The Last Threshold (Neverwinter #4)(135)

Saribel tried to remain calm, but her eyes widened, giving her hopes away.

“Perhaps I will take a Xorlarrin noble as my wife, joining our families in an alliance that will further both our aims,” Tiago said.

“Berellip would be the obvious choice,” Saribel said.

“My choice,” Tiago emphasized, “would not be Berellip.”

Saribel swallowed hard. “What are you—?”

“We will be married, our families will be joined,” Tiago stated plainly.

“What?” came a question from the side, and the two turned to find Ravel listening in.

“You do not approve … brother?” Tiago said.

Ravel sat upon his invisible floating disc looking back at the Baenre, his expression shifting as he digested the startling news. Gradually a grin came to dominate his face—no doubt, Tiago realized, Ravel was going through the same thought process he had just realized, and coming to the same conclusion.

“Ah, brother,” Ravel said at length. “It is good to be out on the hunt with you!”

“Particularly when our prey is cornered,” Tiago replied.





“Well, hardly be callin’ it a forest,” Ambergris said, trudging through the scraggly trees above the small, dilapidated cabin on the banks of Lac Dinneshere. “Ye sure this be the place, then?”

The dwarf stopped talking and pulled up short when she regarded Dahlia and Drizzt, the drow crouched on one knee, staring down intently at his hand. No, not at his hand, she realized, but at something he held.

“What is it?” Dahlia asked.

Drizzt looked up at her, his expression blank, and he only shook his head, as if confused, as if he couldn’t find any words at that moment.

Ambergris and Entreri arrived then, from different directions.

Drizzt closed his hand and rolled his fingers, gradually finding the strength to rise.

“What is it?” Entreri asked this time.

Drizzt looked at him, then over Entreri’s shoulder, down at Effron and Afafrenfere, who were on the small dock before the old cabin.

“Drizzt?” Dahlia prompted.

“Scrimshaw,” he answered, his voice hollow.

Dahlia reached for the hand, but Drizzt pulled it away quickly and defensively. His movement surprised her, and startled the other two as well.

Drizzt took a deep breath and brought his hand up, unfolding his fingers to reveal a small statuette depicting a woman holding a very distinctive bow, the same bow, it appeared, as the one currently draped over Drizzt’s shoulder.

“Regis’s work,” Artemis Entreri said.

“Is that her?” Dahlia asked loudly, drowning out the assassin.

Drizzt stared at her blankly, hesitant to answer.

“Catti-brie?” she pressed. “Your beloved Catti-brie?”

“How’d it get out here?” Ambergris asked, looking all around. “Few been here in many years, I’m guessing.”

“None, more likely,” said Dahlia, staring still at Drizzt, her expression reflecting a deep and obvious discontent.

“Except when the forest is here, perhaps,” Artemis Entreri said, and Drizzt took another deep breath, feeling as if he might simply topple over—or wondering if Dahlia might leap over and throttle him, given her expression.

“It is likely nothing more than coincidence,” Drizzt said.

Artemis Entreri walked over and reached for the statue, but Drizzt kept it away.

“The foot,” Entreri said. “The right foot. Should I have to tell this to you?”

Drizzt slowly upturned the scrimshaw, looked at its underside, the clutched it tightly against his heart.

“The ‘R’ of Regis,” Entreri explained to the others.

“And how’re ye knowin’ that?” Ambergris asked.

“I have a long history with that one,” the assassin chuckled.

Drizzt locked stares with him. “What does it mean?”

Entreri shrugged and held out his hand, and this time, Drizzt handed the statue over. Entreri studied it closely. “It’s been lying out here for a long time,” he said.

“And there’s no forest to be seen,” Dahlia added, rather unkindly.

“And the day’s gettin’ long,” Ambergris remarked, looking back across the lake to the setting sun. “At least we’ll be sleeping under a proper roof this night, eh?” She glanced down at the lakeside cottage. “Such as it is.”

In reply, Drizzt rolled his pack off his back and let if fall to the ground.

Ambergris looked down at it, then back up to the stone-faced drow. “Like I was sayin’,” she said. “Another fine night out under the stars.”

Drizzt camped right there, sleeping on the very spot where he had found the figurine. None of his five companions went to the cottage, but rather surrounded him with their own bedrolls.

“Chasing ghosts,” Dahlia muttered to Entreri much later on, the two sitting off to the side, looking back at Drizzt. The night was not cold and the fire long out, but the half-moon had already passed overhead and they could see the drow clearly. He lay back on his bedroll, looking up at the multitude of stars shining over Lac Dinneshere. He still clutched the figurine, rolling it over in his nimble fingers.

“Chasing her, you mean.”