Chapter 3

Hello There. How does the day find you?

I did not expect an answer. I was merely practicing my writing. Do you ask of my fortune on this day, or the day on which you wrote? In any case, today is a good day.

I am glad to hear it. Do you pass by here often?

Every day at least once. Who are you?

I am no one important. To tell you would only erode any sense of mystery I may have cultivated by this point. And you?

I am afraid I cannot tell you.

I apologize for my jest. I tell you truly – my name is Iskander. I am a simple priest. Now will you not return the favor?

I spoke the truth when I said I should not tell you sir. But now let me just give you a name. Zahira. I suppose you would call me an entertainer.

Pleased to... meet you, Zahira! Who do you entertain?

Politicians, nobles, guild masters, Magisters. Others I must not mention.

I think so far you are winning in terms of mystery.

Quite possibly. One could say it is my job.

Your job? Are you a spy?

Zahira covered her mouth with a dainty hand and giggled. The silly exchange of notes over the week had brightened her morning, and she wondered if she should reply that she was indeed a spy, enticing more interesting responses from her mystery correspondent. She put the pen to her lower lip, thinking, before turning over the piece of parchment to reply.

'Hardly. A simple entertainer, that is all.'

A pair of forsaken women strolled past, eyeing the Sin'dorei curiously. She pulled her heavy hood lower over her eyes and hastily folded the note, shoving it between the loose stones. It was getting too late to be out.

Briellana, Calanthia and Nerezza were seated in a wide circle, a meal spread before them on the thick rug. They were teasing Leander, the house's one male member. It was his habit to blush prettily, and the women constantly took advantage. They doted on him though, and he took it all in good humor. Many a male Sin'dorei professed to envy Leander's position.

Zahira reclined on soft pillows near them, quietly reading a book. The house's male servant stood by her feet slowly waving a large fan of hawkstrider feathers. She enjoyed the cool breeze wafting over her, bringing with it the fragrance of incense and pipe smoke.

The Mistress came out to walk among them. She was a tall Sin'dorei woman with golden hair fading to grey. "Nerezza," she said, "you and Zahira will dance tonight. There is a wedding between two nobles, and you are to entertain afterward."

Zahira smiled, answering in the affirmative. She always enjoyed working with Nerezza, as she was loud and could keep any room entertained. They were often paired for dance as well – Nerezza's best skill, even if it were not Zahira's.

This day the two of them dressed in identical gold. Nerezza wore her hair in an elaborate style – Zahira of course could not. Her ebony pins she tucked within her golden belt, clearly visible, as she knew her patrons liked to see them.

In the evening their escort arrived. They walked in their bare feet behind, with as much distance between their guard as they could get away with. The shadows were long in the streets and the stony path cold.

Suddenly, Nerezza gripped her friend's arm. "Za!" She stage-whispered. Zahira stumbled ungracefully to a halt, and glared at her friend for causing her misstep. It took a moment before their guard paused, turning his head to see what they were up to.

"Oh – just give us a moment, will you honey?" Nerezza purred, blowing him a quick kiss. He straightened a little, and turned away, hands on weapon, scanning the area.

"Za -" Nerezza repeated. "I just have to tell you."

"What is it?" Zahira hissed, wresting her hand from her friend's grasp.

Nerezza didn't seem to notice Zahira's frustration. She clasped her hands under her chin as if she were begging. "I'm in love!"

Zahira's mouth dropped open.

"Close your mouth! Are you a commoner?" Nerezza scolded, and Zahira did so. "He was a patron," she continued, lowering her voice, leaning close and grinning wickedly. "He is so kind and caring. He writes me poetry!" She bounced up and down a little.

"You know you can't do this..." Zahira said, shocked. "What will you do when he can't afford to pay your fee?"

"Oh Za – sometimes you are so naïve. I've been sneaking out!" And she grabbed her arm again, dragging her hastily toward their impatient guard.

Zahira's mind reeled. Nerezza had always taken joy in her work, and in the arms of a variety of males and females both. Fixating on one in particular was completely out of character for her. "Will I meet him?" She finally asked, as they neared their destination, climbing stone steps.

"Shh!" Nerezza berated, giggling. Anklets jingled on their legs as the two stepped up the stairs. The doors were wide open and people streamed in and out.

Zahira usually enjoyed these parties, where she could mingle and dance without having to devote all her time to one person alone. She danced with anyone who asked her, spent some time carrying drink trays and being dandled on the laps of nobles. She flirted and drank, growing giddy and light headed. She and Nerezza performed their dance together later in the evening, amid admirers and jealous stares.

Late in the night Zahira became aware that her friend had gone. She had a good idea where – or at least who with. There was nothing she could do for the present. Furthermore, if she had been in the habit of admitting things to herself, she may have realized that she was more than a little jealous.

Morosely she sat cross legged by a warm fireplace, frustrated with being left by herself. She knew she should be mixing with people, but just couldn't find any joy in it at the moment.

"I never thought to see a child of the Blood Thistle looking so alone." Came a deep male voice, gravelly and rather expressionless.

Zahira twisted around with a look of surprise, caught unprepared. Catching herself, she put a shy smile on her face. "My sister has already left for the night," she explained, "and no one seems to want to keep me company." She raised her glass to her lips and took a slow drink. As she did so, she examined the Sin'dorei standing before her, blinking several times in surprise as her eyes traveled upwards.

She had expected to see a noble or perhaps a Magister. She had not expected to behold a fully armed and armored Blood Knight in all his regalia. He wore the standard red mail and black tabard, a Blood Knight's cloak on his back and hanging over one shoulder. He was older, and scarred, and frowning.

Zahira had a vague feeling that she had seen him before, but knew she had never entertained him. She had a fair knowledge of the more powerful inhabitants of Silvermoon, and she didn't doubt he fit into this category – which is why the fact that she couldn't identify him intrigued her.

He towered above her and she began to feel disconcerted, so she rose as gracefully as she could to her feet. "I don't believe we have met," she said. "I am Zahira." She waited for him to move, ready to offer him her hand to kiss.

He simply stared at her, until she began to wonder if she should just walk away. Then he raised his chin. "You may call me Kalandris."

"Well met, Kalandris!" She said, repeating his name in order to commit it to memory. "May I offer to pour you a drink?"

He stared at her again, then grunted. "I don't plan to stay long. I am only passing through. Paying my respects to distant relatives." His face remained impassive.

"Well," Zahira said, trying to appear unphased, "that explains why you are dressed for war." She saw his eyes briefly flicker down as if he were checking his own attire. "Yet," she continued, "you are here now. Will you not take some refreshment before you move on?"

The Blood Knight seemed to think it over before nodding sharply. Zahira smiled and began to move toward a table, seeking a place to sit. There was a private corner with low chairs, candle-lit and shadowy. She wondered if she should take his arm to lead him, as she normally would, but thought better of it. In any case, he led rather than followed, and seated himself with another grunt and a clatter of armor.

Zahira caught the eye of a serving girl and took some wine, bending low over the table to pour two glasses. She snuck glances at the Blood Knight, who was scanning the room slowly with his cold eyes. What in the nether, she thought to herself, will I talk to him about?

Finally she seated herself in the chair opposite, raising her glass in a silent toast. They both drank, Zahira taking dainty sips and Kalandris entirely draining his glass. "I believe I have seen you before," she said, "and I am surprised we have never spoken. I am curious – will you tell me about yourself, Sir?" She sat back, placing her hands in her lap demurely. That was always a good place to begin – get them talking about themselves.

"I would rather not." Came the reply, in the hoarse and deep voice. Distaste dripped from the words, causing Zahira to raise one elegant brow in inquiry.

"Sir?"

"I'd rather not," he repeated. "I am not interested in playing games, girl, nor spending the night with one such as you."

Unexpectedly the words stung. Zahira was used to – mostly – being treated with respect. "Sir." She repeated, her voice edged with indignation despite her efforts, "I am merely hired to make conversation and keep guests entertained. Say the word and I will leave you alone – but the fact is that I am curious and I really would like to know." By the time she'd finished speaking the words she realized it was true. His reticence had spurred curiosity in her.

Kalandris sighed deeply. Zahira reached for the wine bottle and poured him another. He stared at her with scarce-concealed dislike, but slid the glass toward him.

"You will not have seen me," he said, "because I spend my time on the battlefield, rather than wasting it in idle and decadent pursuits." As he spoke his eyes slid over the crowd once more, and his lip curled just slightly.

"As is obvious from your attire." Zahira put in, indicating him with a sweep of her hand. "But this is a wedding. Do you begrudge the people their celebration and leisure?"

"It surprises me to see such displays of frivolity at all."

Zahira closed her mouth in a slight pout. She'd begun to think she should just give up on speaking to this one. While he hadn't ordered her away, he certainly acted as if he would rather be alone. She leaned back to rest against the back of her chair and drained her own drink.

Beginning to feel rather miserable again, she regarded the Blood Knight. He was impossibly tense, stern and now stared at her again. She tried to focus on his eyes, distracted by his scarred visage. His whole face was covered by myriad old battle wounds, and part of his neck and jaw showing the scars of old burns. His nose had been broken before, losing the perfect straight angles of the typical elf.

"Does my face displease you?" He suddenly asked, shocking her out of her thoughts. Unbidden, her face flushed. He cocked his head almost imperceptibly, one long brow rising.

"No... Sir." She stammered, frustrated with herself. She decided that this was one of the rare occasions where honesty would be the best approach. "It is just... interesting to me. I don't meet so many men of your experience and stature." In truth she had no idea of his rank, but his demeanor had spoken volumes to her already. He nodded the briefest of nods, seemingly satisfied.

Conversation grew a little easier then as Zahira grew bolder and asked him questions. He told her about his work, recounted some of his more glorious past battles. She had the increasing sense that he had had little in his life besides war. She knew that such men existed, but had – obviously – seldom met them. She leaned her head in her hand, the wine forgotten. Her mouth open, as Nerezza ffwould say, "like a commoner". Whether Kalandris was normally boastful or whether he was pleased to have a listener she could not tell, but he recounted his tales with enthusiasm and vivid detail.

Zahira began to feel very, very insignificant.

They had been talking for a while, when the hall began to clear. Couples and groups staggering and swaggering as they left arm in arm. Others reclined in curtained alcoves, drunken and asleep or entwined in each-others arms. Barely visible under one silken drape was a tangle of many legs, writhing together.

Soon Kalandris was wearing an even worse scowl than before. Disappointed at seeing his somewhat more open manner recede, Zahira reached for her ebony pins. The elf's eyes snapped to her as she raised her arms and piled twists of her hair atop her head, securing them deftly. She smiled somewhat self-consciously, her hands dropping to her knees, and twisted her neck, bending her head gently forward.

She felt his eyes on her, was certain he was examining her tattooed skin, yet he did not move. Soon enough, Zahira's eyes drifted over to his face again, with an inquiring look.

Kalandris did indeed stare at her, but if he had any indication what her gesture had meant, he didn't mention it. Grasping his glass once more he drained the last mouthful, and dropped his hands to his weapons. "Well," he said, "this has been an... interesting diversion."

Zahira furrowed her brow, opening her mouth to speak, but he continued.

"I have delayed too long. I'm afraid I must go. I have work to do." His eyes flickered over her face once more, and he nodded to Zahira, then turned to leave.

She sat back with a huff and a slight sulk, watching his retreating form. "Goodbye!" She muttered sarcastically, then feeling slightly ashamed of herself, reached up to release the waves of hair around her face. Sighing, she stared into her empty glass.