Элейн Каннингем - Thornhold

Belatedly, Bronwyn got the point. Dwarven women were as bearded as their men. Apparently, Ebenezer was expressing his approval of Alice’s gruff reception, even flirting with her a bit. Bronwyn cast her eyes toward the ceiling—which, despite Alice’s claims, was liberally festooned with cobwebs. “Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

The gnome collected herself. “Your friend Lord Thann has found excuse to stop by, or send someone on his behalf, at least thrice a day. He seems most concerned about you.”

“I can just imagine,” Bronwyn muttered. “I suppose he has been watching me and reporting back to Khelben all this time, too. No offense meant, Alice,” she added hastily when she saw hurt and self-reproach creep into the gnome’s eyes.

Watching. Reporting back.

Suddenly something else occurred to Bronwyn, something that widened her eyes with shock and fury. When she had wanted to identify herself to her father, she named her telltale birthmark. Surely that identifying mark was one measure used by those who once searched for Hronulf’s missing daughter. The Harpers might have heard of the search, and remembered that birthmark. Was it possible that the invitation to join the Harpers, to move to Waterdeep and work under Khelben Arunsun’s direction, was not motivated by the skills she could bring to the Harpers, but by who she was?

All these years, she had searched so desperately for her family, and they had known.

If that was so, then the brief days and nights of merriment that she and Danilo had shared several years before suddenly took on new and ominous meaning. And with that realization came a stab of betrayal so painful that it almost sent her to her knees. Danilo had known who she was—or at least suspected. By the time he left Amn, he knew beyond doubt.

“Oh, my god and goddess,” she whispered in a appalled voice, stunned by this duplicity in a man she had long called friend. “Sweet sister Sune.”

“Some might think it’s a bit early in the day to be invoking the goddess of love and beauty,” observed a familiar, languid male voice behind her. “Myself, I see no reason to put off what I might want to do again later.”

This observation, coming on the heels of her sudden and disturbing insight, raised Bronwyn’s temper past boiling. She fisted her hand and spun toward the shop door, swinging out high and hard.

Danilo dodged the blow and caught her wrist. “Really! Is that any way to greet an old friend?” he chided her.

Bronwyn wrenched her arm from his grasp and backed away. “You son of a snake,” she said in a low, furious tone.

“Ah.”

Just that. He didn’t bother to ask her what she meant. Of course not. But if Bronwyn had not known what a chameleon her fellow Harper could be, she would have sworn there was real regret in his eyes.

He took a step toward her, one hand held out in entreaty. “Bronwyn, we need to talk about that.”

“The hell we do. Get out of my shop.”

Ebenezer came to stand beside her, and the expression on his bearded face suggested an entire battalion taking flank position. He folded his arms and looked Bronwyn’s visitor up and down. He snorted when his gaze fell on Danilo’s jeweled sword. When his scrutiny was completed, his upper lip curled, leaving no doubt concerning his opinion of the faired-haired dandy. “Haven’t killed anyone today,” he announced. “Might be I ought to, just to keep in practice.”

“Hold that thought,” Bronwyn told him, secretly rather touched that the dwarf would come to her defense without question or hesitation. It helped a little, especially when all her perceptions and alliances seemed to be shifting, and her emotions in such chaos that she couldn’t think things through with her usual clarity.

But at that moment, another disturbing piece molded itself into the spreading puzzle. It suddenly occurred to Bronwyn to wonder about the reason for the Harpers’ recent, intense interest in her. Did Khelben suspect the Zhentarim had designs on her father’s keep? If the Harpers had known and had done nothing to stop it, then she was finished with the lot of them!

She whirled back to Danilo, her pain over his earlier transgression forgotten. “How much of this did you know?”

He spread his hands, palms up. “I swear to you, Bronwyn, I had no idea who you were when we met in Amn,” he said earnestly, “nor did I know of your lineage until a few days ago. There was no subterfuge or design in our friendship. We were young and congenial. When I vouched for you as Harper many months later, I did name your distinguishing marks. Such things are important for a Harper Master to know, and when Khelben asked the question I thought nothing amiss. I told him, but I made no mention of how this knowledge was acquired.”

“Ever the gentleman,” she sneered. “But that’s a small thing. A few moments ago, I wouldn’t have thought so. This new betrayal outshines all that went before.”

This clearly took him aback. “What is this about?”

“You deny it still!” Furious now, she snatched up a carved ivory statue and hurled it at him. It missed and crashed into the lintel, breaking into several pieces. “You killed my father! If you hadn’t withheld information, he might still be alive.”

Bronwyn was raving and knew it, but she was beyond caring. The bitter words tore from her like living things determined to be born, regardless of the pain of their birthing.

Danilo stooped and gathered up the ivory bits; Bronwyn suspected he wished to buy time to gather his composure and shape his next remarks. But when he rose, his face was still bewildered. “Bronwyn, what is going on?”

“Tell me this: did you know that Thornhold would come under attack?”

Danilo looked honestly and thoroughly stunned by this news. He sank down to sit on a carved chest, and he rubbed both hands over his face. “Thornhold was attacked?” he echoed.

“And taken,” she said shortly.

From the corner of her eye Bronwyn noticed that Shopscat was showing keen interest in her visitor’s ear-cuff and was starting to edge closer for the attack. Out of habit, she started to grab for the raven—then thought better of it and left the bird alone to do as it willed.

“The fortress of Thornhold is now held by the Zhentarim,” she said, her voice gaining volume and passion as she spoke. “Isn’t that why Khelben Arunsun was so concerned about my dealings with Malchior? He was afraid I might give away family secrets, is that it? Or perhaps you thought I was in collusion with the Zhentarim?”

“Not that. Never that.” Danilo rose and took a step toward her. His progress was halted when a very angry dwarf stepped between him and Bronwyn.

“Back away,” Ebenezer growled. He reached up and thumped the Harper’s chest with his stubby forefinger. “Seems to me the lady of this here shop told you a ways back to git. And you ain’t got yet. Now, I see a problem there that we could solve one of two ways.”

The Harper took a long breath and exhaled with a sigh. “I have no quarrel with you, good sir. Bronwyn, even if you are content to lay to rest the old matter, we must discuss this new one. Send word, when you are ready.”

Her only response was a stony stare. After a moment Danilo nodded a silent farewell and left, unwittingly evading the quick stabbing attack of Shopscat’s beak.

“I could get to like that bird,” Ebenezer observed, eyeing the raven with grim approval.

Danilo strode through the streets toward Blackstaff Tower, hands clasped behind him and brow deeply furrowed in thought. He caught a glimpse of himself in the polished glass of a milliner’s shop window, and the sight-pulled him up short. It took him a moment to realize what bothered him about the reflected image. He had seen that stance before, and the expression was a mirror image of that he’d often beheld on the visage of the archmage he served.