If so, where?

Q'arlynd approached the tree that housed the priestesses. It was still covered in leaves, despite the recent snowfall. Sustained by ancient magic, its branches sparkled against the night sky with a shimmer of green that reminded Q'arlynd of the faerie fire that had decorated the buildings and roads back home.

The trunk was massive, thick as any of the streets of Ched Nasad had been. Its bark bulged in several places, enormous knots of wood that were called burls. Hollowed into each of these was a room, its entrance a round wooden door. Leading up to the doors were ladders made of individual sticks that floated in mid air. These sticks appeared benign, but glyphs carved into them would activate if anyone of evil intent touched them, instantly making them as sharp as steel. Enemies of Eilistraee who were foolish enough to use a magical ladder would lose their fingers at the very least.

Q'arlynd, however, had an easier means of access at his disposal, his House insignia. With a thought, he activated it and rose into the air to the room that was Rowaan's.

Yellow light shone through the cracks between door and frame. Rowaan might be a dark elf, but she seemed to have forsaken the use of her darkvision. Q'arlynd, still levitating, dispelled the glyph on the door, a simple warding that gave a mental suggestion that dissuaded males from touching the door or its handle. Then he lifted his hand to knock.

He paused, however, without knocking. He'd gone to seduce Rowaan into accompanying him to the Promenade and introducing him to Qilue. He had the perfect story, carefully rehearsed to earn Rowaan's sympathy, the tale of how Halisstra had saved his life after his riding accident. He'd tell her that that had stirred feelings in him he'd never known he possessed, that he'd discovered that he cared for Halisstra. How he even-what was the word for it?-yes, that was it, how he loved his sister. He'd follow that up with a plea that if he could just talk to Qilue-briefly, and without interrupting the high priestess's doubtlessly important duties-that maybe he could learn more about the one person who truly mattered to him in the world. Floating on Rowaan's threshold, however, it all seemed too easy-about as exciting as jumping from a table to the floor. He wanted more of a challenge than that.

Above him, he could see Leliana's doorway.

He smiled. Now that would be a leap. And being introduced to Qilue by a more powerful priestess certainly wouldn't hurt.

He levitated to her door and dispelled the warding on it as well. Then he knocked, a light, seemingly hesitant tap. As he waited for the door to open, he ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it.

The door opened, revealing a small room that was comfortably dark. Q'arlynd bowed his head. "May I come in?"

Leliana glanced between the wizard and the door. "How did-?"

Q'arlynd waggled his fingers. "Magic."

Leliana's eyes blazed. "You're not permitted here. Only priestesses-"

"I know, but I need to speak to you." He lowered his voice, as if afraid someone might be listening. "It's about the Nightshadows. I have information I think you should hear."

Leliana glanced away, muttering something under her breath. "All right," she said. "Come in."

Q'arlynd pulled himself inside and allowed his levitation to end. The room was furnished with two cushioned stools and an intricately carved table whose legs were joined to the floor. It must have been carved when the burl was hollowed out. Pegs on the wall held Leliana's armor, weapons, and cloak. Wide notches, carved into the walls, were stuffed with baskets, folded clothes and books. Q'arlynd nodded. He wasn't surprised that Leliana read. She had a lively mind. Something else caught his eye, a crescent-shaped harp in an alcove next to the door. He reached out to touch it then lowered his hand, as if suddenly remembering his manners.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't touch your things, but it… reminds me of my sister." He glanced up at Leliana. "Did you know Halisstra well?"

"I met her only once."

Q'arlynd brushed the strings of the harp with a fingertip. A shiver of notes filled the air. "She was a musician, too. She played the lyre."

"Quit stalling. You came here to tell me something about the Nightshadows. Spit it out."

Q'arlynd raised an eyebrow as he bowed. "As you command… Mistress."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not?" Q'arlynd countered. "You were born in the Underdark, weren't you? Menzoberranzan, if I'm not mistaken about your accent. Born into a noble House, no doubt. You certainly have an aristocratic bearing."

Leliana ignored the flattery. She closed the door against the chill wind then folded her arms across her chest. Now that she was no longer wearing her armor, Q'arlynd could appreciate the curve of her breasts and the lean muscles of her folded arms. She was only a little taller than he was-short, for a female.

"Get to the point," she said.

Q'arlynd sighed. "Things really are done differently in the surface realms, aren't they?" he said. "Very well, then. I gather, from our conversation of last night, that you're worried about an attack by Vhaeraun's assassins."

The silence stretched. Leliana neither confirmed nor denied what he'd just said. "Go on."

"The Nightshadows are masters of deception and disguise," Q'arlynd said. He leaned closer, as if about to share a dark secret. "But I know how to spot them."

"So do I," Leliana said sarcastically. "The first clue is that square of black cloth they're so fond of wearing."

Q'arlynd smiled. "That's true, but a Nightshadow can still work his magic, even when his mask is thousands of paces distant." He waved a hand. "But you knew that already, of course. Just as, no doubt, you already know that a Nightshadow's deception spell can mask his alignment, his true faith-even his very thoughts, but what you don't know, I'm willing to wager, is how to counter this deception."

"And you do?"

"Yes."

Leliana's expression was openly skeptical, but she hadn't thrown him out yet. She wanted to hear more.

"Let me explain. Many years ago, back when I was a novice wizard, a…" he searched for the right word-it wasn't one the drow frequently used. "A friend of mine came to me for help. A Nightshadow. He had a problem he thought my magic could solve."

"What problem was that?"

"He'd been cursed." Q'arlynd walked to the center of the room, deliberately testing her willingness to let him invade her private space. When she made no move to block him, he leaned back against the table, stretching himself out. Showing off his body. He smiled, inwardly, as he saw her eyes linger on it.

"You're familiar with Vhaeraun's avatar?" he asked.

"Not personally-we've never met. Eilistraee willing, I'll never have that pleasure."

Q'arlynd chuckled. "Nor have I, but my friend enlightened me. The Masked Lord's avatar, he said, looks just like a regular drow, except for his eyes. They change color, you see, to reflect his moods. Red when the god is angry, blue when he's pleased, green when-"

"Let me guess-when he's envious."

"When he's puzzled, actually." Q'arlynd waved a hand. "But that's neither blood nor water. What's important to the story is that this Nightshadow had transgressed against his faith. He'd cast an illusion upon himself that made his eyes change color and tried to pass himself off as Vhaeraun's avatar. It was a stupid thing to do, and he paid the price for his temerity. Vhaeraun cursed the Nightshadow so that his eyes would forever betray him. They continued to change color, even after his illusion ended, marking him as a cleric of Vhaeraun, and in Ched Nasad, that wasn't a healthy thing to be."

"So he asked you to remove the curse?"