thought that funding the temple would keep him on the surface and make him give up the silly notion of contacting his sisters."

Arcedi stilled. "Having a cleric you can manipulate is certainly a benefit to you."

Zelvier frowned. "I don't deny I want that." He dropped the diamond back with the others. "Just as I cannot deny that I would want Aestith even if he were not a cleric."

"The orgy pits aren't enough for you?"

Zelvier shrugged, unbothered by Arcedi's petulant jab. "You can continue to be Aestith's paramour. I care not, and I've no interest in monogamy myself. So don't be concerned."

Arcedi frowned. "I keep telling you that that isn't—"

"It is, and you hide it poorly. You're jealous, and it's made worse because Aestith isn't perfectly to your taste so you can't give him everything he wants the way I'm only too happy to."

A white brow over a pale pink eye arched. Zelvier had already contacted a paladin to further instruct Aestith. "Are we projecting here?"

"I am not concerned about you." A pause. "Or my cousin."

"As you say." Arcedi opened the box and removed the calfskin bag inside. It was heavy with platinum coins. He almost dropped it on the table, but the act of pettiness would be one he'd live to regret. He took the money and left.

Zelvier's jealousy might be all the leverage he could ask for. Aestith would need a paladin over a wizard, and the tighter Zelvier tried to hold Aestith, the more likely Aestith would be to flee. Zelvier would never be jealous of Arcedi, but he was concerned about the priestess meeting Evyxes. And from what Arcedi knew of the paladin, and of the cleric, their union would not even be unlikely. Zelvier may even attempt to drive Evyxes back to Luskan, and Aestith would retaliate. The young cleric needed to learn from Evyxes, and from Zelvier, but he had to learn to be independent and rely on no one, and owe them nothing.

Ryze caught up to him before he had quite reached the stairwell. The disguise slipped on as they left the trapdoor. The other said, "I saw what happened."

"Hard to miss."

Ryze rolled his eyes. "You don't understand us, Arcedi. You were raised by faeries." He made a face. "Some things are innate, but many are not, so I think you've missed much actually."

They passed the bar and moved onto the gambling floor. "Like what?"

Ryze sighed. "I've been with Eiranish for five years. Do you think we love each other?"

"Drow aren't capable of it."

The younger drow laughed. "That's not true. We lust after one another, enjoy the other's company, and are affectionate to one another all the same, but love is a weak, in its nature selfish, emotion that would require purging, so the inclination among our kind is to cull one's own weaknesses. Or, short of that, destroy what caused the feeling."

"That's ridiculous. If you ignore the emotion, it will surely fade."

"Does it, Arcedi? When Drow are amorous, we seek to dominate the object of our affections so we gain control over what has gained control over us. It's part of why my house was destroyed."

He raked his fingers through his hair. The loose hair fell through his hand and the braids thumped. "Even your personal lives become political."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Perhaps, but these affections are so rarely returned, it can really end no other way. Suffice it to say, mutual love between drow is so rare as to be all but unheard of." He reiterated, "Eiranish and I do not love each other."

Arcedi made a face. "I'm devoted to Aestith, and to his cause."

"We all are. We have to be. He's quite possibly the first, or one of very few, Lolthite clerics on the surface," Ryze said, and tilted his head back toward the way they had come. "I only meant to point out, you don't understand us-even such simple concepts. Aestith's presence can be a threat to Zelvier and his position, because of that. He's courting Aestith to eliminate that threat in a way that might be mutually beneficial, rather than a conflict that's bound to end in blood."

"It's idiotic." Like all politics, especially drow politics.

Ryze shook his head. "You don't understand us. You don't understand the way we work."

Arcedi's lips curled in disgust. "It doesn't have to be a power struggle, does it?"

"It does. For it is the Spider Queen's desire for us to struggle, moon elf."

Arcedi glared. "You're making it more difficult than it needs to be."

Ryze rounded on him suddenly. "The water of your mother's womb might have birthed you drow, but the blood flowing through your heart is fae, moon elf. Go home. Most of us don't have that luxury."

A lump caught in Arcedi's throat. Home. He had never felt like he had belonged with the moon elves; it was why he had been gone so long. He had hoped to find belonging here, but was estranged even still. Did he belong anywhere? He swallowed and his lips curled in a sneer. He spat, "You expect me to say something like 'you're trash, go kill yourself' or, 'you look like a slug' or something, but no. No, I think that there is so little about you to say or define that I can summarize you by saying that you're banal and uninteresting. So uninteresting that you cannot even spark my creativity when it comes to insults, which in itself is a compliment. Go run back under the boot of the master you chose, Ryze."

Arcedi turned on his heel. From the bar, Xaiviryn watched him go. Margarite slid a drink toward him. He reached for it and his fingers brushed hers, a small but comfortable gesture. She said, "It's true then?"

He looked at her, but as if he didn't really see her. He looked through her, rather than past her. "You've nothing to be concerned with, my dear. You will grow old and die before the one we're discussing even reaches adulthood."

Her heart-shaped lips curved into a dissatisfied frown. It was so hard to say if he were discussing some kind of dark prophecy or a new babe, or something longer lived. With one such as he, it could be someone closer to her own age. "You've a real way with words." She turned, furiously reorganizing the bottles.

Xaiviryn sipped the gin and tonic. "I do." He looked up as Ryze approached. He leaned against the bar, perhaps waiting to be acknowledged. "What were you talking to Arcedi about? I've never seen him so angry, so I feel I must congratulate you."

Ryze snorted a laugh. "I told him to go home."

Margarite looked up from the bottles. Xaiviryn stilled, then shrugged. "He is the only one I know who can go home. So perhaps he should." Something unspoken passed between them.

Ryze began to say something, glanced at Margarite, then made a series of fast hand signals to Xaiviryn, who remained impassive throughout. He replied in Undercommon, that guttural dark language that sounded like an angry animal. Ryze grinned and said something that Xaiviryn glared at him for before he replied. Ryze's grin widened.

She caught the name Aestith, one she had heard several times before.

#

The Trial had been several turns past. Ondalia should have heard from Rix about what had happened, and she was irritated that she had not heard from them directly. One of the sisters had been spotted returning to the family home, but she had been alone-and it was not Haeltania.

Troubling, but perhaps the woman had stayed for a time to learn her duties from the high priestess. She tried to assure herself of this, but short of major events and news of battles or slain dragons, word traveled only slowly in the Underdark. She could, of course, use spells to contact Haeltania or Ter'resa directly, but it was insulting to have to crawl to them for this information.

Which is why when Amalette Rix requested an audience, she accepted.

The bard arrived perfectly on time, flanked by a contingent of guards that stayed outside. Her handmaiden followed her. Amalette bowed low and respectful to the priestess, but, quite subtly, not as low as she might have, if her family did not have a priestess.

Ondalia smiled at the gesture, and bade her guest to sit. "Tea or wine?"

Amalette sat like a flutist, poised to keep her throat clear and her spine straight. "I shan't have need of either, I admit, for my time is limited."

Ondalia's perfectly plucked eyebrow rose a fraction. "Oh? To what occasion must you rush off to, more important than entertaining a priestess?"

Amalette gave her a winning smile. "If it's entertainment you wish, I shall return at a later time. I am quite skilled at music." A pause. "Though I have little time for such pleasantries at the moment. The Trial went… in a most unexpected manner, and I have other news."

Ondalia sipped her lichen wine. "Please continue."

"I will of course uphold my end of our bargain." She sighed. "Haeltania failed the Trial. She was not chosen by Lolth."

Ondalia set the goblet on a tray held by one of her slaves. "It was the boy?" She could not keep her incredulism from her tone. "A warlock then, pacted to yochlol?"

Amalette shrugged one shoulder. "Little Aestith prevailed in the Trial. If that is Lolth's will, I must accept it, but High Priestess Ter'resa has assured me that he was a cleric, and from what she has told me, he was a cleric long before the Trial." She sighed. "Now, he is a priestess."

"He?"

Amalette shifted. "The situation is complicated, and difficult to understand. Aestith has a body similar to Corellon Larethian, and instead of hide his deformity, he chooses to flaunt it to his advantage."

Her brow twitched in thought. "Is he female enough then?"

"I doubt that's changed-I was present at his birth." She paused to consider her next words. "I had assumed him dead until only a few cycles ago. It changes my family quite a bit." She smiled politely, lips pressed together showing no teeth. "I will fetch him in time and meanwhile, make some adjustments to my own trade routes to accomodate your needs." She tilted her head. "I would insist that my family be granted the prestige of a higher caste." Her smile turned succulent. "Aestith is hardly completely male, and a priestess besides. There are ways to make him less male. I intend to make my claim soon."

Ondalia sipped her wine. "The boy. Aestith. He owes me a favor from years ago." Amalette frowned; Ondalia was pleased to see that it was the first she had heard of it. "Oh, I helped him with some matter when he was a child, but I'm afraid that I would need something more than what you are currently offering to support such a claim. I admit that your present claim is good, and you are not without means, Matron Rix, I merely suggest that you are reaching beyond your limit." She smiled; Amalette was no mother. With her tastes, that was quite impossible.

Amalette was silent. Ondalia knew that their house could not afford two favors. She folded her hands in her lap. "Then I must request that you collect on this favor. What may I do for you, priestess?"

Ondalia's painted lips curved into a satisfied smile. "It is simple, really. I request Aestith."

Amalette's spine straightened, stricken.

Ondalia continued, "He needs to be instructed in the church, and…" She let the wine aerate as she tilted the goblet. "It's time I bore a daughter. I'd have him as a husband. Wed your family to mine, and we can combine our strengths. You would gain the prestige and rank for your family that you seek." She left unsaid that she would gain their allegiance and freer access to their assets, to say nothing of a priestess that was entirely under her control.

Amalette was quiet as she debated this possibility. "I agree. It is a wise decision for both of us." A pause. "I would request your assistance in neutralizing House Innis before they become a problem."

"A wedding gift. Consider it done." She sipped her wine. "Do let me know where my spouse-to-be has wandered off to."

"I will locate him," she assured her. She rose, bowed again, as low as was befitting this time, and left with her handmaid.

Author's Note: I just kept writing and realized that my story had become far too long for only one book. Because I already posted 28 (which, right after the Trial I think is an epic ending), I'll continue with my original plan and post out to 35 for now, but this may change in the future when I finish editing Book 2... Yes, editing. It's already written. Thanks for your comments! I enjoy them.