His day started early more out of necessity than by choice, his routine long since interrupted by the miscellany of tasks he had taken upon himself as added precautions to securing the continued tranquility in the realm of High Prince Telamont. He alerted no one as to his passing, skipping his morning meal and dressing silently before slinking out of his own villa on foot, slipping over the guardrail of his second floor balcony and dropping noiselessly into the courtyard before stealing through The Circle completely undetected. The cobblestoned avenue that wended artfully through The Circle, leading both north to the palace and south into the Upper District, was devoid of foot traffic – it wasn't quite five o' clock in the morning, and he supposed his brothers had yet to stir from their slumber much less begin attending to their daily business.
Oh, if only they knew the things that transpired while they lay unsuspecting in their beds.
He crept first to Villa Tareia, the private residence of his youngest brother Brennus Tanthul. Displaying an upper body strength that the casual onlooker would be shocked to see in one of his compact stature he easily scaled the southeastern wall, seizing the guardrail of the small balcony on the floor above and hauling himself noiselessly over the side and coming down softly on the balls of his feet; thankfully the curtains to the room within were drawn, and he was not seen. As it was he paused to listen, his ear cocked in the direction of the bedchamber, and only deemed it safe to move ahead when he perceived the soft, rhythmic breathing of the slumbering occupant within. For a fleeting moment he considered parting the curtain and admitting himself, if for no better reason than to seek answers to half a dozen of his most burning questions, but he sublimated the urge with a silent reminder of the urgency of his real charge. There was no knowing just how much time he had before being discovered – his curiosities would just have to wait.
There was a wrought iron spiral staircase built into the balcony, wrapping around the back corner of the villa and ascending upward to the rooftop; with sure steps he scaled it to the observation platform, too engrossed in the task at hand to pause and admire the breathtaking view from that point. From the deck he proceeded north and peered cautiously over the side, investigating the second, wider balcony now directly beneath him for any signs of activity. At first glance it appeared that he was quite alone, but in his line of work he was nothing if not perpetually cautious; he set the barbed head of his grappling hook firmly in place before tugging once or twice on the cord attached to ensure its stability, and then propelled himself down the sheer face of the wall toward the balcony.
At the top right corner of the open-air window he set his feet into place and looped the taut cord securely around his right arm, crouching as near to the wall as he could get, and bracing his left hand against the black stone he leaned until he could peer inside. It was fortunate that he had taken such precautions in his approach, for the curtain was ajar and the occupant of the chamber within was awake and pacing feverishly from one end of the room to the other, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed as though deep in thought. Never before had Twelfth Prince Brennus looked quite so dejected; his bronze eyes were dulled with defeat and the crease in his forehead was so defined that it seemed as though it may as well have been chiseled permanently into his expression. Every so often he cast a disapproving glance at the open window, or perhaps the balcony, or even something beyond the boundaries of his residence, and it took the lingering Fourth Prince Aglarel a handful of seconds to determine just what it was to which Brennus was devoting such disgruntled attention: carefully, so as not to dislodge himself from his precarious position and make his presence known, he shifted his weight, freed up his left hand from the wall, and leaned in a few inches closer with his fingertips hovering uncertainly just millimeters from the drawn curtain.
Something prickled beneath his outstretched hand, reacting to his proximity; it felt almost as though a mild electric current were humming beneath his palm, poised to surge its energy into the first unfortunate soul foolish enough to come in direct contact with it. Aglarel wisely snatched his hand back, ignoring the unpleasant tingling in his fingertips as he trained his gaze back upon his youngest brother; Brennus was still worrying a track in the carpet underfoot, scowling at the nigh-invisible barrier separating him from the whole of the enclave, but beneath his obvious enmity there was a note of very real anxiety in his eyes.
If there was any truth behind the sordid rumors that had followed Brennus and his pet doppelganger home from their fated journey to Castle Tethyr, Aglarel supposed his youngest brother had good reason to be uneasy.
Tightening the corded muscles in his arms Aglarel scrabbled easily back up the wall until he had reached the observation deck, mulling over this development with a slight frown as he dislodged his grappling hook from the platform, and once he had secured his tools upon his belt he stole back down the spiral staircase to the balcony below and leapt easily for the ground. Concealed within the protective foliage of the Twelfth Prince's rear-facing garden he cast his keen silver eyes skyward, marking the position of the barely-visible sun through the thick curtains of protective shadow. It was just past five.
Aglarel wended his way stealthily through the well-tended flora and fauna of the garden, crouching down beside the recently-trimmed hedgerows and squinting through to the cobblestoned avenue beyond. He wasn't made to wait for long – a minute passed, perhaps two, and then the doors of Villa Cambria eased open to admit the shadow-swathed figure of Lim Tal'eyve.
Right on time, Aglarel mused with a smirk.
The drow-shade paused within the arch of the doorway, his shrewd amber gaze darting all about as he perused the avenue for prying eyes, and when he had assured himself that he was alone he hitched a hood up around his face and made with all speed out of The Circle and into the Upper District.
The Fourth Prince gave him fifty paces before following along behind, keeping close to the buildings on the right side of the lane, careful always to leave himself a measure of cover for his quarry cast frequent suspicious gazes over his shoulder as though he expected to be accosted at any moment. When the superior craftsmanship of the structures of the Upper District gave way to the simpler, far less grand buildings that comprised the Lower District the Fourth Prince took to higher ground, moving along in a crouch, marking well the drow-shade's passing from on high and skipping gracefully from rooftop to rooftop at an easy pace. He shadowed Lim all the way past the barracks where the lower class military members belonging to the Army of Shade were housed, past the veserab stables to the little-used and slightly run-down hovels where Thultanthar's less-than-fortunate were often housed; upon the crumbling roof of one of these structures Aglarel paused, his breath still within his lungs and his muscles tensed for action as the subject of his attention approached one of the dilapidated shacks and rapped upon its door a few times with his knuckles. For a moment there was only silence – Aglarel surreptitiously pulled his cowl lower over his face – and then the door eased open to reveal Tenth Prince Rapha.
For his part, Aglarel couldn't help but scowl. The appearance of his younger brother in a place like this could only mean that some sort of camaraderie had struck up between the two, he knew, and the prospects were not at all promising. At best Lim and Rapha were providing one another with counsel – at worst they were co-conspirators in any number of devious plots the goals of which Aglarel could only begin to speculate.
The unlikely pair exchanged a brief, hushed greeting between them before Rapha stood away from the door, a clear indicator that Lim should come inside; the drow-shade admitted himself without hesitation, casting one last searching glance over his shoulder before pulling the door shut smartly behind him. Aglarel descended from the adjacent rooftop at once, setting his fingers gingerly upon the handle and giving it an experimental turn, unsurprised to find that it had been locked already. He turned his back on the seedy building with a deepening frown, mulling over this unforeseen and unwelcome turn of events, hardly inclined to trespass any further and bring unwanted attention to his passing.
He knew what was on the other side of that door, of course – strong enchantments had been weaved into the building's foundation, giving it the look of an abandoned hovel, but Aglarel knew better. If one could only strip away the protective dweomers surrounding the structure they would find Tenth Prince Rapha's harem within; dusty, rotting floorboards were in truth richly woven, lavish carpets, holes in the floor were actually steam baths, and the collapsed bedroom in the back was a private corner where Rapha often entertained himself about his more carnal pursuits. Aglarel had visited the place once or twice, but that had been decades ago – his tastes had refined since then, and he no longer had any use for the scraping bottom-feeders that frequented the establishment.
Clearly Lim Tal'eyve was enjoying having a body again, he reasoned wryly, and casting his gaze upward a second time he tracked the movement of the little-seen sun and cursed beneath his breath. It was now nearer to six o' clock in the morning than five, which meant that he was behind schedule for his next order of business.
Turning on his heel Fourth Prince Aglarel dissolved into thousands of particles of blackness, bound for the seclusion of the Plane of Shadow, and made with all haste toward the Palace Most High.
There was already a single figure kneeling at the base of the short staircase leading up to the High Prince's ornate onyx throne by the time Aglarel arrived; he chose not to intrude but instead to observe from afar, keeping to the shadows that lingered at the far corners of the audience chamber instead of announcing himself. His sovereign lord and father High Prince Telamont Tanthul, ruler of the City of Shade, cut as impressive a figure as always in his dark purple tabard, luxurious black cloak, and the high crown of platinum and sapphires that were the sacred jewels of lost Netheril, but it was the diminutive figure prostrated before him that drew Aglarel's undivided attention in that moment. She wore the charcoal gray robes of the senior arcanists of the Shadow Mages College, imbued with subtle yet powerful protective wards that Aglarel could feel even at a distance; she wore her lustrous black hair chin length in the front and tapering into a shorter pixie cut in the back, a delicate headdress of silver and pearl woven into the strands, and before her she had lain a magnificent white scepter with a stunning, softly-glowing azure stone set into its head. The moment the High Prince rose from his throne she dared to lift her gaze, her luminous violet eyes shining through the encroaching gloom.
"Aveil Arthien," Telamont was saying, his arms outstretched almost reverently, and Aveil's lips parted as she smiled. "I have called you here today to bestow upon you the accolades you have earned through your continued loyalty and dedication to the Princes of Shade. Through a combination of your discreet conduct, your surrender to these higher powers, and your virtuous demeanor you have proven yourself worthy of my trust, as well as my generosity and gratitude. Will you accept the gifts I have prepared for you?"
"Exalted Lord," Aveil responded, her tone one of utmost humility, "I am deeply honored to receive your favor, for I feel it is a precious thing that I in no way deserve. If it pleases you to bestow gifts upon me I will accept them, and I thank you for your unceasing bounty. You are gracious beyond measure."
"Then arise," the High Prince bade her, clearly pleased with her response, "and approach."
The former Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins rose sinuously to her feet, leaving her favored weapon the Staff of Winter's Chill upon the polished black marble underfoot as she stepped gingerly over it and ascended the short staircase to the High Prince's throne; once there she dipped her head respectfully but Telamont captured her chin gently in one of his shadowy hands, guiding her gaze until their eyes met, and he actually offered her a tiny smile of encouragement. Next to him Aveil looked undeniably fragile, a little waif of a snow elf princess dwarfed by the greatness of the High Prince of Shade, but in the face of his acceptance she glowed brighter than a star. The sight of it may have turned one corner of Fourth Prince Aglarel's mouth upward briefly into the faintest of smiles, but there were none present to witness the phenomena.
Telamont put out his other hand, and the Staff of Winter's Chill stirred from where it lay and levitated at his express command; it remained suspended just inches from them for a moment as Telamont surveyed it shrewdly, and then he snapped his fingers and the artifact was suddenly and irreversibly destroyed, shattered into millions of shards of alabaster wood. Aveil flinched, obviously affected by the destruction of her most powerful weapon, but Telamont chuckled in a manner that was both foreboding and reassuring and she glanced back up at him with curiosity in her eyes.
"You won't be needing that anymore," Telamont told her, his tone mock disapproving. "It may have been a superior weapon for the Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins to wield, but it is now decidedly beneath your station. Allow me to fashion for you a suitable replacement…" And waving his free hand over the splinters of wood he began to construct another artifact, a stronger artifact, something within which Aglarel sensed was bound a magic far older than even his sovereign.
Sometimes even he was amazed at the scope of his sovereign's abilities, for sometimes it seemed as if they were indeed limitless.
The fractured, seemingly ruined wood fragments leapt one by one from the floor into the High Prince's hand, vibrating with the strength of half-formed enchantments that the Most High was weaving into the weapon's very essence; as the shaft of the new artifact mended itself together the wood, once white as snow, seemed to absorb the particles of shadow enshrouding Telamont's outstretched hand, growing darker and darker until the wood appeared as ebony. The shaft smoothed and elongated, thrumming with the magical potential of the Shadow Weave, until the High Prince seemed pleased enough with its construction and pointed one shadowy index finger at the only aspect of the previous relic that hadn't been destroyed at the outset – the coolly glowing azure stone, still pulsating faintly upon the smoky black marble. The gem rose at his command and set itself snugly into the intricately-formed head of the scepter; for a moment the two diverse magics, that of darkness and that of ice, warred with one another, but then the High Prince tightened his outstretched hand into a fist and the two energies coalesced into a harmonious whole.
The black staff settled into Telamont's hand and he inspected it with a practiced eye for flaws, but after only a handful of seconds he nodded, pleased with his work, and handed it over to Aveil; for her part, the diminutive spellcaster couldn't help the awed expression upon her face the moment she took the priceless treasure into her hands for the very first time. The azure stone sparked electric blue at her touch, as though in some way it recognized its intended wielder, but the light faded just as quickly as it had intensified and settled for shimmering coolly in her grasp.
"I present you with a magical tool far more fitting of someone of your elevated station," Telamont announced, his platinum eyes twinkling down at the scepter he had just made. "It is called Stygian Invidia, forged from the kind of deep darkness that only flows within the fell sea that doomed souls must ferry across in order to reach the nether world, the envy of the demons of shadow. In it I have also bound the frigid harshness of your own Frostfell, for it is an unforgiving and formidable magic the likes of which I have yet to see any mortal wield with more skill than you." Aveil ducked her head in an effort to conceal her growing blush, but the High Prince missed nothing in his realm and only smirked down at the back of her head as though amused before continuing, "Henceforth you shall bear the title Sceptrana of Thultanthar, for you are now the authority on arcane magic within my court. It also pleases me to inform you that you are now an official member of the Shadow Council – this news I will impart upon my other advisors, that they will know from this moment forward to include you in their workings here."
Aveil fell to her knees before him, the staff Stygian Invidia clutched close to her chest in reverence, her face aglow with disbelief; watching her kneel before the High Prince so willingly, Aglarel felt something deep within his chest twitch with something that could only be pride. "Most High One, words fail me. I only wish there was something I could give you in return, that you might understand how grateful I am to be the recipient of your unceasing bounty."
Telamont chuckled politely into the back of one shadowy hand, ushering her back to her feet with a gentle tutting sound. "You have already given me all that I have desired of you from the start – your unfaltering dedication to the advancement of Thultanthar and its interests, as well as your loyalty to myself and the Twelve Princes of Shade. I tell you this, Lady Arthien – if you continue to serve us in this manner, I will continue to bestow favor upon you."
Aveil smiled serenely, turning the staff over in her hands with wonder in her eyes. "It is my duty and my pleasure to assist you however I may, High Prince."
"Of that, there can be no doubt." Telamont wound an arm around her lithe shoulders and led her down the short staircase, moving at a leisurely pace for the great double doors that separated the audience hall from the many bustling corridors of the Palace Most High. "Now I must insist that you return to your duties, for do you not have responsibilities at the Shadow Mages College you must attend to?"
"Oh yes." Aveil was looking pleased. "I have been assisting Seventh Prince Dethud about his necromancy chamber, and I have also been sharing in some of the lectures on archaeology and lore with Eleventh Prince Melegaunt in the absence of Twelfth Prince Brennus. The topics are fascinating and the material most enlightening – I am fortunate."
"Fortune smiles on the faithful," the High Prince confided with a conspiratorial wink, and with that he gave her a gentle push toward the door. "I suppose you had best be off… Oh, and Aveil." The female spellcaster stood poised at the great double doors, one hand outstretched to excuse herself, and a pensive expression flitted across the wizened monarch's face as he added, "Do not be disheartened that these proceedings were a private matter. Often my sons show little interest in any non-shade, or any that cannot claim they share the Tanthul family bloodline, for that matter… I will say that I understand their logic, however allow me to say also that I do not necessarily agree with it."
Aveil raised her chin a fraction, unfazed, and said, "Respect must be earned. I will not lament."
"Rest assured they will all hear of your ascension," Telamont promised, and with a final bow of obeisance Aveil passed out of the audience chamber and into the corridor beyond. The moment the great double doors had snapped shut behind her the High Prince looked to the shadows at the far end of the chamber – to the precise place where Aglarel was lingering silently, watching the entire formal exchange – and nodded once in wordless understanding.
Of course his sovereign had been mindful of his presence. Nothing escaped his notice – not even the passing of his favored fourth son, whose movements were more often than not silent as a wraith's.
Aglarel waited a few beats, content for the present to linger in the eerie silence of the High Prince's audience chamber with the cloak of welcoming shadows wrapping almost intimately around his form, until he was certain he had given Aveil enough time to make her way to the palace entrance. The shadow walk was brief for him, and in only a matter of seconds he was stepping out of the deep shadow cast by one of the doors thrown wide and drawing right up to her side. For her part Aveil looked only a little surprised, and briefly the Fourth Prince wondered if she had been aware of his presence at her ascension all the while. She offered him a respectful bow, and purely out of congratulation at her recently acquired accolade he bent slightly at the waist in acknowledgement. "Sceptrana."
"Prince," she replied, with the smallest of flattered smiles. "I wondered if perhaps you were in attendance. Why did you not show yourself?"
Aglarel offered her a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders as though it was of little consequence. "It was a moment for you and the High Prince to enjoy, and not one for me to intrude upon. I was content to observe. You are well deserving of the title the Most High has bestowed upon you."
A faint pink tinge crept back into Aveil's cheeks and she turned away from him, setting off down the wide stone staircase that led down from the palace gates to the cobblestoned avenue sprawling artfully into The Circle, the collection of fine residences that housed the members of the High Prince's exalted Shadow Council. Smirking at her back the Fourth Prince followed along, marveling yet again at just how easy it was to please mortal creatures. Upon the bottommost stair Aveil glanced over her shoulder at him, her face more composed now, her smile stolen by some more pressing thought. "Have you some news?"
The assassin gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, his eyes narrowed at her words, and his meaning did not escape Aveil. Not here, it was meant to say. Too many eyes, too many ears. Then he exhaled sharply through his nose and rolled his eyes to the heavens, saying, "Greater news than your new title? I should hope not." He passed her by then, his expression most telling, and Aveil fell obediently into step one pace behind him as they wended their way through The Circle; they were silent as they proceeded, and Aveil cast her gaze around in awe of her surroundings as she so often did.
The Circle was little changed in the time that she had been dwelling within the City of Shade, but that didn't make it any less breathtaking. Smooth stones gave way to wrought iron fences lining each individual compound, beyond which lay sweeping, well-manicured grounds and gardens leading up to the most magnificent private residences imaginable. No two villas were quite the same – Aveil had heard it told that Second Prince Rivalen's home housed a great shine to the goddess Shar, whom he served as High Priest, and that Fifth Prince Clariburnus boasted the most impressive armory of any of his brothers. All of the structures exhibited similar construction – buttresses and elegant archways, gothic and modern all in one, a true testament to the refined tastes of the Twelve Princes of Shade. The pavilion was comprised of fourteen residences in all, one for each of Telamont's twelve sons, one for Hadrhune, the High Prince's shadow sorcerer, and another for Soleil, the Most High's mountebank. At present Phendrana, the doppelganger from the World Below and another new inductee of the Shadow Council, was inhabiting the residence of Twelfth Prince Brennus, and Aveil herself was still comfortable enough in one of the guest rooms within Aglarel's own home. They had discovered in recent days that Lim Tal'eyve was still dwelling within the palace for whatever reason, though they had yet to determine the High Prince's motivations for keeping him there.
As they approached the Fourth Prince's home - Villa Hara, nestled on the extreme left side of The Circle very near the palace gates - Aveil's eyes inevitably fell upon the grand centerpiece of the pavilion, the fountain that the High Prince had ordered commissioned to pay homage to the great rulers of Thultanthar. Currently it was under construction, for the High Prince had recently welcomed a few new members of the Shadow Council into the fold; the ebony statue of Lim Tal'eyve had already been erected between the figures of Soleil and Hadrhune, the Anointed Blade from his days leading the Jaezred Chaulssin sheathed upon his hip, and another half-finished figure, this one of Phendrana, was even now being carefully crafted by a handful of artisans from the Lower District. When finished it would be the likeness of the doppelganger in a defensive crouch in front of a far more serene visage of Twelfth Prince Brennus, in whose arms was cradled a book of Netherese lore, which Aveil thought was quite fitting.
Aglarel followed her gaze but misinterpreted it at first, saying, "Now that the High Prince has seen fit to elevate you into a position of power, I have no doubt that construction will begin upon a statue in your likeness soon."
"I am hardly concerned with it," Aveil admitted honestly, waving one hand in dismissal, but her eyes unwittingly flitted to the great marble visage of Fourth Prince Aglarel which she privately admitted was the most impressive of them all in her eyes. It exuded formidability and mystery, just like the prince after which it was modeled; it stood near to the center but slightly off to one side, hinting at a protective yet aloof demeanor, and he stood straight and calm as though impervious to the demands of the outside world. His hand was wrapped around the hilt of some unseen weapon, the sentinel's silent warning that he would strike if provoked, and his was the only statue whose eyes were obscured from view by the low-pulled cowl he wore. Fleetingly Aveil found herself wondering if she would soon be looking back at an unmoving statue of herself at his side, for if the figures in the fountain were modeled in a truthful interpretation of their purposes here then she could think of no place more fitting for her own to stand.
They had reached the door by then, where one of the Fourth Prince's housekeeping staff was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to escort them inside; Aveil shook herself out of her musings and hurried after him, waving away one of the attendant's offers to set her staff aside for her in the vast foyer.
"Can you not bear to part with it?" Aglarel teased darkly, already waiting for her on the bottommost stair leading up to the second floor, for his servants were well-trained not to approach him unless he commanded it – the Fourth Prince was strangely adverse to physical contact of any kind on most occasions.
Aveil's attention returned to the staff, unable to contain a laugh when she saw just how tightly her fingers were curled around its smooth shaft. "It seems I am rather attached to it," she admitted. "A more precious gift I have never received. I shall treasure it."
"As well you should," Aglarel agreed, and together they trouped upstairs toward the Fourth Prince's private quarters.
Though Aglarel was outranked only by his brothers Escanor, Rivalen, and Lamorak he lived perhaps more modestly than any among the Twelve Princes of Shade; he was dedicated wholly to carrying out the will of the High Prince and had little need for luxury or finery, for he seldom spent much leisure time in his own home. His private quarters were thus sparsely furnished - an ornamental bookcase that concealed a secret entrance into the subterranean Assassin's Guild, a magnificent four-poster bed dressed in deep crimson and black, a chest-of-drawers in which he stored the finer pieces of his rather limited wardrobe, and an elaborate glass cabinet upon which was stacked his priceless collection of ceremonial daggers. This was Aveil's favorite personal effect of his, for each weapon was unique and hand-crafted by the prince himself to carry out personal assassinations at the order of his sovereign. Each piece in the assortment had only ever taken one life, a sure sign that while Aglarel might strive to remain detached from most situations he was perhaps more deeply invested in his work than he ever let on.
Aveil studiously closed the door behind her to ensure they had complete privacy while they discussed the prince's business, and when she turned back it was to find that Aglarel had removed his assassin's shroud and draped it along the top of the chest-of-drawers. It was one of those seemingly insignificant movements that reminded Aveil just how far they had come in only a few short tendays - not long ago the Fourth Prince had regarded her with suspicion and open disdain, and now he was willing to allow her to glimpse beneath the cowl that he so often used to obscure his features. In the absence of the hood his face was unmistakably noble, regal features that included high cheekbones, jewel-bright eyes the color of moonlight, and the slightest point to the tips of his ears that Aveil had suspected on more than one occasion could not be attributed to his Netherese ancestry. Truth be told she often wondered if there wasn't more to the Fourth Prince's lineage than he ever let on; he kept himself purposefully distanced from the rest of his kin and the rest of the High Prince's progeny often regarded him a little too stiffly, a little too formally – almost as though he were the black sheep of the family. Not that she would ever consider voicing these observations aloud – she suspected Aglarel would become quite cross with her if she ever did so.
"I may have determined the reason for Brennus's seclusion," Aglarel began in a hushed voice.
Nearly a lunar cycle ago Brennus had determined the location of an ancient and long-forgotten Netherese armory somewhere in the vicinity of Castle Tethyr and the High Prince, always anxious to preserve even a fragment of the history of their ancestors, had charged his youngest son with excavating the area and returning the weapons and artifacts entombed within to the City of Shade. Brennus had readily agreed, choosing a small entourage of retainers of various skills to accompany him - as well as the doppelganger Phendrana, who put forth little effort to disguise his obvious affection for the Twelfth Prince. The information Aglarel and Aveil had managed to scrape together regarding the events that had transpired during the search for the armory was limited at best – they knew only that the armory had been discovered beneath the castle's foundations, and that the armory had been successfully emptied and transported back to the enclave – but Brennus's return was itself shrouded in mystery. Neither the prince nor the doppelganger had been seen since the conclusion of their business, and the High Prince had yet to discuss the particulars of their transgressions with anyone.
"Oh?" Aveil baited at length, cocking an eyebrow in obvious interest.
Aglarel drew out one of the chairs that stood around the ovular dining table near the door and deposited himself into it, and Aveil hastened to occupy the seat directly across from him. "Yes – and I no longer believe his absence from council matters to be self-imposed. I have reason to believe that my brother has been placed under house arrest."
Aveil propped her staff upright against the empty chair on her right side, her expression one of complete puzzlement. "How can that be? Surely only the High Prince has the authority to confine Brennus to his own home?"
"Yes," Aglarel agreed pointedly, staring back at her with a hard expression. "You are correct."
The Sceptrana mulled the idea over in her mind for a moment, at a loss to explain such a development. Twelfth Prince Brennus was something of a prodigy child within the City of Shade – he was widely considered the most intellectual of the Princes of Shade for he had all but dedicated himself to preserving the lore of ancient Netheril as well as educating all young arcanists in the Shadow Mages College of their ancestors' history. Telamont did well not to favor any of his sons above the others, but it wasn't far off the mark to say that the great monarch of Thultanthar harbored a soft spot for his youngest son.
At length Aveil voiced her thoughts. "If your hypothesis proves true, then Brennus must have committed a grievous misdemeanor indeed… What could he have done, I wonder, to earn himself such a severe punishment?"
"I know not," Aglarel confessed, "though my instincts tell me that it must have something to do with the doppelganger. For what do we know of their pilgrimage to Castle Tethyr? That when they left the pair of them entertained the High Prince's utmost favor, and that upon their return they both shut themselves away from the public eye."
"Did any among the council even witness their return?" Aveil wondered, and the Fourth Prince shook his head slowly, thoughtfully.
"No – I was about the palace on my security patrols when I heard them arrive, but I did not admit myself to the audience hall for I felt my presence would not be tolerated. I heard little of their exchange with the Most High, but whatever transpired while they were away has severely displeased him."
"And if you will permit me to ask," Aveil inquired hesitantly, "what reason do you have to believe that Brennus is being forcibly confined?"
There sounded a tentative knock upon the door, and when Aglarel barked an acknowledgement a trio of his demure housekeeping staff entered with a light morning meal consisting mostly of fruit. They did not make eye contact or speak, and were quick about their business; Aveil didn't know when the prince had called for a meal to be brought up, and knew better than to ask. Aglarel was busying himself about a pear when he chose to answer her. "I spied upon his villa this morning, though I didn't allow myself to tarry for fear of being discovered. There seems to be a protective field encompassing Brennus's private quarters, and from what I know of such measures such an enchantment would serve no other purpose but to keep him from departing. I suspect it to be of the High Prince's doing for it was constructed of the same ancient magic I feel bound within your staff – it is well that I did not come into physical contact with it or attempt to shadow walk beyond it, for I cannot help but think that some ill would have befallen me if I had."
One of the housekeeping staff had left a fine porcelain teapot complete with cup and saucer at one end of the table for Aveil's use; the Sceptrana gratefully poured herself a cup, adding a small spoonful of sugar from the jar near the water pitcher before blowing delicately at the steam wafting upward. "And the doppelganger, Phendrana? Has a similar fate befallen him?"
"Not from what I can tell. I have haunted the doppelganger's balcony once or twice in the past tenday; I can feel no such magic emanating from his window, but the curtains are always drawn and I have yet to catch a glimpse of him." Aglarel shrugged yet again as he finished, "He is hiding something."
Aveil didn't disagree. "Why else would he voluntarily remove himself from all affairs of the state?"
"Precisely." The prince returned to his pear for a moment, considering, before adding in an undertone, "I shall have to investigate the matter further."
"How might I assist you?" Aveil asked, sipping gingerly at her tea and helping herself to a starfruit, eager to please.
"When the true scope of this ordeal becomes known to me," Aglarel responded cryptically, "I will determine whether or not I have use for you."
It was a tribute to just how much Aveil's outlook had changed in the past several tendays that she did not take offense to the prince's less than favorable answer; not long ago his offhanded remark would have sparked a rage within her and more than likely a quarrel between the two of them, but now she simply conceded the logic behind the decision and chose not to argue. Aglarel had entrusted a great many responsibilities to her of late, matters that he wouldn't even discuss with anyone else, and she felt no need to question her usefulness to him.
"There is a further matter we would do well to discuss," Aglarel said at length, rousing Aveil from her musings, and when he was certain he had her undivided attention he continued. "It seems Lim has fallen in with Rapha."
Aveil uttered a tiny sigh, but could hardly bring herself to feel surprised by this news. From her limited contact with Tenth Prince Rapha she knew him to be the most ill-tempered of the High Prince's sons, not to mention by far the vainest. He attended classes and lectures regularly at the Hall of the Arts Martial, of which he was a senior member and instructor, but other than those few appearances and his daily duties of attending Shadow Court council sessions he had no real responsibilities to attend to. From all that she knew of Lim Tal'eyve she felt that he and Rapha would get along rather well together – he was equally volatile, in her opinion, and every bit as ambitious and lewd as the Tenth Prince.
Lim Tal'eyve's rise into the High Prince's utmost favor had been more than swift – it had been sudden, unexpected, and completely unprecedented. Telamont's decision to make the drow a shade had been met with a general outcry of opposition from the Shadow Council but they had no real power to override it – the High Prince's word was law within Thultanthar, and though the Twelve Princes of Shade were permitted to voice their opinions on any matter they had no power to overturn an edict put forth by their sovereign. To most parties involved it seemed that Lim had gone from being named an enemy of Thultanthar for his role in leading a host of phaerimm into the city and massacring scores of the High Prince's loyal subjects to receiving the highest honor that the High Prince had the power to bestow upon anyone almost overnight – made worse by virtue of the fact that Telamont had chosen not to share his motivations for doing so with his advisors. Aglarel and Aveil knew far more than was permitted or wise, but only because they had been directly involved in the affairs leading to the drow's ascension. They both knew better than to share these secrets with anyone else, and so the High Prince had seen no reason to threaten them into silence as of yet.
"A troublesome pair," Aveil responded at length, her gaze upon the flames of the softened candles resting upon the headboard of the prince's magnificent four poster. "But logical. They have much in common… It was only a matter of time before Lim began approaching members of the Shadow Court with his hand extended in friendship."
"Oh?" said Aglarel, surveying her shrewdly over the rim of his water glass. "You foresaw this and said nothing of it?"
Aveil shrugged as though it hardly mattered. "Before Lim met his death at the hands of Drako Falconis he had surrounded himself with powerful allies – so much so that he was willing to pay for the luxury of having 'friends', no matter what the price of friendship was. Doubtless now that he has returned to the world of the living and he is far beyond the Spider Queen's influence he will fall back into his old habits… First and foremost among these is securing allies that he believes he can manipulate to his own ends."
Aglarel set his glass aside, his face stern. "He would have little difficulty molding Rapha to meet his agenda, I'm sure. As long as Rapha retains the ability to meet his basest desires, he cares for little else."
"Then it is likely you will see more of them together in the future," Aveil concluded darkly. "How certain are you that Lim has approached Rapha? Have you seen them together?"
A shadow crossed the Fourth Prince's face then, as though he had been hoping to somehow avoid this inquiry, but his answer was truthful – he knew well enough how insistent Aveil could be when she felt she had good reason. "Rapha's harem."
At first Aveil only chuckled beneath her breath and waved one hand dismissively, as though this was nothing at all out of the ordinary. "Well, where else would you have seen them together? Rapha spends more time there than he does his own villa, does he not? And doubtless all of Lim's desires are rooted very strongly in his physical needs, since for so long he has been without such things." Then realization finished dawning on her, and she dropped her hands to her sides as her eyes doubled in size and her jaw dropped slightly open. "Wait… you were there, weren't you? Rapha's harem? How else would you have known they were there?"
"I might have heard it from a reliable source," Aglarel replied with a snicker, resigned now to her inquiries and hoping to find a little sport at her expense.
"Except you said you saw them," Aveil pointed out disdainfully, "not that someone else told you they saw them. So which is it?"
Aglarel flashed his ceremonial fangs again, pleased when Aveil's eyes flitted instantly to them as though startled; as the unnatural red flames were the only illumination in the entire room the candlelight stained his fangs crimson, as though they were soaked with blood. "I saw them with my own eyes, for I was also there. What of it?"
Aveil reclaimed her half-full teacup and took a dainty sip as she made a show of rolling her eyes; Aglarel cocked his head to one side and lifted one eyebrow again, silently daring her to voice her thoughts. "I find it interesting, of course. I have long been under the impression that the Fourth Prince of the City of Shade possessed a level of self-control that those around him could hardly begin to fathom… I see now that I was wrong."
Aglarel's expression went from mild amusement to a kind of simmering rage in the blink of an eye; the hostility emanating from him was so strong that Aveil's primary instinct now was to flee, but she mastered herself with a few shallow, slow breaths. "Do not bring my self-control into question," he warned her when he had mastered his sudden anger, "for that is not the issue here. The issue is that I followed the drow to the harem and observed him and Rapha striking up a camaraderie there. Never did I insinuate that I was inside the structure when I caught sight of them – you assumed as much on your own."
"Why wouldn't I assume as much?" Aveil asked with a shrug. "I find you to be a letch."
"And I find you meddlesome," the Fourth Prince fired back just as easily, settling back into his chair as though suddenly he believed himself to hold the upper hand in this debate. "My life has been long. Why should I not entertain private female companionship, if that is something I choose to do?"
"You are free to do as you will," Aveil retorted with a scoff. "I merely assumed you had better taste. I do not hold your brother Rapha in very high esteem – I can only imagine the sort of riffraff that inhabits his harem, and would have thought such mean creatures to be… beneath someone of your import."
"You flatter me," Aglarel shot back, his voice saturated with sarcasm, and seeing the smug shimmer gleaming in his eyes Aveil steadfastly chose to divert the conversation back to its original topic.
"Still," she began diplomatically, taking a dainty bite of her starfruit and chewing thoughtfully, "I am not certain their meeting is cause for concern yet. Surely if Lim meant to discuss any sort of treacherous or heretical business with Rapha he would have chosen a far less public locale for such a conversation? Any number of ears could be privy to his words in such a place."
"I will leave nothing to chance," the Fourth Prince overrode her testily. "Given the years that the drow spent rotting away in the custody of the Spider Queen I had assumed he would be quick to act the moment his deal with the Most High was struck, for I guessed that his patience would have been spent long before. But now here we are, a full lunar cycle later and not only has he somehow avoided putting his plans into motion, he is gradually gaining the High Prince's trust. He is pretending to have the High Prince's best interest at heart. And now this subtle gesture of goodwill toward my young, volatile brother? You have said yourself they are likeminded. This is but the beginning. Lim is plotting and I will put an end to it before his schemes begin to trouble the Most High."
"Then I will help you," Aveil assured him, "as I have already promised to do, but the time to act against him is not now – nor, I fear, will it be anytime soon. Lim is no fool – before he sets his plans into motion he will at least make great strides toward achieving the ends the High Prince has charged him with accomplishing, for he knows that he exists now at your sovereign's mercy. He will work to appease him, and when the High Prince has dropped his guard Lim Tal'eyve will strike."
Aglarel scoffed as though the notion were ludicrous. "The High Prince would not fall for so obvious an illusion, and he is never caught off his guard."
"Forgive me for saying so," Aveil put in dryly, "but it seems to me if that were the case Lim and his host of phaerimm would never have found the means to infiltrate your great city all those months ago. If your sovereign is as omnipotent as you say, would he not have foreseen such a calamity and prevented it?"
The assassin's eyes flashed as chilling and forbidding as steel and his hands twitched as though he longed to retrieve some unseen weapon. "Are you suggesting that the High Prince is fallible?"
Aveil held her ground and her composure well enough, for she knew better now how to handle the sometimes-capricious Fourth Prince of Shade; she set her teacup aside yet again and leaned forward, balancing her elbows upon the table and clasping her hands together in front of her as she said, "No, I haven't the audacity to make such a claim. I am merely suggesting that the High Prince might have need of your observations, for I have little doubt that Lim is deceiving him in this."
Her words served to be just the reminder he needed; Aglarel vacated his chair and crossed the bedchamber, sweeping the curtains aside with one arm and stepping out onto the wide balcony overlooking The Circle with a pensive expression etched into his face. Aveil tossed the skin of the fruit down upon the porcelain saucer and followed him, her eyes upon his back filled with concern, and they stood together at the guardrail watching vigilantly as foot traffic gradually increased throughout the pavilion. The High Prince's subjects were busy about the new day now; soon they would be seeking an audience to beg for aid in any number of petty affairs, or bustling about the market square in the Lower District, or attending mass at the Church of Shar or any number of the countless other menial tasks the commoners busied themselves with on a daily basis. They had the common sense and courtesy to bow or salute the Fourth Prince as they passed, and those who attended class regularly at the Shadow Mages College offered displays of respect for Aveil as well; Aveil nodded to a few as they passed but her attention was divided, stealing glances at the prince beside her through her peripheral vision, noting well the tension in his shoulders and the way he clutched the guardrail as though he needed an outlet for his anger. At length Aveil felt compelled to apologize, though she wasn't altogether certain just how to begin or what even she should feel sorry for, but the moment she opened her mouth to address him Aglarel overrode her with a simple inquiry.
"Is it not possible that Lim Tal'eyve truly means the High Prince no harm?" he asked softly, his voice laced with uncertainty, and Aveil uttered a tiny sigh.
"All things are possible," the Sceptrana reminded him bracingly. "It may be now that I am not the only one among you who has sworn to atone for the transgressions of the past."
Aglarel angled his body a little to watch her out of the corner of his eye, taken aback by her words. Though she never spoke of it now Aveil had also been something of an enemy to High Prince Telamont until very recently, for she had willingly stood against the Most High's agenda on many occasions and answered to no one but her own questionable moral compass; vanity, treachery, and secrecy had been her closest allies, and she cared little for how her actions affected those around her while she pursued the fulfillment of her own ends. It had taken her death and subsequent resurrection at the hands of Lim Tal'eyve, a great deal of coercion on Aglarel's part, and some rather harsh threats and punishments from the High Prince himself to get through to her, but a combination of all these things had molded her into the shrewd, cool, pliant servant of the Tanthul family that she now was. Aglarel had hardly forgotten those mannerisms of hers, nor the fact that he had once been convinced that she was beyond saving.
"Do you truly believe that his agenda and that of the High Prince are one in the same?" Aglarel clarified skeptically, and Aveil exhaled sharply as though in doubt.
"No one within the walls of Thultanthar knows better than I just how traitorous a creature Lim Tal'eyve can be," Aveil assured sharply, her face screwed up unpleasantly as she remembered. "And while you will never hear me say that your decision to so closely monitor his comings and goings was a foolish one, I will say that perhaps it does not warrant as much of our time as we originally anticipated. It would not do for you to become so consumed with deciphering Lim's every move that you begin to neglect your other duties as well, for then the High Prince would surely notice and your motives would be called into question."
They stood side by side for many long moments, the Fourth Prince gazing with a kind of omnipotent understanding at the Palace Most High standing in its place of reverence at the highest point in the city; Aveil said nothing, content instead to await the words she was certain Aglarel was mulling over even now and chancing a surreptitious glance in his direction out of her peripheral vision every so often. Anything the Sceptrana might have been expecting him to say was forgotten in the instant that he spoke.
"Do you know," he said almost companionably, setting his hands upon the guardrail of the balcony and resting his weight upon his arms, "when I propositioned you to enter into this arrangement with me, I don't think I fully considered all the consequences that might befall us along the way."
Aveil didn't bother asking what proposition he was referring to. When her soul had at last been returned to her a lunar cycle ago Aglarel had all but declared outright war upon Lim Tal'eyve – not only had Aveil readily agreed to aid him in whatever that entailed, she believed wholeheartedly that Aglarel was well justified in his choice to secretly oppose the drow-shade despite the fact that High Prince Telamont had bestowed his favor upon that curious and most recent addition to his esteemed Shadow Council. In her colorful and storied history of run-ins with Lim Tal'eyve – encounters that included tentative alliance, bitter feuds, extortion, blackmail, and sordid romance – she had learned one important lesson: that above all else, Lim was not to be trusted in any situation.
"Why should you think of the consequences?" she responded in a carefully neutral tone. "You are a Prince of Shade. Your word is law in this place."
"My word is taken into consideration," Aglarel corrected testily. "It is the High Prince who determines all our fates – that is what I mean when I talk of consequences. Those things I considered before were trivial in comparison – I thought of what I might do if the drow retaliated with force. I wondered whether he might succeed, and what sort of doom or utopia his victory over the Spider Queen might bring to Thultanthar. I even divined how I might deal with him if he failed in his charge, or worse, if he began manipulating my brothers against one another in an effort to achieve his ends. I did not consider the truth."
Aveil cocked one thin black eyebrow, no longer making any effort to mask her sidelong glances. "Truth?"
"That in opposing Lim Tal'eyve, we are opposing the Most High. That in opposing the Most High, we are little more than fugitives in this realm."
Aveil's first response was a single laugh, harsh and cold and incredulous. "Fugitives? Surely the High Prince would never find reason to take issue with any of your actions. He knows that all that you do, you do for the betterment of the City of Shade."
"It seems that here is a lesson you still have not learned," Aglarel overrode her in a clipped tone, baring his ivory ceremonial fangs in a rare smile that was completely devoid of mirth; his eerie silver eyes, glaring out at her from within his shadow-swathed face, were narrowed into menacing slits. "We have only one duty – to serve the High Prince to the absolute best of our ability. Are you really so foolish to believe he would overlook our transgressions against him and instead find some solace in knowing that all we do, we do out of the goodness of our hearts?" It was the prince's turn to laugh now, a high-pitched, maniacal sound that was not at all like the rich darkness of his characteristic tone of voice, and the fine hairs on the back of Aveil's neck prickled at the unfamiliar sound. "Allow me to remind you, since you seem to have forgotten – goodness is a concept that is altogether foreign here. Brennus's pet doppelganger may have been led to believe that we are some sort of pitiable, misunderstood descendants of long-dead kings on a righteous crusade to regain that which is rightfully ours, but I expect you to know better. The truth is that meaner creatures could not be found if you searched the four corners of Toril, or the vast subterranean tunnels of the Underdark – even Lim Tal'eyve's kin, in their fanatical devotion to their capricious and volatile goddess, could scarcely comprehend the level of deceit which governs our daily actions. We are more treacherous than the dark elves, far wiser than the Deep Imaskari, and vastly more vengeful than even the archangels – and it is all because our patron made us so. You would do well to abandon these futile hopes that the High Prince will grant us clemency in the event that our true intentions are ever discovered, for your optimism is unfounded. Our fall from his favor will be swift and merciless."
And truly, there was no prospect more terrifying to Aveil in that moment. It was not misleading to say that the bounty of Most High Telamont was generous and unceasing – in the month that she had been serving him her fortunes had changed from that of a barely-tolerated outlaw to a most trusted advisor, all thanks to her continued loyalty and the simple fact that the High Prince desired to elevate her in return for her continued service. After a lifetime of safeguarding her own fate from outside influences it was unnerving to find just how dependent she now was on another – the Most High had the power to tear her down just as easily as he had raised her, and there was little she could do to dissuade him from such a course if he ever had a mind to follow through. Her eyes flitted uncertainly back to Fourth Prince Aglarel, who had turned fully to face her in the short time that she had been brooding and seemed to be studying her face for even a hint of her true feelings. Aveil silently hoped that her unease didn't show through in her expression.
"Do you mean to dissuade me from my course?" Aveil inquired steadily, in a voice that she hoped suggested that perhaps she was bored.
Aglarel cocked his head slightly to one side, his gaze piercing, expectant. "Do my words make you want to abandon this arrangement of ours?"
Aveil shrugged, though it seemed to the Fourth Prince that the action was a little too jerky to seem dismissive. "Not when we have only just begun to oppose Lim Tal'eyve. He has yet to accomplish anything worthy of our concern – he is patient, slow to act and thoughtful. He will plan his conduct with great care, and we must be ready."
"Then you will continue to aid me." Aglarel's tone of voice made it perfectly clear that his words were an observation, not a request.
"I will make good on my word," Aveil vowed, "for had it not been for you sometimes praising me I fear I would be barely better off than before."
"Fortune favors the faithful," the Fourth Prince reminded, and for Aveil in that moment Aglarel's resemblance to the Most High was uncanny.
The great iron bell that hung in the black steeple of the High Church of Shar tolled eight o' clock then, alerting the goddess Shar's faithful followers that the time to attend morning mass was upon them; Aveil's eyes flitted surreptitiously in the direction of the Shadow Mages' College as she suddenly recalled her morning duties. "If you no longer require my assistance, Prince, I will take my leave of you for now. Prince Dethud awaits me at the College."
Aglarel waved one hand negligently before crossing his arms over his chest again. "You are dismissed. I suspect we will talk again when the evening session of council has convened."
The Sceptrana disappeared behind the curtain, returning to the bedchamber's interior to retrieve the staff that was the High Prince's gift to her; she paused in the softly-illuminated room with her eyes fixed upon the gently-swaying curtain, a small crease furrowing her brow as she briefly mulled over her words, before speaking up in a contemplative voice she was certain the Fourth Prince would still easily hear. "Thank you for attending the ceremony, Prince. I know well enough how busy your many ventures keep you and how precious your time is… The knowledge that you chose to spend even a small portion of that time in support of my ascension is an honor, so great an honor that I do not mind so much that no one else bothered to attend."
"Think nothing of it," Aglarel bade her at length, perhaps a little too gruffly, and the profound silence that followed suggested that Aveil had chosen not to linger after offering her gratitude. Rather than dwell on the particulars of the Sceptrana's speedy exit the Fourth Prince swept his gaze up and down The Circle one last time, allowing his eyes to linger a fraction of a second longer upon the private residence of his youngest brother and wondering what the Twelfth Prince could possibly have done to so displease the Most High.