"Nice and warm in here," he noted. He added his broad-brimmed hat to the pegs, then smoothed his hair and alternately chafed and blew on his hands as he waited patiently for Arilyn to ready herself.

Even without the benefit of a mirror, Arilyn knew that her face was literally blue with cold. She slicked her wet black curls behind her ears and tied a blue scarf over her hair so that she would not look quite so bedraggled. Danilo pursed his lips but judiciously avoided comment. When she was ready, he placed a hand at the small of her back and ushered her through another door into the tavern.

"It's not the Jade Jug," Danilo apologized, naming Waterdeep's plushest inn, "but it's habitable, and-most important-it's the headquarters for the Vintners, Brewers, and Distillers Guild. I've been here many times. It has no ambiance or style, but it boasts the best selection of spirits in all of Waterdeep."

Arilyn bristled at Danilo's evaluation of the inn's merits. Perhaps the House of Good Spirits was not up to the pampered nobleman's standards, but after many days of hard travel, she found it an inviting haven. The tavern room was warm and dimly lit, with a low ceiling and scattered small nooks that created a cozy feeling. The air was redolent of roasting meat, pleasantly bitter ales, and the pitchy scent of the northern pine logs that crackled in a huge open fireplace. Whatever the inn's supposed limitations, it certainly did a brisk trade. Cheery barmaids and stout young men wielded large trays of drinks and simple, well-prepared food.

"I've seen worse," Arilyn responded curtly.

Danilo recoiled in mock surprise. "Praise Lady Midnight! It's a miracle! She speaks!"

Arilyn cast Danilo a withering glance and swept past him into the tavern. She'd tried unsuccessfully to ignore the fop for almost two tendays, speaking no more than necessary. Yet Danilo did not seem the least insulted by her silences, and he continued to chat and tease as if they had been friends from the cradle.

"If you'll find a good table, I'll get us some rooms," offered Danilo, trailing along behind her.

Arilyn spun around to face him. "This is Waterdeep. We part company here, tonight. Your most pressing goal may be getting drunk, but I'm here to search for an assassin, remember?" she said in a low voice.

Unperturbed, Danilo gave her his most winning smile. "Do be reasonable, my dear. Just because we've arrived in Waterdeep, I see no cause to pretend we don't know each other. In fact, since this is a rather small inn, such pretense might prove difficult. Look at this place."

He gestured around the tavern room. It was full nearly to capacity, a mixed clientele made up of hardworking Waterdhavian craftspeople with a scattering of wealthy merchants and nobles-all dedicated drinkers who knew the inn's merits. The exotic clothing and road-weary appearance of many of the guests marked them as travelers in for the festival. Conversation was low and leisurely, and the patrons savored their food and drink with an air of contentment. Judging from their mug-littered tables and blurred smiles, many of the patrons appeared to have hunkered down for a long evening of serious imbibing. Few empty seats remained in the house.

"You see?" Danilo concluded. "You're stuck with me for one more evening. Dinner hour is nearly past, and it would be foolish for one of us to go into that storm to seek another inn, just to make a point. Truth be told, I doubt there are many rooms left in the whole of Waterdeep. Since I'm a regular and, if I may say so, a valued customer here, we'll be well taken care of."

Seeing her hesitation, he pressed on. "Come, now. We're both cold and wet and in need of a good night's sleep, and I for one would like to eat something for which we did not have to hunt."

He has a point there, Arilyn admitted silently. "All right," she conceded rather ungraciously.

"It's decided." Danilo's attention drifted off to a point past Arilyn's shoulder. "Ah! There's the innkeeper. What ho! Simon!" he called as he headed off toward a pudgy, apron-draped man.

Will I never be rid of the fool? Arilyn stalked off toward the fireplace in search of an empty seat. A number of small tables were scattered there in the shadows, drawing her with their isolation. Perhaps one of the nooks would be unoccupied.

"Amnestria! Quefirre soora kan izzt?"

The melodious voiced stopped Arilyn in midstride, and all thoughts of weariness and hunger were washed away on a flood of memories. When was the last time she had heard that language?

She turned to find herself face to face with a tall, silver-haired moon elf. Dressed in dignified black, the elf had the graceful carriage-and the well-kept weapons-that marked him as an experienced fighter. He spoke the formal language of the moon elven court, a language that Arilyn had never quite mastered. With a pang the half-elf recalled herself as a restless child squirming at her mother's side, impatient with Z'beryl's efforts to school her in anything other than swordplay.

"I'm sorry," she said with regret, "but it's been many years since I've heard that dialect."

"Of course," the handsome quessir replied, switching smoothly to Common. "An old tongue, and spoken all too seldom. Forgive me, but there are too few of our race in these parts, and I was momentarily overcome by nostalgia." The elf's smile was both wistful and charming.

Arilyn accepted his explanation with a nod. "What did you call me just then?"

The elf responded with a short bow. "Again, I must apologize. For a moment, you reminded me of someone I once knew."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, I am certain you could never do that," he swore. "Even as we speak, I've grown to realize how fortunate an error I made."

Arilyn's rarely seen dimples flashed briefly. "Are you always this gallant with chance-met strangers?"

"Always," he responded in kind. "Seldom, however, does chance deliver me such lovely strangers. Would you do me the honor of joining me? This is one of the few places in Waterdeep were one can find Elverquisst, and I've just ordered a bottle. Not many can appreciate the nuances or the tradition."

Arilyn's face relaxed in a genuine smile. The surprise of meeting a moon elf in this place-and of hearing him speak the language Arilyn associated with her mother-had lowered her natural reserve. The elf's avowed homesickness reminded her that it had indeed been too long since she'd been to Evereska.

"A gracious offer, most gratefully accepted," she replied, using the formal polite response. She extended her left hand, palm up. "I am Arilyn Moonblade of Evereska."

The quessir placed his palm over hers and bowed low over their joined hands. "Your name is known to me. I am indeed honored," he murmured in a respectful tone.

The tread of approaching footsteps interrupted the elves.

"I've got good news and bad news, Arilyn," Danilo announced gaily as he sauntered up. "Hello! Who's your fr-" The young man stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the moon elf.

Danilo's face darkened, and, to Arilyn's horror, his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword in unmistakable challenge. What was the fool doing? she thought with dismay.

The patrons of the House of Good Spirits were, for the most part, hard-drinking folk, many of them veterans of countless tavern battles. They could sense a fight in the making as surely as a sea captain could smell a coming storm. Conversations trailed off, and glasses clinked busily as the patrons drained their spirits while conditions permitted.

As quickly as it came, the threat passed. Looking faintly surprised at himself, Danilo released his sword and fished an embroidered handkerchief from his breast pocket. He wiped his fingers as if they had somehow been sullied by the touch of a weapon, and his vaguely apologetic smile took in both Arilyn and the elf. "Someone you know, I take it?" he said into the inn's sudden silence, gazing down at the elves' joined hands.