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 size—and 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 completely turned around in the maze of rooms and halls.

"Wouldn't Bran be proud?" she muttered, naming the famous human ranger who had sired her. Once Danilo got wind of this misadventure, she would never hear the end of it. Determined to keep her embarrassment to herself, she kept going, merely nodding to the occasional servant or guest she passed.

Her mood darkened with each false turn. Finally she gave in to the inevitable, and decided to ask directions from the next person she encountered.

She heard the sounds of conversation coming from a room at the end of the hall and set off toward it at a brisk pace, silent as a shadow in her borrowed elven boots. She slowed as she neared the door, and listened to the conversation with a mind toward finding an acceptable place to interrupt.

"It is my considered opinion that there is already far too much magic in Waterdeep."

This statement, emphatically spoken by a familiar, faintly accented male voice, halted Arilyn in mid-stride. It was not the sort of thing one expected to hear from Khelben Arunsun, the most powerful wizard in the city and Danilo's long-time mentor.

Arilyn grimaced at her misfortune. If she inquired directions from this assembly, Danilo was certain to hear of her plight.

"You present an interesting proposal, Oth Eltorchul, but a dangerous one," stated a thin, querulous male voice.

That would be Maskar Wands, Arilyn supposed. Danilo had often described the elderly wizard as being as nervous as a brooding hen.

"Dangerous? How so? The dream spheres have been thoroughly tested. The subjects were willing, even eager, and though none of them were persons of much consequence, I am pleased to claim that no ill effects were suffered. To the contrary, the dream spheres gave them a few moments' respite from their dreary little lives."

The man's voice held the well-trained, almost musical tones of an accomplished mage, but the genteel sneer in it set Arilyn's teeth on edge. That was undoubtedly Oth Eltorchul, a member of a wizardly family who engaged in magical training and experimentation. She knew Oth by sight only. He was a tall man with the flame-colored hair common to his clan and ale-colored eyes that brought to mind the fixed stare of a hunting owl. Danilo had studied several years ago with Lord Eltorchul, Oth's father, but he had no use at all for Oth. At the moment, Arilyn was inclined to applaud Dan's judgment.

"Where do these dreams come from?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

A brief silence followed, broken by Oth's scornful laugh. Arilyn thought it was a reasonable question. All dreams came from somewhere.

"They are magical illusions, Lord Gundwynd, nothing more. A created incident that the dreamer experiences as if it were real. Entirely harmless."

"Magic is never entirely harmless," Khelben pointed out. "Every wise man, mage or not, knows this to be true."

There was an angry scraping as a chair was pushed back. "Do you call me a fool, Lord Arunsun?"

"And insult those assembled here?" the archmage returned, his tone edged with exasperation. "Why point out that the sky is blue, when they have eyes to see this for themselves?"

"Now see here!"

Arilyn decided that no good opportunity for interruption would present itself any time soon. She took two steps before another familiar voice halted her.

"Sit down, Oth," Lady Cassandra said firmly, "and listen to the advice you sought. I will speak plainly. No one will sell these dream spheres of yours, for the city's wizards will oppose them. Any attempt to peddle magical illusions from a stall in the bazaar is a foolish challenge to their power and their right to ply their trade. I will have nothing to do with it, or anyone who does."

A murmur of agreement followed her words. "The dream spheres could become vastly popular," Oth insisted. "There is much profit to be made."

"There is profit to be made in the sale of slaves, poisons, and certain types of pipeweed. But such things are forbidden by law, Oth, and you know it well."

"There are no prohibitions against dream spheres," protested Oth.

"There will be," announced a voice Arilyn recognized as Boraldan Ilzimmer. She also noted that the man seemed none too pleased by his own observation. "The wizards' guild holds much power in this city, and their desires will soon be bolstered by force of law."

"Well said, Lord Ilzimmer. The Watchful Order of Magisters will seek to have these baubles declared illegal. If for some reason they do not, I will see to it myself."