The Rook

by Fatality

(Kings and Pawns - Book I) (Sequel to Devil) Phendrana has at last become a shade, but in the wake of his transformation all is not well. With his mental abilities keener than ever before the doppelganger finds himself plagued with a series of prophetic dreams, and only by relying on these vague images will the Shadow Court have any hope of defending the City of Shade.

13. The First Union

"Tell me how I can help you succeed in this." This had never been a part of Mourntrin Auvryndar's original plan, but there was no denying that things had gone hopelessly awry since the first moment Quartana Baenre had led them into the shadow kingdom of Thultanthar. The orphan from Ched Nasad had long since prided himself on his resourcefulness – it was a trait that had helped him flourish in Bregan D'aerthe – and he knew he needed to trust in that singular trait now if he was to have any hope of success. There was no denying that the closer Quartana got to Lim Tal'eyve, the greater the chances that his affairs would end with his triumph.

Quartana glared disdainfully down the tip of her nose at him as though contemplating whether or not to reply, and though it grated on Mourn's nerves he allowed the slight and chose not to argue. There was nothing to be gained by complicating matters, and further agitating the ever-volatile priestess would likely only jeopardize his mission. He needed her to lean on him now, for she was the only means to an end left available to him. At length she shifted, crossing one shapely leg over the other as though daring him to follow the feminine curves of her body with his eyes so that she could chastise him – for his part, Mourn could honestly say that he wasn't in the least bit enticed to do so. "For starters you could do your part a little better than the rest of those bumbling fools the Spider Queen enlisted to carry out her bidding. Performing each of these tasks personally is becoming taxing, and if you fail me again and manage to survive I can promise you… I will make you wish you had died at the hands of those foul shadow-dwellers."

Mourn nodded in what he hoped appeared to be a meek fashion and chose not to reply, knowing that the priestess was still sore over the loss of Nhilue Xorlarrin. Like most female drow Quartana considered her male counterparts to be of little value and therefore hadn't been particularly concerned by the deaths of Xuntath Oblodra or Zek Vandree, but when Nhilue had failed to return to Menzoberranzan there was no debating that the worst had happened to her. Knowing that the Princes of Shade had gotten the better of a priestess of Lolth didn't sit well with Quartana, and the strain was easy to see in her eyes – strain that could easily be converted into rage in the event that he crossed her, Mourn knew.

"One way or another," Quartana was saying in a surprisingly introspective voice, "it will all be over for us tonight. The Spider Queen blessed me in a dream, showing me the glorious tasks she has designed for us – tonight I will at last have the opportunity to punish Lim Tal'eyve for all of his past transgressions, and with the strength of the goddess guiding my hand I will deliver that traitor back into the Abyss." Her eyes grew misty at the prospect and a prideful smile lit up her face that churned Mourn's stomach with disgust as she finished, "All the advantages are ours. With Lolth on my side we will strike a blow that will bring the Netherese archwizards to their knees."

"Yes," Mourn agreed, for he simply had nothing to say that could be considered in keeping with the priestess's plans. He couldn't tell her that this arrangement of theirs promised to be supremely beneficial to him in the end, but not in the ways that she imagined. He couldn't tell her that he had no intention of allowing her to so much as lay eyes upon Lim Tal'eyve, much less take up arms against him.

He couldn't tell her that at the first available opportunity he would betray her without a second thought, for in reality their agendas weren't even remotely similar.

"Call for me the moment you have a need," he told her instead, his voice compliant though inside his heart was hammering wildly at just the thought of his imminent treachery. "I will serve you uncomplainingly. Returning to the City of Shade now is my single greatest aspiration."

There was no need to tell her why – she would find out soon enough.

---

Aveil mistakenly overslept – she had found little real rest after Fourth Prince Aglarel's late night visit, finally drifting into a fitful sleep just before dawn – and hadn't quite cleared out of Villa Cloveri by the time the manor began buzzing with activity. Though she only spent a scant few minutes in the restroom refreshing herself, it wasn't quick enough to avoid the return of Soleil Chemaut and her entourage of handmaidens as they bustled about readying the princess-to-be for her upcoming nuptials; she lingered in the doorway, embarrassed by her wrinkled nightgown and her bare feet, and briefly wondered if she could fling herself off the balcony without anyone noticing. In the moment that she hesitated Soleil spotted her and moved toward her with a soft smile and an outstretched hand.

"Welcome, Sceptrana," she greeted Aveil warmly, taking her hand and tugging her gently away from the door; Aveil couldn't help but marvel at their physical similarities, dark hair and alabaster skin, and how strange it was that two people who looked so alike could vary so much in demeanor. Truth be told Aveil quietly admired the High Prince's mountebank, envied her even – there was an innate goodness that radiated from the very core of her being that Aveil longed for and knew she could never hope to possess. Being in Soleil's presence made Aveil feel even more unclean than usual.

"I had meant to be gone long before you returned," Aveil confessed softly, her discomfort showing clearly in her expression. "Forgive me for overstaying my welcome."

Soleil blinked twice, confusion breaking through her blissful smile; though her handmaidens were bustling all around and clambering almost desperately for her attention she kept her attention focused solely upon Aveil, as though the Sceptrana was her only priority. As Aveil watched the mountebank's face softened with sympathy, and she patted Aveil reassuringly on the arm. "Yesterday's events were taxing on us all," Soleil confessed, "but I think perhaps you suffered the most of all. Privacy is the least I could do to accommodate your needs."

"The Princes of Shade nearly lost their lives," Aveil pointed out, hardly feeling as though the hardships she had experienced could compare to the near-fatal wounds her betters had endured.

"Yes," Soleil agreed, nodding sagely, "but were spared largely thanks to your selflessness and heroism. Your actions will not soon be forgotten." Then the radiance returned to her face and she continued, "I am glad to find you here still – I was hoping you might stay awhile, and prepare for the ceremony with me."

"Prepare?" Aveil heard herself echo incredulously. "For your wedding? With you?"

"We are the only women that sit upon the High Prince's council," Soleil pointed out, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I would like it very much if we could be friends."

Unwillingly Aveil recalled the last friends she had had, the elf princess Ria Valiente and the man who had once been her dear husband, Drako Falconis, and pondered the two ragged holes in her heart that she had long assumed she could never fill. And when anxiety began to grip her she forced her thoughts to dwell upon all she had gained since those dark times – the support of the High Prince, the unlikely trust of Fourth Prince Aglarel, the unexpected but not unwelcome camaraderie of Third Prince Lamorak and Phendrana and now this gesture of friendship from the woman who was soon to be Princess of Thultanthar. Perhaps it wasn't about filling the empty spaces in her heart – perhaps it had more to do with allowing her heart to grow, to find room for everyone she cared about both past and present.

"As would I," the Sceptrana said at last, and the smile Soleil had been trying so hard to hide broadened like the sun breaking over the horizon.

Clapping her hands once joyfully Soleil spun to address her handmaidens, who at once snapped to attention and fixed their gazes upon her rapturously. "Go at once to Villa Hara and collect the Sceptrana's things," she told them with a crispness and efficiency in her voice. "Whatever it is that she requires, see that it is brought here at once."

That was how Aveil found herself sitting in a chair side-by-side with the High Prince's soon-to-be daughter-in-law, glancing around bewilderedly as the mountebank's attendants fawned over her nails, applied her makeup, and arranged her hair meticulously. Beside her Soleil was serene, and Aveil wondered at her silence until at last she voiced that which she had been pondering to herself.

"What is it like to be married?"

Aveil accepted the inquiry graciously and worked to keep her face neutral, her eyes tracing the contours of the full tulle skirt of Soleil's wedding gown on the bedspread where it lay. The memories she associated with her time as a married woman were distinctly darker than most of her other recollections – not because of her relationship with her husband, but because of the circumstances that always circled their union. Their wedding had been a secret affair, deep within the woods surrounding E'lastamor where Ria Valiente and her deceased brother Juraviel had once lived and ruled and attended by only those two and the presiding priest. Of course it wasn't the ceremony that the showy and attention-craving Aveil had always dreamed of, but necessary at the time; the Time of Troubles had only just ended and the Spider Queen was relentlessly searching for them, as they were known supporters of Lim Tal'eyve and the Jaezred Chaulssin. She and Drako were forced to move constantly, never settling down, never dropping their guards, for to relax was to die and they were survivors. It was on one of their sojourns into the wilds, somewhere to the southwest of the Bloodstone Lands, where Lim had come upon their campsite; after a brief battle she had been whisked off to Castle Perilous and imprisoned, and her captivity had ended with the extraction and murder of her unborn child. Though Drako and his then-companions had rescued her in the end the pain of losing a child had been too much for them to bear, and the thought of a conventional life had terrified Aveil; she had left him shortly after, and learned of his death years later in passing.

She found that one of her hands had fallen unconsciously to her belly, where she still bore the scar from the blade Lim had used to tear the baby from her body, and dropped her hand at once as though burned. By this time Soleil was watching her with curiosity and a touch of concern, so Aveil hastened at once to stumble through a reply. "I am not certain I am the best person to converse with on the subject… My marriage did not end happily, and misfortune followed us throughout the course of our wedded life. Nevertheless I will say that the adversity kept us close, and that he remains close to my heart even now."

"I am truly sorry," Soleil murmured, her eyes troubled, her voice filled with regret. "I knew of Drako Falconis – his name was uttered often in Waterdeep, where I hailed prior to joining the High Prince's court here. I know that he was Mielikki's champion, and that he accomplished many noble feats in her honor. Surely she prepared a grand place for him beside her when he retired from this world."

"The Gods know he would deserve it," Aveil agreed with a kind of sad fondness in her eyes. "Until very recently I was frivolous in my conduct, cruel to those who called me friend, and I held very little appreciation for the lives of those around me. For enduring my company for so long he deserves every comfort and kindness the afterlife has to offer."

Soleil's curious yellow eyes were studying Aveil's face with an understanding that made the Sceptrana squirm a little in her chair; by this time the mountebank's handmaidens had finished applying her makeup, and there was no denying how like a queen she looked. It made Aveil feel very small. "You do not have a very high opinion of yourself."

"I am realistic," Aveil replied simply. "Selfish desires and material gains were the things that drove me. I know what such longings do to people. I am not proud of the person I used to be."

"Had you not been that person you would likely not be who you are today," Soleil pointed out diplomatically. "Nor would you have had such a positive impact on those around you." The incredulous expression that served as Aveil's answer had Soleil laughing so hard that her handmaidens tittered at her disapprovingly, and when she grew still and sat up straighter she added, "Surely you see what a difference your companionship has made in Prince Aglarel, at least? You would be blind not to! It is like night and day!"

"I am the one who has changed," Aveil argued stubbornly. "Not him. The fraction of trust he has placed in me is now my most closely guarded treasure."

Soleil smiled at her response as though something about those words melted her heart. "And it is because you so cherish what you have been given that he continues to give it, freely and willingly. Surely you are not under the impression that just anyone entertains his trust? He rewards loyalty, and it is no secret to any of us just how devoted to him you are."

For a moment Aveil's eyes reflected something that Soleil was certain was fierce pride, but before she could even comment on it the expression became undiluted fear; the Sceptrana shifted in her chair, ignoring the soft protests of the handmaidens who were putting the finishing touches on her manicure, and pitched her voice low. "I trust I do not appear too devoted?"

"Too devoted?" echoed Soleil incredulously, clearly taken aback by the question, and Aveil closed her eyes as though the words she was preparing to utter pained her.

"As devoted as you are to Prince Escanor," Aveil clarified, and Soleil blinked twice with newfound clarity.

"Oh." The mountebank paused and kept still as one of her attendants painstakingly applied her lipstick, a rosy pink hue that gave her face a timeless look; the moment that was done she turned her gaze back to Aveil and added, "Not in my opinion, but you should know that there is no crime in feeling that way… If that is indeed the case, I mean."

"It isn't," Aveil insisted, her tone clipped and allowing no room for debate, and so Soleil wisely dropped the matter despite the fact that she was veritably burning with curiosity. "Forgive me… I can only say that I am ever hesitant to allow myself to harbor even the slightest personal affection for anyone. The less-than-favorable situation that I found myself in with Hadrhune is too recent for my liking, and I remember all too well that our desires nearly ruined us both. I have since convinced myself that it would be better for all parties if I focused on my duties and didn't mire myself in such affairs again."

Soleil nodded her understanding, for she couldn't pretend she didn't understand the logic behind the Sceptrana's decision, but that didn't stop her from feeling quite sad on Aveil's account. She remembered well the events Aveil was referring to, a time just months ago when the Sceptrana and Hadrhune had chosen to defy the High Prince's wishes and carry on a secret liaison that had eventually been uncovered; Aveil's punishment had been bad enough, but as a member of the Shadow Court the seneschal Hadrhune had been utterly disgraced. He had since been welcomed back into the High Prince's confidence, but no one could doubt that Telamont had been holding Hadrhune at arm's length since then. The High Prince's memory was long-lived, and he did not forget treachery easily.

The mountebank made herself study Aveil then, made herself look beyond her own preconceived notions of the other woman and consider the person Aveil had become in recent weeks. Her newfound dedication to the High Prince and his affairs was admirable, the primary trait that often determined a person's usefulness in the Shadow Court - despite that dedication, however, Soleil knew for a fact that the majority of the Princes of Shade still did not support Aveil's ascension or her aspirations to make herself appear worthy in their sovereign's eyes. Even taking that into account, though, there was no denying that Aveil had conducted herself with grace and poise; she had toiled selflessly even without the support of her peers, carried out Prince Aglarel's wishes uncomplainingly and to the letter, and had risked her own life to preserve them. The Sceptrana's desire to atone for her past mistakes emanated from the very core of her being, that much was certain.

Not for the first time Soleil found herself marveling at the Sceptrana's physical beauty, and had little difficulty seeing for herself why a man as stoic of demeanor as Hadrhune had succumbed to such primal desires. The blend of Aveil's snow elf heritage with her human ancestry was perfectly proportioned, pale unblemished skin and thick jet hair and eyes a startling shade of indigo; there was something about her exotic features that made her look like royalty, something that Soleil remembered with a start was right on the mark. She had heard it told that Aveil's father had been the last crowned king of the Frostfell, and that only Aveil had survived him – in the event that Aveil ever returned to the Spine of the World and made good on her claim to the throne of the snow elves, she would be a queen in her own right.

She wouldn't need to marry to claim a crown, and then she would be the only friend to Thultanthar with royal blood running through her veins.

"I have to wonder whether you will find yourself mired in such affairs again at a later date," Soleil finally told her thoughtfully, "even if you do not necessarily wish it."

Aveil met her gaze steadily and did not agree, but neither did she argue; Soleil couldn't help but wonder if such a possibility had already occurred to her. After a weighty pause Aveil's eyes fell upon her now-polished fingernails as she murmured, "My concern is not for the if or the when, for such things have crossed my mind of late – of course I would never protest if the High Prince arranged a match for me and one of his sons, for to be wed to a Prince of Shade is nothing less than an unprecedented honor that I could never deserve. My concern is for the who."

"Your prospects concern you," Soleil surmised conspiratorially. "Or at least, some of them do." In response to the fear she witnessed creeping back into the Sceptrana's eyes she hurriedly added, "You are in safe company, Aveil. I can assure you that all you utter here will remain private."

Aveil visibly relaxed, though her forehead was still creased with worry. "I feel their collective reception of me ranges anywhere from utter disregard to blatant hostility in all cases. A few of them tolerate me, but I suspect it is for appearances sake only. Naturally it is a worry to me that one day I might find myself wed to a man whose opinion of me falls anywhere on the aforementioned scale."

The mountebank thought for certain she could name one exception to Aveil's suppositions, but decided to keep her opinion to herself for the time being and watch how things played out. Instead she reached over and patted the Sceptrana's arm reassuringly, saying, "I'm certain it wouldn't be as bad as all that. It is obvious that the High Prince values your loyalty and would surely want to reward you for it. I cannot imagine he would ever place you in a situation so unfavorable to you."

Timena, the primary lady-in-waiting to the princess-to-be, surveyed the two women with great satisfaction before saying, "Ladies, I believe you are ready for your gowns."

Aveil rose from her seat and waited patiently as Soleil's handmaidens removed her nightgown and brought her dress from where it had been hanging upon the back of the bedchamber door. It was the first time she had laid eyes upon her own garb, for that decision had been left up to the bride and Aveil had graciously surrendered to the mountebank's judgment; it was almost breathtakingly lovely, a strapless ice-blue trumpet gown that hugged her frame to the knee where silk and crystals gave way to elaborate ruffles of tulle and chiffon. Her heels were white and encrusted with clear gems, and when she was dressed Timena surprised her by presenting a simple platinum tiara set with a diamond-shaped aquamarine that matched her ensemble.

"A gift," Soleil was saying, mostly hidden within the drove of attendants as they assisted her with her wedding gown. "I hope you do not mind. I have hardly had the opportunity to show my thanks for all you have done since your appointment to Sceptrana, and I do not want you to think your toils have gone unnoticed. It can be overwhelming, trying to ensure your voice is heard amongst such powerful masters, but know that you will always have my support!"

Aveil bent at the knee as Timena arraigned the tiara within the soft curls of her dark hair, momentarily stunned by the mountebank's gesture of kindness. "I am speechless," she admitted, seeking Soleil's eyes and managing to catch a glimpse of those yellow orbs within the swirl of activity. "I am overwhelmed by your generosity. You have my most sincere thanks, Princess. I will cherish this gift and look forward to the opportunity to repay you in kind."

Soleil's answering laughter was music, but her reply was lost in the sudden gentle knock upon the door; Timena huffed disapprovingly and bustled to answer it, opening it but a fraction in order to say, "No visitors! The First Prince's bride is not to be disturbed before the ceremony, by order of the High Prince himself!"

"With all due respect, madam," came a soft voice that Aveil was certain she recognized, "I am calling upon the Sceptrana."

As flattered as she was, Aveil welcomed the distraction – being pampered simply wasn't something she was accustomed to, and the day's many concerns were continuously occupying her thoughts. She crossed the room in four quick strides, the sound of her heels muffled by the carpet, and slipped out the door with a brief nod for Timena.

Phendrana's attendant Lux was awaiting her in the hallway, where he offered her a gracious little bow. "Sceptrana, forgive my boldness, but you are a vision."

Aveil chose not to reply to the compliment, for she was far more disturbed by the boy's unexpected appearance. "Has something happened?"

Lux's eyebrows drew together as though something had irked him, but he shook his head to dispel her fears. "All is as it should be for now," the boy assured her. "The city is alive with the High Prince's subjects, eager to share in the joy of the First Prince's impending union. There have been several secretive meetings this morning, the topics of which I can only speculate – one between Phendrana, Lamorak, and Aglarel and another between Phendrana, Lim, and Hadrhune. It seems they are all preparing themselves for every possible contingency, but as of yet nothing new has occurred."

"Has Prince Aglarel called for me?" She had been hoping to receive a summons from him, for she had been concerned for his well being since his departure the night previous, but was puzzled when Lux only shook his head a second time.

"Forgive me, lady, but no. You see – "

But they had reached the bottom of the stairs now, and with it the foyer; standing just inside the door, resplendent in his most formal High Priest's robes, was Second Prince Rivalen. He wore a crown of platinum and ovular stones black as night, and around his neck hung an ornate amulet of Shar encrusted in blue-black diamonds; in the crook of his left arm he carried the Word of Shar, a timeless holy relic bound in abyssal dragon skin said to have been ripped from the hide of Tiamat whose pages the Night Mother herself was said to have penned at the dawn of the First Age. His eyes shone lustrous and silver from within the gently-undulating veil of shadow that clung to his body, a clear sign that the previous days' ills no longer plagued him.

"Ah," he said, seemingly pleased by her appearance. "Here you are."

Aveil hasted into a curtsy, her thoughts in a tangle. In the past Rivalen had never bothered with her – he had scarcely cast an eye her way since she had taken up her seat on the Shadow Council, and hadn't expressed any sort of dissent or congratulation when she had been elevated to the position of Sceptrana. Truth be told, she viewed this sort of negligence more as a kindness than anything else – Rivalen was the High Priest of Shar and the herald of the Night Mother's faith, something that Aveil, in her worship of the goddess Mystra, both couldn't understand and secretly reviled. She could think of no reason why he might be calling on her now. "Has something happened?"

"Aside from hearty celebration down every street, I cannot say that I have anything to report." Rivalen strolled leisurely to where Aveil stood flabbergasted on the last stair from the threshold and offered her the smallest of smiles. "I called for you at Villa Hara but Aglarel's housekeeping staff informed me that you were here, entertaining Soleil as she prepares for her wedding. I wondered if you would walk with me."

"Walk?" Aveil repeated incredulously. "With you?" She glanced sidelong to the place where she knew Lux to be standing, only to find that the mysterious boy was nowhere in sight.

"Of course," Rivalen replied good-naturedly. "I meant what I told you yesterday – for saving my life, no further prejudice will befall you if I can help it. That being said, I thought it best if we got to know one another a little better. It shames me to admit that prior to today I have taken very little interest in your successes and your advancement – let me assure you, from this point on your triumphs will not escape my notice." He offered her the arm that was not supporting the Word of Shar, adding, "Shall we?"

With the element of surprise gone Aveil found that her thoughts had at last caught up to the circumstances, and conjuring a smile for the Second Prince that was both taken aback and flattered she expertly formulated her reply. "Your offer pleases me greatly, Prince, and it pains me that I must decline. The princess-to-be needs me, and I have offered myself up to her every whim until the ceremony takes place." In truth, she was more than a little suspicious of this sudden offer of goodwill. Had her actions yesterday really been enough to garner this sort of attention? She didn't think so, and couldn't help but wonder if Rivalen was secretly harboring some unseen ulterior motive.

Rivalen nodded, and despite her rejection his tiny smile hardly faltered – Aveil continued to study him, perfectly mystified. "I thought as much. Well, it cannot be helped – far be it from me to bring my older brother's fiancée any unhappiness on this day." He took a step back and offered her a bow before finishing, "I look forward to seeing you at the ceremony, Sceptrana, and may I say in confidence that if Soleil looks any bit as majestic as you do I will be very surprised indeed."

He politely excused himself from the foyer then, leaving Aveil feeling every bit as astonished as she had before. Remembering that she was supposed to be keeping Soleil company she hurried up the stairs to the second floor, pausing briefly just outside the door in the hopes that that would be all the time she needed to compose herself.

She found that it wasn't before she had even closed the door behind her – Soleil was standing in the center of the room while Timena fussed over every last detail of her appearance, her hands upon her hips and her head tilted slightly to the side as she studied Aveil's expression. "Is everything alright?"

Aveil nodded immediately and waved one hand in dismissal, hoping she wouldn't have to go into much detail to whet the mountebank's curiosity. "A social call," she explained airily. "Nothing more."

Soleil's eyebrows lifted a fraction. "May I ask from whom?"

"Second Prince Rivalen."

The princess-to-be lowered her head at a prompting from Timena, who was still meticulously primping every last one of her soft dark curls, but the angle of her face allowed Aveil a glimpse of a small self-indulgent smile as Soleil replied, "I see."

Aveil stood there dumbfounded, and for the life of her could not think of a single word to say.

---

Phendrana was standing before the front doors of Villa Sage, the personal residence of Third Prince Lamorak, just after sunrise without the faintest idea of what to say. He had a vague notion of how to begin, but each introduction that presented itself seemed more foolish than the last. After everything Lamorak had sacrificed to support Phendrana, how could it be that now the doppelganger was standing upon his doorstep prepared to demand even more?

"How long will you be content to stand there, counting each individual grain in the wood of my front door?" came a voice from somewhere above him, and Phendrana looked up confusedly to find Lamorak standing upon the balcony overhead with the shadow of a wry smile upon his lips. Phendrana gazed plaintively up at his companion, a desperate and unspoken question in his eyes, and when Lamorak nodded once in assent the doppelganger slowly levitated up to the balcony to join him. They stood facing one another for quite some time in silence, until the Determinist Prime came forward and clapped one hand bracingly down upon Phendrana's shoulder. "You are well?"

"Little has changed," Phendrana confessed, and the longing in his expression spoke volumes. Lamorak nodded as though he understood, and silently the mindmaster supposed that the Third Prince knew more from the outset than he had ever given him credit for.

"You don't really think that's true, do you?" Lamorak prodded gently, forcing Phendrana to investigate his own feelings in a way that only he could. "Everything has changed, hasn't it? Your entire perspective has been altered. All that you thought you knew is incorrect." Seeing the panic intensifying in the doppelganger's far-off gaze prompted Lamorak to add, "How will you respond?"

Phendrana braced his palms upon the balcony guardrail and looked out, momentarily astounded by the sheer number of people occupying the streets. By order of the High Prince himself the wedding of First Prince Escanor Tanthul to Soleil Chemaut was to be a public event that all in the city were invited to attend, and it was clear by the revelry all around that this was a proclamation the Most High's subjects had taken very deeply to heart. It was odd, watching all of the jubilation happening around him and still feeling melancholy. "I know what I need to do," he began thoughtfully, blinking rapidly in the glare of his white-adamantine armor in the meager rays of sunlight filtering through the thick curtain of shadow, "but it frightens me. I cannot say that I am pleased with myself, knowing that in order to comply with the man who forsook me I must ask even more of the man whose loyalty I am no longer certain I deserve."

He turned his apologetic gaze upon Lamorak, who was already watching him with a kind of quiet understanding. "Brennus and I have already spoken of that which you would ask me," confided the Third Prince. "I know of the ring, and I know how you came by it. Its construction is not a mystery to me."

Phendrana was puzzled. "Yet still you will help me?"

Lamorak's smile twisted then, became something a little less amicable and a little more devious; it was an unfamiliar expression that the doppelganger had never seen him wear. "Only because I know how things will turn out in the end… And so do you."

"I don't understand," Phendrana admitted, a little nervous, but Lamorak wasn't the enigmatic type and had no intention of leaving his companion guessing at the true meaning of his words.

"You and my brother both know that you have made promises to one another that you cannot possibly keep," Lamorak said indulgently, watching Phendrana's every reaction with his typical clinical expression. "You're both persistent, so you'll continue grasping at every opportunity you see for awhile, but in the end you'll recognize that your resistance is futile. The Most High has already spoken out on this matter – he's forbidden Brennus to entertain you privately, and he isn't in the habit of changing his mind once he has asserted his authority. You'll struggle, but you'll tire. You'll stop fighting for Brennus eventually, but don't think you'll be the only one – the Princes of Shade live a life of privilege. We aren't used to being denied the things that we desire, and Brennus can hardly be called an exception to that rule."

"I don't understand," Phendrana repeated numbly. "Why are you telling me this? I thought we were of like minds. I thought you were my friend… my confidante."

Lamorak's answering smile was wide and dazzling; his ceremonial fangs precisely matched the pristine white of his Determinist Prime robes. "We are of like minds, Phendrana, and I am your friend and confidante more than anyone else within this city – you will come to realize that sooner than you think. I tell you these things because I am hoping you will see reason before the consequences of your actions catch up with you. I understand that you have strong feelings for Brennus, but you must see the folly in clinging to these affections. Brennus has forsaken you once already, and if things turn ill you can rest assured that he will forsake you again." He took a step forward then and pitched his voice lower, eyeing his companion conspiratorially; Phendrana momentarily forgot that there were hundreds of people flooding the streets only a story below where they stood. "But I will not forsake you, Phendrana. I helped you return to humanity, I walked beside you through your emotional turmoil, I fought beside you and I lied for you. And when the day comes that Brennus decides you are no longer worth fighting for… Well, I'm sure you will remember all the things I've done for you when that moment finally arrives."

He patted Phendrana one more time on the shoulder before dropping his hand and moving toward his private quarters but the doppelganger called after him, stopping him short. "Why tell me this at all? What is this supposed to mean?"

"I'm not telling you anything you don't already know," said the Third Prince cryptically, his head cocked slightly to one side but his back still turned. "As for what it means… Well, I suppose it can mean whatever you would like it to mean."

"And the price of such loyalty?" Before the words had even left his tongue, Phendrana found himself fearing the answer.

"Let's not place a value on it just yet," Lamorak mused, and then he passed through the curtain into his bedchambers and left Phendrana reeling on the balcony behind him.

---

Mourn expected to find himself standing beside Quartana after they stepped through the Spider Queen's divine portal, and couldn't help feeling a little taken aback when he reached his destination alone. He took a moment to reorient himself, curious as to where the Baenre priestess might have wound up – hadn't she stepped through the portal just ahead of him? – but chose not to brood on it for long. He was back in Thultanthar, he knew, the stronghold of the Princes of Shade, and to be caught at unawares was to die swiftly and horribly.

Lolth's portal from Menzoberranzan had dropped him right in the midst of someone's private quarters, and judging from the resounding silence pressing in around him he supposed he was alone enough for the moment; he studied his unfamiliar surroundings warily, wondering why the Spider Queen had gone out of her way to deposit him in this particular place. The state of the bedchamber alluded to the owner's personality – clothes strewn haphazardly over chairs, bed sheets twisted and rumpled, chest of drawers flung open and its contents rifled through – but visibly there were no clues as to who might occupy it. Easing out of his defensive crouch he prowled about the room, unsure of what he was looking for but certain he would find it with patience and diligence.

He didn't have to search for long.

Beneath the candelabra upon the bedside table rested an ornate box carved from rich mahogany; Mourn couldn't say what it was about the trinket that caught his eye, but he found himself moving instinctively toward it the moment his eyes fell upon it. The lid of the box had collected a little dust, suggesting that perhaps it hadn't been used in awhile, and with cautious fingers he flipped the lid open and peered inside. The handful of items he found might have seemed like junk to the casual observer, but for Mourn they answered the question of just who resided in this particular bedchamber – the first item he extracted was a simple leather choker from which hung a small coin purse, and the second a simple bronze pin in the shape of an ornate sword.

The assassin sucked in a breath, his heart hammering almost painfully against his ribs. The symbol stitched upon the burlap coin purse was the drow insignia for a now-extinct house in Ched Nasad whose surname had once been Tal'eyve, and the bronze pin was the badge of office of the Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin – he had seen the latter in a book of history he had read once several years ago, when he had first fallen in with the mercenaries of Bregan D'aerthe. He thought of Xuntath Oblodra then, his psionist friend and lost companion, and how envious he would surely be if he knew that Mourn was standing in the private chambers of Lim Tal'eyve.

But what to do? Mourn was frozen on the spot, his mind racing down each possible avenue to where his actions might lead. Had Lolth led him here for some purpose? Was she even now testing his loyalty to her? If he made one false move, would she reach through the ground and drag him down into the Abyss to serve as her newest plaything? Or was it all simply a coincidence? His hand fell to his belt, where his true purpose in seeking Lim Tal'eyve hung, mostly concealed, near his left hip. Was it safe to leave it here? How many other people had access to this room? If he left it and it fell into someone else's hands he would utterly fail in his mission, and that was something he could not afford. Mourn's eyes raked desperately over the open chest-of-drawers, the cabinet at the foot of the bed, the many shelves of the well-used study desk. Could he hide it? Were those hiding places too obvious? If he hid it too well, would it gather dust just like the other personal effects from Lim's storied past?

No, he decided at last, he couldn't leave it and trust that all would be well. The risk to his life would be higher, but at this point nothing would do but to deliver it to Lim in person. Only then could he be assured of his success.

Mourntrin Auvryndar peered out the curtain and across the modest balcony at the city below, taking a moment to better acquaint himself with the orientation of the enclave. The residence in which Lim Tal'eyve was housed seemed to be at the southernmost curve of a circle of similar such places – to the north stood a great palace whose imposing gates were currently thrown wide, and whatever structures stood at the other end of the city he could not immediately tell. The streets were bustling with activity, throngs of people dancing and singing and making merry as though they hadn't a care in the world, and though they seemed not to be in any real hurry Mourn couldn't help but notice that they were all slowly making their way in the direction of the palace. Whatever event was transpiring this day was surely taking place on the palace grounds, or perhaps within the palace itself.

Surely he could find Lim there?

Returning to the open chest-of-drawers he plunged his hands into the piles of fabrics, moving faster now, purpose flooding his features. Presently he came upon a light set of black glass armor with a matching piwafwi -style cape that cinched at the shoulder that appeared to be well worn yet in good condition – hastily he threw off his own clothing, moving urgently now as a plan formed in his mind. He could steal onto the castle grounds using the great crowds of Thultanthar citizens as his cover, but there was a great chance that he would be singled out on the way and he couldn't risk making such an elementary mistake. The only way to ensure that he got close enough to Lim Tal'eyve was to appear, for all intents and purposes, that he truly was the man he was seeking.

He had learned a few parlor tricks from Zek Vandree, minor spells to alter small features of a person's physical appearance, and he put that knowledge to use now. With a wave of his hand and a softly-uttered incantation he changed the color of his own eyes, pleased when he gazed into the looking-glass above the chest-of-drawers and saw amber irises staring expectantly back at him. Then he conjured a thin veil of shadows from the air around him and enchanted the darkness so that it clung closely to his body – the spell wasn't permanent, and the shadows would fade in an hour or two, but he prayed that it would be enough to see him through to the end of this masquerade.

Surely Lolth had brought him here for this exact purpose, assuming he would impersonate the very man she had sent him to help assassinate. Little did the Spider Queen know that her chosen emissary was now plotting to use his new guise to deliver the instrument she most feared into Lim Tal'eyve's hands.

Certain now that his disguise was clever enough to see him through most situations, Mourntrin Auvryndar simply turned and exited through the bedroom door.

No one stopped him as he passed.

---

They met in a gently-shaded grove at the extreme western edge of the palace gardens an hour before the ceremony at a prompting from Fourth Prince Aglarel; the clearing was edged with delicate, fragrant white blossoms that Phendrana was certain were night-blooming jasmine, and as Aglarel began to address them the doppelganger absentmindedly trailed his fingertips along the dainty blooms with the ghost of a nostalgic smile upon his lips. He could feel Lamorak's eyes upon him and knew that his expression must seem out of place given the circumstances, but he couldn't bring himself to feel concerned by it. For the first time since his transformation, things didn't seem so bleak anymore. Brennus had never really given up on him. The thought made him feel oddly weightless.

"We have little time," Aglarel was saying, his face grave, and Phendrana worked to focus on the task at hand. "Our primary concern now should be to secure the perimeter. Be on the lookout for anyone who does not belong." The Fourth Prince broke off and ran a hand down his face, momentarily distressed by the enormity of their task, and finished, "Difficult as I know such a request may be."

"And if we find the drow?" Hadrhune put in. Phendrana had to admit, it was refreshing to see the seneschal accepting a charge without argument for a change.

"Take no chances," Aglarel told them, a steely, unforgiving tone to his voice. "I want them killed on sight. I will not risk the safety of the High Prince, his eldest son or his daughter-in-law-to-be. Soleil's protection is now our first priority – I needn't remind any of you of the chaos that will surely result if she comes to harm."

It was silent for a moment as they all considered the implication of Aglarel's words. It was clear on all their faces that this was an outcome they collectively wished to avoid at all costs.

"Let us move quickly," Aglarel bade them. "Hadrhune, Lim, take the northern perimeter – I haven't forgotten about the priestess, and I won't leave you unprotected until that threat has passed."

"How gracious of you," sneered Lim, rolling his eyes skyward, but Hadrhune quickly swatted the back of his head and the drow-shade wisely kept the rest of his snide remarks to himself.

"Lamorak, Phendrana," continued the Fourth Prince as though there had been no interruption, "investigate the southernmost portion of the garden and stay near the front gates if you can. The common folk have been entering the gardens from the gates since daybreak – it only makes sense that the drow would slip in with the general populace and attempt to sneak by unnoticed. Aveil, come with me – we must keep our eyes on the bride and groom at all times. Is everyone clear?" When his words were met with a general murmur of assent he finished, "Then let us meet back here a quarter of an hour before the ceremony begins, and we will join the procession on schedule."

They parted ways without a word. There was hardly time for idle chitchat any longer.

---

"You are ready?" asked Lim, when he was absolutely certain they were alone.

Hadrhune's eyes were fixed on some point far ahead of them, and when he heard Lim's voice he snapped to attention and looked all around vigilantly. The drow-shade barely managed to suppress the urge to laugh. "Of course I am," the seneschal snapped, as though to suggest otherwise would be an affront to him. "I have thought of nothing else but what I must do."

Lim paused, fixing his unlikely companion with a serious look; Hadrhune stopped in his tracks and cocked an eyebrow, wondering at the drow's sudden expression of indecision. Lim was always so certain of everything, so convinced that the first course of action he envisioned for himself was the right one, that to bear witness to such a rare display of hesitancy was highly disconcerting. The longer Hadrhune watched him the more Lim's face darkened, and if he didn't know better he would say that Lim seemed regretful all of a sudden.

"You know," the drow-shade said at length, in a way that clearly displayed that each passing word was a struggle to utter. "Since yesterday I have wondered… whether this is the right course of action. I can't help but wish there was another way."

"You made it quite clear that this is the only way," Hadrhune reminded him wryly. "Why the sudden change of heart? You are in no danger here. The risk is mine."

"I wouldn't say 'no danger'," Lim pointed out. "There is still the drow priestess to worry about, after all. The fact of the matter is I like you, Hadrhune. I very much enjoy your company. You are the only one who has never questioned me. The only one I truly feel I can trust."

Hadrhune's face split into a genuine smile, his eyes dancing with some dark amusement. "I question you daily, make no mistake of that – I have never agreed with your methods, or your penchant for secrecy, or your deviations from the High Prince's agenda. But it is too late to go back now. The future you have envisioned will come to pass if we do nothing, and that is not something I can allow." And with that he turned his back on the drow and kept walking, his shoulders straighter now, the set of his gaze more diligent and less distracted.

Lim watched him go with a certain measure of awe in his eyes, amazed by the other man's conviction and bravery. That sense of amazement quickly fizzled back into regret, though, and with that weighing heavily on his mind he moved to follow.

Something struck him from behind, a swift and heavy blow from an unseen source that knocked him senseless, and before he could even mutter a sound he found the ground rushing up to greet him. Barely an instant after the blow had landed he was caught in his assailant's arms and dragged backward into the nearby hedgerows none-too-gently, and the last thing Lim saw before he was engulfed in the surrounding fauna was the distorted image of the shadow sorcerer Hadrhune walking away.

"I can't say that I'm not touched by your concern, though," Hadrhune admitted at last with a reluctant laugh. "It is the last thing I expected to hear from you." He continued to move ahead amiably, perhaps waiting for the drow to catch up and outpace him, but when several seconds rolled by and his words were met with only silence he glanced quizzically over his shoulder. Lim had never really been known for withholding his words, after all.

"Drow!" he called, his voice lifted in a cry. The drow was no longer behind him; Hadrhune turned fully back, immediately on the defensive, glancing all around for signs of foul play. Lim was nowhere to be seen. "Lim!" He strode back in the direction they had come, whipping his head from side to side, suspicion turning quickly into anger. "Now is not the time for your games!"

With no reply forthcoming the seneschal hurried back toward the place Aglarel had instructed they meet after their rounds, fully anticipating to find his companion there waiting for him as though the entire ruse had been nothing more than another of his nonsensical games.

---

"You look tired, Sceptrana." Aglarel's observation was light, the tone guarded and careful. He was exercising caution, waiting to see how he might be received, fearing that after the previous nights' events that too much between them had changed.

"And you look troubled, Prince." Anyone might have noticed as much. Aglarel's cares were at last starting to get the better of him – his eyes were dull, his shoulders slouched. Briefly Aveil considered the possibility that reaching an accord with Lim Tal'eyve had worn away at the last shred of his resolve, and that thought knotted her stomach with guilt. The notion that they should put aside their differences for the time being and work together with Lim had been her idea, after all. "Tell me how I might help to ease your burden."

"When the drow have been found and dealt with I will relax," he told her, "and not a moment sooner." He paused for a moment, considering his next words, before adding, "I must apologize for my behavior last night. I am… ashamed… that you saw me in such a state."

Aveil shook her hair back over her shoulders and did her best to appear unfazed by the memory of the previous nights' events. If Aglarel thought on any level that she was afraid of him, he would likely never confide in her again. "I can think of no reason that you should feel ashamed."

"I could have killed you, Aveil." Aglarel stopped abruptly at her side, forcing Aveil to pause so that she didn't outpace him; he was watching her with a tormented expression on his face, his silver eyes seeming sunken in his suddenly hollow cheeks, his fingers twisted into claws at his sides. "If you hadn't had the presence of mind to set preventative measures it would have been all too easy for me to kill you… Though knowing that you saw me as a threat before I even sought you out is worrisome enough."

"I knew that you were struggling, but I never once saw you as a threat," Aveil corrected him stubbornly. "In the ballroom – "

"I have no desire to speak of that incident," Aglarel overrode her dangerously, but Aveil paid him no mind and plowed on ahead.

" – You were utterly lost to your own rage. I knew that in the event you hadn't recovered yourself I would need some form of protection. How can you be angry with me for wanting to preserve my own safety, when I have already sworn that I do not hold these events against you?"

"Angry with you?" the Fourth Prince echoed incredulously, and some of the life returned to his eyes as he remembered how to feel anger. "I'm not angry with you, you foolish wretch, I'm angry with myself. To think that I willingly sought you out while I was in such a volatile state! I should never have come to see you. I should have waited until I knew for certain that I was in complete control. Gambling with your safety is what I am truly ashamed of."

"Why do we even talk of what has already transpired?" Aveil argued, feeling that she might have more success convincing him if she tried another angle. "The night has come and gone and I am no worse for it. You are in control now, so why torture yourself so?"

Aglarel snickered wryly at some private joke. "Yes, I am in control now – the time and effort I had to expend in order to quiet those destructive urgings is something I am less than proud of."

She stepped right up to him then, craning her head back to look him in the eye, ensuring that he didn't miss a single word of what she had to say. "How long it took you to return to yourself does not matter," Aveil murmured in a soothing, maternal tone. "All that matters is that you did. Now you know that the rage you feel can be quelled, and that it doesn't control you." She surveyed his face appraisingly, taking note of the last lingering traces of anxiety in the corners of his eyes and the set of his mouth, before asking, "How do you feel? Right here, right now. Don't think of what has been. Consider only your current state of mind."

The Fourth Prince closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply through his nose – for a fraction of an instant Aveil despaired, fearing that when next he opened his eyes they would be a deep and angry crimson – before looking back down at her, calmer now, more composed. The rich silver of his eyes washed over her, cool and somehow reassuring, a clear sign that Aglarel was in complete and total control of the urges he so feared. "I feel more at peace… more confident, I suppose. When I left you last night, I continued to struggle with myself." He lifted one hand, palm-up, for her to inspect, and with a start Aveil took notice of the dozens of angry white spots that marred his otherwise flawless black flesh. She didn't need to ask to know that the wounds had been inflicted using one of the caltrops she had enchanted with holy magic; it grieved her to know that those scars were self-inflicted and would likely never heal, but she knew better than to protest. Aglarel had already shared more of his personal affairs with her than she had ever dreamed he might, and the thought that through her own complaints she might stifle any forthcoming information was abhorrent. "Every time I felt my consciousness slipping I had little choice but to cause myself pain… Barbaric, I know, but effective."

"I had meant for those caltrops to be a preventative measure," Aveil admitted glumly, staring down at those white-hot scars with shame twisting the pit of her stomach, "not the instrument of your own self-mutilation."

"Don't blame yourself for this." Aglarel abruptly withdrew his hand from her grasp and dropped it to his side, where the scars were no longer visible. "I forbid it."

"As you say, Prince," Aveil agreed reluctantly, and turning she found that they had wandered far enough for the scene of the wedding ceremony to be in full view.

The rear-facing garden, easily the most lavish of all such structures that formed the grounds of the Palace Most High, was a quiet and lovely haven of fragrant, delicate blossoms. The trees and shrubs and flower pots were bursting with various blooms in hues of purest white and majestic violet, filling the air with their perfectly complimenting and delectable scents; they clung to the lattice arch beneath the wide balcony where the first Princess of Thultanthar would soon be crowned, they littered the cobblestoned path that was the aisle, they sprouted from every feasible surface as though they existed for only this day. They spied a few of Aglarel's brothers gathered beneath the floral canopy – Dethud, Mattick, Vattick, and Melegaunt – as well as a few members of the Upper Court who had already seated themselves among the benches nearest to the archway, but chose to linger near the outermost hedges rather than make their presences known.

"Soleil Chemaut is living a fairytale today," Aveil murmured reverently, obviously entranced by the otherworldly beauty around them. "I can only hope with all my heart that she knows such bliss in all the days to follow."

"If we keep to our vigilance," Aglarel reminded, "and devote every mote of ourselves to preserving her safety, I see no reason why she shouldn't." There was some inflection in his voice that seemed out of place, alluding to the idea that perhaps there was something upon his tongue yet unsaid, but Aveil waited patiently and he voiced it before long. "The drow's agenda concerns me. There are parts of his plan that he has yet to divulge."

"Something we will have to unravel later when we can be certain the threat to the First Prince's bride has passed," the Sceptrana reminded him delicately, and Aglarel heaved a disapproving sigh before turning his back on the ceremony and prowling back the way they had come; Aveil hastened to keep pace while still looking regal in her dainty heels, the sound of which was muffled by the neatly-trimmed grass underfoot.

No words passed between them for some time; it seemed Aglarel was lost in thought, brooding over some morsel of information that had vexed him for some time, but Aveil found her patience rewarded a second time in short order. "You were in the dungeons the day I tortured Zek Vandree. Do you remember well all that he said?"

The gruesome sight of the one-eyed drow being none-too-gently interrogated at the Fourth Prince's deadly precise hands seemed burned into the sorceress' mind's eye – she didn't think she could repress such grisly images if she tried. Rather than let on just how much the scene had unnerved her she said simply, "Well enough."

If Aglarel took note of her obvious hesitation, he did not let on; instead he stopped abruptly and turned fully to face her, a haunted expression on his face that made Aveil's heart jump into her throat. "I've been considering his most audacious claim – that the drow who have been infiltrating Thultanthar are acting as the Spider Queen's advance guard, and that this is but the first step in her grand scheme to declare war upon the city. I have been wondering if there was any truth to his words."

Aveil had never known Telamont's favored assassin son to fear anything, but she thought she glimpsed a trace of very real alarm in his features when he spoke those words. It prompted Aveil to say, "Even if there were, it can only result in the complete eradication of the city of Menzoberranzan. And that isn't to say the High Prince would see fit to stop there – I have no doubts that if he felt so inclined, he would raze the whole of the Underdark until every last dark elf was extinct."

There was an unspoken plea in her voice that Aglarel did not miss, an entreaty to cease such a destructive line of thinking for now and perhaps indulge in it another day. There was simply too much to be done, too many dark omens already looming on the horizon for them, that the thought of war was inconceivable.

"Of course you are right," Aglarel responded placidly, the grim possibility shelved but not forgotten, and they made their way back to the designated meeting place without another word.

---

"I'm telling you," said Phendrana for the fourth time, "there is nothing to be gained in scouting the palace grounds like this. I know what I saw – I was with Soleil near the archway where the ceremony took place when the drow appeared and…" He broke off with a shudder, recalling the end of the mountebank's life with damning clarity, and found he could say no more.

"And I believe you now just as I believed you the first time you told me of your vision," Lamorak reminded him indulgently, "but I fear you are missing the point of this exercise. Aglarel has never been one to wait and allow events to play out as they will – he believes in being proactive, which is why he has sent us out here to investigate the gardens. If the drow are among us, is there not always a slight chance that we might stumble upon one and thwart these terrible events before they come to pass? Forgive me for saying so, but the most recent attack was a little too near to fatal for my taste."

"And mine." The thought that the debacle of the bridal masquerade had occurred barely twenty four hours previous was mind-boggling to the doppelganger, even with the ensorcelled ring that Brennus had crafted in secret resting snugly upon Phendrana's finger. "I am not arguing the logic in being proactive – I would much rather seek these assassins out than wait for them to strike, believe me – I am only saying that we would benefit far more from shadowing Soleil's movements since we know she is their intended target. So why are we out here, where she is not even in our sight?"

Lamorak's soft sigh of incredulity turned into a good-natured chuckle in response to the perplexed look on Phendrana's face. "Because it is her wedding day, you insensitive fool. I suspect few brides dream of being watched over like a hawk – the idea is for her to enjoy this day, for her to look back at these memories with nothing but fondness. Or is that a foreign concept to you?"

It was so easy, walking amiably through the palace gardens and exchanging harmless jests with the Third Prince of Shade, to forget the foreboding conversation that had passed between them earlier that morning – already Phendrana could feel his guard slipping, could hear his mind justifying away Lamorak's uncharacteristic behavior. He suspected that if he spent much more time in Lamorak's company, whiling away the hours with such witty and enjoyable banter, that he would convince himself the whole uncomfortable exchange had never happened. He supposed that was Lamorak's plan, to charm him into forgetting his words altogether, and as much as it shamed Phendrana to admit it he was inclined to play along. Already the future seemed too bleak for him to imagine facing it without a friend beside him.

"Did you mean what you said this morning?" asked Phendrana suddenly, suspicious and confused and desperate all at once, and Lamorak offered him a sidelong smile.

"Every word," the prince admitted, "though were I you I wouldn't dwell on the matter too much. You will understand the meaning of my words in time, and when you do we will speak of them then. To do so now will solve nothing."

Phendrana opened his mouth – to agree or to protest further, he wasn't certain – before unexpectedly closing it just as quickly and frowning in the direction of the city gates; Lamorak followed his gaze without further prompting, curious as to what had derailed the doppelganger's train of thought, to find Lim Tal'eyve strolling through the front gates alongside a flood of common folk. They exchanged a glance at this – hadn't he been sent to patrol the opposite side of the palace gardens with Hadrhune? – before wordlessly moving to waylay the drow before he made it any further. Had they missed something? Had Aglarel given the drow-shade some additional instructions, and neglected to notify them?

"What are you doing?" Lamorak demanded as they closed the distance, and Lim stopped short and studied them with wide, panic-stricken eyes; it was an expression most unlike the drow, and it served to pique Phendrana's curiosity immediately.

"I beg your pardon?" said Lim confusedly, alternating looks between the prince and the mindmaster as though he scarcely recognized them.

Phendrana rolled his eyes skyward and had to remind himself that throttling a fellow council member was hardly an action befitting one of his station; instead he settled for clapping a hand down upon the drow's shoulder and giving him a little shake, more than a little perplexed when Lim reflexively flinched away from him. "Really now, this is hardly the time for your jests! What are you doing?! If Prince Aglarel finds you down here instead of patrolling the grounds with Hadrhune as you were instructed – "

Lim interrupted him with a slightly-hysterical laugh that had Phendrana and Lamorak exchanging yet another bewildered glance before saying, "Yes, well, Hadrhune has been known to bore me from time to time."

"Be that as it may," Lamorak conceded reluctantly, in a tone that suggested he felt the same where the seneschal was concerned, "I hardly think that is a viable excuse for abandoning him now, of all times." The Third Prince's eyes raked the drow's figure appraisingly then, some unspoken realization souring his features, before adding bluntly, "You changed."

"What?" Lim barked raggedly, anxiety coloring his tone for reasons they could only guess.

Phendrana, however, caught the prince's meaning right away. "Your clothes," he pointed out, drawing the drow's piwafwi out wide with a sweep of his arm. "Did you go back to Villa Cambria just to change?"

Lim answered this inquiry with yet another laugh, but the timbre of this one was relieved, relaxed even; there was something off about the entire scenario, but Phendrana simply couldn't put his finger on it. "Of course I did," the drow scoffed, waving one hand dismissively. "I am rather vain, you see, and wanted to look my best for the occasion."

"Your honesty is rather amusing," laughed Lamorak, the last of his own suspicion melting away with his brightening smile. "I suppose you had better come with us… We are nearing the end of our rounds, and Aglarel will be expecting our report. I am sure both he and Hadrhune will have a few choice words for you."

Lamorak, it turned out, was only half right – Aglarel was hardly put out to find that Lim had abandoned Hadrhune for his own selfish reasons, more relieved than anything to find that the drow-shade hadn't been waylaid by the priestess they expected would make an attempt on his life before the day was over, but Hadrhune was just as furious as they had expected. The moment they had rejoined the rest of their unlikely companions the shadow sorcerer stalked wrathfully right up to Lim and seized him by the collar, his ceremonial fangs bared and his eyes glinting maliciously. "Have you no sense?!" he hissed, anger seething in every syllable he spoke. "When I turned back and found you gone I feared the worst! Had I known you would be content to abandon me at any time I wouldn't have bothered to concern myself with your welfare!"

Lim patted Hadrhune indulgently on the shoulder and gave him a placid smile, though it was keenly obvious in his expression that he was hardly concerned with what bothered the seneschal. "There there," he crooned, his would-be soothing tone mocking in a way. "You should know better than to worry yourself over me."

His eyes were darting about restlessly as though he was looking for something; Phendrana found himself increasingly bothered by the drow's out of character behavior, but couldn't bring himself to address it. He supposed he had acted strangely when he knew the threat of the drow psionist to be looming ever nearer, an inescapable omen whose time of arrival could not precisely be determined, and begrudgingly admitted he couldn't fault Lim his nervousness. The priestess could find herself in their midst in a minute, or an hour, or half a day, and there was no solace in such knowledge. Instead he found himself speaking reassuringly. "Fear not. No matter when or how the priestess chooses to reveal herself, her efforts will amount to nothing. You are in good company – your safety is as much a priority as Soleil's is."

More than one derisive chuckle answered his words, alluding to the fact that the doppelganger was stretching the truth, but Phendrana paid them no mind – he was too busy reeling over the shadow that crossed Lim's face as a result of his words. Though just as dark of skin as the rest of the shades there was something wrong about his pallor, as though something about what Phendrana had said served to drain some of the color out of his complexion. The notion that something wasn't right presented itself yet again, but Phendrana sublimated it. He had no right to judge.

"The ceremony approaches," Aglarel reminded them, but his coolly businesslike tone didn't match the smoldering intensity of his eyes. "Let us go together, and remember – keep your eyes on Soleil as often as you can without drawing attention. None of us knows what form the assassin will choose to take, and we cannot afford even the briefest lapse in judgment."

---

Mourn fell into step behind the doppelganger and beside the one who called himself Hadrhune, relieved to find himself in the rear of their company so that he had ample time to master his own expression. Already he had given far too much away and felt that his flimsy excuse for a plan couldn't hope to serve him much longer – the doppelganger, at the very least, suspected that something was amiss. Inwardly Mourn cursed himself. What had he been hoping to accomplish, allowing himself to be spotted and dragged into their congregation? He had no hope of abandoning their company now that he had landed himself in it, for he didn't know the real Lim Tal'eyve well enough to know what sort of excuse he might make to escape them.

His mind was reeling with the snippets of information he had managed to glean since stumbling upon the prince and the doppelganger near the palace gates. How could they know of Quartana's impending arrival? The Spider Queen herself had orchestrated their movements in this most dangerous game, so how was it even possible that their enemies had hints of their passing? He had never taken much interest in the affairs of the divine and hoped for as long as he lived that he never again had to serve any deity as closely as he was now, but he couldn't help but fear that Shar, the goddess whom the Shadovar served, had taken a personal interest in the comings and goings of Lolth's children and had found some way to impart their plans to one of her own servants. But who? Mourn allowed his eyes to flit briefly over the five forms around him, quietly assessing but coming up short. This simply wouldn't do. He knew nothing of his adversaries, and somehow they had already anticipated his arrival!

Even more disconcerting than that, however, was the knowledge that the real Lim Tal'eyve had been in their company perhaps minutes before Mourn had happened upon them, and now he was nowhere to be found... That could only mean that Quartana had fallen upon Lim already. The thought made Mourn sweat, made his heart race with panic. He had orchestrated this plot so carefully – Xuntath Oblodra had even given his life to give Mourn this chance! – and if the sadistic priestess got her hands upon Lim before he had the chance to complete his mission…

That meant that he had to get away from here as soon as possible, but how? His current company believed him to be the real Lim, and even if he could orchestrate some clever escape his absence would give them reason to be highly suspicious – after all, the real Lim had already left them without warning or explanation once already. And even if he managed to give them the slip, where then would he go? The City of Shade was wholly unfamiliar to him, and he knew nothing of Quartana's intentions. If she had truly managed to get her hands on Lim Tal'eyve, where would she have taken him? Had she killed him already? Was she even now safe back in Menzoberranzan, enjoying Lolth's eternal favor for eliminating the one drow that the Spider Queen detested above all others?

Realizing that he was on the verge of doing something foolish and drastic Mourn dragged in a shaky breath, slipping one hand inconspicuously beneath his piwafwi and clenching his fingers around the hilt of his starmetal dagger for strength; that gesture served to restore him somewhat to reason, and he considered the situation a little more calmly. From what he knew of Quartana she was possessed of a flair for the dramatic – for her, a simple and clean kill simply wouldn't suffice. If she could have things her way she would make Lim's death as elaborate as possible, knowing that such theatrics would likely heighten the Spider Queen's pleasure. And if that was the way she wanted things, she would need the same thing Mourn himself was now desperate for – time.

So the Spider Queen's game was coming down to the wire, but Mourn forced himself to remain as calm and rational as he could manage. If he hoped to thwart Quartana and save Lim he needed to keep a level head and think of a way to escape his present company, and their suspicions be damned. Their suppositions were not his concern – keeping Lim from harm was all that mattered.

He slipped his hand out from beneath his piwafwi then and raised his head, hoping that he could retain in himself at least a fraction of Lim Tal'eyve's composure. He was resigned to the company of the shadow dwellers for now, but his circumstances were temporary.

Very temporary.

---

So far, the thing Phendrana most enjoyed about the ring Brennus had forged for him in secret was how spacious his mind felt.

Aglarel had cautioned them to exercise the utmost vigilance during the wedding ceremony, and Phendrana never would have said as much aloud but he felt confident that he could have handled this task singlehandedly without feeling put upon. Following his transformation he had always felt moderately overwhelmed by his renewed mental facilities, as though he was capable of a great deal more than he had been before but he simply didn't have the capacity to accomplish all of the awesome feats now at his disposal. This was no longer an issue, and he suspected he would never again have those fears so long as he wore the ring upon his finger.

Often listening to the thoughts of others had felt like a chore before, like an unwanted facet of his life that he was powerless to avoid; it was a relief to find that now listening was as natural as breathing for him, and that the chaos of processing multiple streams of thought had been all but eliminated. It wasn't like listening to dozens of voices in a crowded room, each shouting louder than the next to be heard – it was more like he was deciphering his own thoughts, and focusing on one while tuning out the others required no extra effort on his part. He couldn't see Soleil, but he was so attuned to her presence that he could hear her – and since he had made the conscious decision to listen, hers was the only voice he heard. She was nervous, wherever she was, and knowing that he had a minute or two to spare he subconsciously continued to monitor her thoughts whilst sweeping the crowd with his eyes.

Phendrana wouldn't have been surprised to learn that every last man had turned out for the wedding of First Prince Escanor to the High Prince's mountebank. The standing-room-only portion of the sweeping garden was filled with the members of the Lower Court, those of some distant relation to the Most High or illegitimate relations that the Princes of Shade chose to recognize on formal occasions; beyond the rear-facing gate the common folk clambered for a glimpse of their princess-to-be, though of course they did so quietly so as not to invoke the wrath of their sovereign or his powerful sons. The senior members of the Army of Shade had formed a loose perimeter around the garden, as always standing by in the event that the citizens of Thultanthar acted in a way that their betters found inexcusable. Within the perimeter the members of the Upper Court had congregated on either side of the petal-strewn cobblestoned aisle, seated in simple white chairs as befitting their station – among them Phendrana spotted Irileth, the daughter of Third Prince Lamorak, as well as Lux, whom the doppelganger had not been expecting to see in such company. He nodded to the latter of the two, one eyebrow raised in a silent question, and Lux answered him with the smallest of sheepish smiles. Phendrana supposed they would have a conversation about the boy's presence there at a later time.

The members of the High Prince's esteemed Shadow Court lined the cobblestoned pathway, which served as the aisle leading up to the spectacular lattice archway beneath the rear-facing palace balcony. The last time Phendrana had been here, it had been in pursuit of the first of the drow who had dared to trespass within Thultanthar – unconsciously his hand settled upon his breast, where he sometimes imagined he could still feel the bite of the cruel starmetal blade that had been so debilitating to his new body's impressive constitution. Though the same concerns of that bleak day still lingered upon his thoughts like a fog stubbornly blotting out the sun their worries seemed a lifetime away in that moment, the last handful of seconds before Soleil Chemaut appeared among them to take her place irrevocably at First Prince Escanor's side.

The aforementioned prince stood beneath the flower-encrusted lattice archway, a pillar of strength in his most regal set of black glass armor and the High Prince's own black velvet cape that cascaded down his shoulders to the ground. The crown he wore was a timeless piece called the Mantle of Anauroch, the first crown forged for High Prince Telamont – then called Lord Shadow - in honor of Thultanthar's return to the Material Plane after suffering seventeen grueling centuries in the lightlessness of the Realm of Shadow. The metal was onyx and the relic was set with intricately-cut black gems that were actually shards of shattered mythallars the Princes of Shade had collected from the ruins of a half-dozen Netherese enclaves, sister cities of Thultanthar that had not survived the cataclysm they called Karsus's Folly. No one save the High Prince himself had ever worn that crown prior to this day.

Second Prince Rivalen stood at his elder brother's side, the diamond-encrusted talisman blessed by his goddess around his neck and the Word of Shar cradled in the crook of his elbow; as the High Priest of Shar's faith he was responsible for joining the First Prince and the soon-to-be princess in matrimony. Phendrana had asked Lamorak what was written in the ancient tome but had gleaned very little information from the Determinist Prime, though whether this was because Lamorak was sworn to secrecy concerning the volume's contents or he didn't know himself was the doppelganger's guess. On Rivalen's other side stood High Prince Telamont himself – in his hands he held a small satin pillow upon which lay a diamond tiara set with the royal jewels of Thultanthar, five magnificent marquise sapphires that precisely matched the stone in Soleil's engagement ring. Phendrana knew that both ring and crown had been forged together, gifts for the first of the High Prince's wives that had been passed down to each successor Queen until the passing of the last, but he knew little of the late Queens of Thultanthar or even how many of them there had been.

Phendrana stood near the start of the aisle furthest from the archway on the right side, with Twelfth Prince Brennus on his right side and Lim Tal'eyve on his left; across from him Hadrhune stood with his eyes fixed upon a pure white calla lily petal at his feet, brooding silently. The doppelganger did his best to keep his gaze ever-shifting, worried that if his eyes landed for even a millisecond too long upon the prince beside him that their lives would be forfeit, and in so doing they fell upon Aveil Arthien at the start of the line on the left side directly across from Lim. Her fierce violet eyes were fixed unblinkingly on some point near the end of the aisle, and following her gaze Phendrana found that she and Aglarel seemed to be engaged in another of their wordless, eyes-only conversations. Not for the first time he wondered if the matching earrings they wore, black amethysts pierced through the helixes of their right ears, gifted them with far more than the ability to call for one another at will, but he chose not to dwell on it. Intruding upon their shared thoughts, if they were engaged in any, would be all too easy for him to accomplish if he set his mind upon it, but he refrained – he held too much respect for Aveil to violate her privacy so, and his fear of Aglarel had scarcely abated with the strengthening of their companionship.

There was a chorus of awed whispers rippling through the commoners nearest the gate and the members of the Lower Court, demanding Phendrana's attention; Soleil Chemaut had made her highly anticipated appearance, her eyes brighter than the sun and her face cream and roses and bliss. She was arm in arm with Fifth Prince Clariburnus, whom the doppelganger recalled Soleil had chosen to present her to her husband-to-be and the High Prince several months ago; Clariburnus was arraigned in full plate armor of black glass inlaid with ribbons of amethyst that matched the stunning violet of the mountebank's gown, though he had replaced his helm with the bejeweled crown that served as one of the badges of his station. They stood motionless at the start of the aisle just a few feet from Aveil and Lim, the focal point of thousands of adoring eyes, and while Clariburnus allowed his eyes to wander over the many faces in the crowd Soleil, Phendrana noted, had eyes for only one person.

The doppelganger cut his eyes to the opposite end of the aisle, to the place where Escanor stood waiting, and found himself struck momentarily dumb by the abject love and pride reflected in the First Prince's radiant grin. It made him wistful, made him long for the not so distant days when he had been courted by the prince standing silently and stoically at his side, and he found himself desperately yearning for a love like the one Escanor and Soleil had found. Had he known it once? Would he ever again?

For some reason he couldn't explain he found himself gazing blankly up the aisle at Lamorak, unaware he was even doing so until he heard the ghost of the Third Prince's voice wafting through his ever-aware mind. You are considering all that I have told you carefully, it seems.

Phendrana found he hadn't a reply for that, and Lamorak didn't pressure him for one. He held the Third Prince's gaze for a few more moments, mulling the words over in his mind, until he felt another pair of eyes probing his face for clues and glanced to his right side. Brennus was motionless as a sentinel, none of Escanor's joy showing through in his expression; he alternated glances between Lamorak and Phendrana, his eyes narrowed and questioning, and the silent accusation irked the doppelganger enough that he averted his gaze.

That was when Clariburnus and Soleil made their way down the aisle, accompanied by a thoughtful and reverent silence as well as the soft click of the mountebank's heels; Phendrana smiled at her as she passed, unsurprised when the gesture was not returned for now that she had spotted her beloved prince it seemed she was incapable of looking away. The moment her back was to them Hadrhune lifted his head a fraction and watched her go, a curious mixture of sadness and trepidation showing through his expression, and Phendrana noted it with a certain measure of alarm but had no way of making inquiries - the moment was sacred, and he would not be the man who ruined it. They bowed as she passed, awed by her beauty and inspired by her strength, the woman of common birth but indomitable heart who had steadfastly defended the descendants of Netheril unhindered by the shackles of the mortal coil; Phendrana wondered if he had ever found himself in the presence of anyone more deserving of this unprecedented honor, and knew before the fleeting thought had finished forming in his mind that he hadn't. She was the most pure-hearted and selfless person he had ever had the privilege of meeting.

He knew then that he would do anything to preserve her, would willingly die for her if need be.

Reaching the end of the aisle Soleil retracted her arm from Clariburnus's and turned gracefully to face Escanor; he stretched one hand out for her and she took it as she sank down to the ground, the skirt of her gown fanning out around her as she knelt as his feet. With her eyes closed and her head respectfully bowed the mountebank awaited the words that would unite them, and Escanor briefly squeezed her fingertips as if to impart courage.

Second Prince Rivalen opened the ponderous Word of Shar with all the care deserving of such a timeless artifact, and in a worshipful voice he began to read.

Phendrana was spellbound from the very first word. The scripture was in the Netherese tongue, an ancient language that none outside of Thultanthar could speak, and the dialect was as rich and intricate as handspun gold; Rivalen's voice rang out somehow, amplified by the primordial magic entombed within the fragile pages, and the fine hairs on the back of the doppelganger's neck stood on end as the sensation that he was in the presence of something far older and more powerful than anything he had ever known resonated within him. He didn't understand a single word but he felt uplifted somehow, as though with every passing moment the Second Prince's voice was bringing him closer and closer to some earth-shattering epiphany.

The silence that followed was heavy with ancient magic and an almost palpable wonder – Phendrana felt as though he was waking unwillingly from a glorious dream, suddenly very aware of the profound stillness deep within his chest where his heart had once beat. Then the High Prince moved right up behind his kneeling mountebank and placed the shining platinum crown upon the bed of her soft dark curls, bending low to place a gentle kiss upon her brow as he spoke a brief but heartfelt response in the same mystical language. He drifted soundlessly backward, his eyes shining with fierce pride, and lifting her head a fraction Soleil pressed her lips sweetly against the back of Escanor's hand.

Escanor tightened his grip on her hand and tugged her effortlessly to her feet, his eyes electric with excitement and jubilation and deep affection, and gathering her into his arms he kissed her with such enthusiasm that Phendrana felt intrusive just watching; when they broke apart Soleil laughed aloud once, the sound a pure and glorious pealing of a bell, and the joy in her face was so infectious that Phendrana felt his face split into an exultant grin. And when they turned to face the High Prince's loyal subjects, hand in hand as they basked in the joining of their hearts and souls, Rivalen closed the Word of Shar and raised his voice as though proclaiming a tremendous victory:

"Escanor and Soleil Tanthul, First Prince and Princess of Thultanthar!"

The resultant roar that arose from the thousands of Shadovar civilians who had gathered to bear witness to this most joyous event was enough to send a shiver of pure pleasure coursing down Phendrana's spine.