her ken.
As Arilyn’s ire faded, however, she remembered the look of astonishment on Danilo’s face. Then there was his use of Elvish to warn her. This was strange, considering the pains he took to hide his knowledge of the language from his peers. No, there was considerably more to this night’s work than a silly prank.
“Are we almost there?” she asked the maidservant as they rounded yet another corner in the labyrinth of halls and rooms within rooms.
The girl looked back over her shoulder and smiled sympathetically. “It is a lovely party, even with that bit of excitement. You must be impatient to return.”
Arilyn cast her eyes toward the ceiling and forbore comment. Perhaps by human standards, this was a lovely party, but she could not help contrasting elven festivals with Waterdhavian fetes. Here the heart of festive gatherings was politics, business, and intrigue. Deep, true celebration eluded the city’s humans.
What could this girl know of such things? How could she know the joy, the unity, that marked elven festivals? Judging from the servant’s clear and untroubled smile, she also knew nothing of the heartaches and complexities
that could result. Arilyn wasn’t altogether certain whether the girl was to be pitied or envied.
Finally the maidservant showed her into a room. She insisted upon bringing out one bright costume after another, expounding the merits of each. Anxious to get on with it, Arilyn pointed out a silver gown that looked about the right sizeand that was loose enough to allow freedom of motion. She peeled off her silk slippers and handed them to the maid to give her something to do. The girl exclaimed in dismay over the thorns embedded in the delicate fabric, then settled down to the task of pulling them out and scrubbing at the stains.
Left to her own devices, Arilyn quickly stripped off her ruined gown and tugged on the replacement. A brisk brushing removed clinging bits of twigs and leaves from her hair and left the black curls floating in a wild nimbus about her shoulders. She shifted impatiently from one bare foot to the other as she awaited the return of her shoes.
“I’m afraid they’re ruined,” the girl said at last. She cast a reproachful look up at Arilyn. “You’ve bled on them.”
“Inconsiderate of me,” the half-elf responded dryly. She nodded toward the room-sized closet adjoining the bedchamber. “You have any boots in there?”
The girl’s eyes rounded, and she sputtered in protest. Arilyn let her have her say, then simply raised one eyebrow. With a sigh, the maidservant yielded. In moments she emerged, holding a pair of low, thin-soled leather boots gingerly between thumb and forefinger.
“This is not the done thing,” she began. “The Lady Cassandra bade me to attend you and find you suitable clothing. She will not thank me for this.”
Arilyn suppressed a sigh. The boots were obviously elf-crafted, for they were of butter-soft deerskin dyed a rich blue shade that no human artisan could achieve, and they fairly shimmered with magic. Most likely they
were worth more than the collar of silver and sapphires Arilyn wore.
“Elves wear these for dancing,” she assured the girl. “Well …”
“If you come to grief over this, send Lady Cassandra to me,” Arilyn said firmly. “I will settle the matter.”
The girl considered her for a moment. A slow, speculative smile spread across her face. “That is something I would dearly love to see,” she said softly.
Arilyn chuckled. “Hand over the boots. If a fight breaks out later, I won’t draw first blood until I’m certain you have a good seat. Agreed?” .
“Done.”
The boots changed hands, and in moments Arilyn was on her way, alone. After the first few turns, she realized that nothing looked familiar. She had been too distracted by her troubled thoughts to mark the way in. Now she, an elf who could track a deer by moonlight and follow a squirrel’s trail through the trees, was
Learning to Kill: Stories