The Last Threshold (Neverwinter #4)(69)

“Catti-brie,” Dahlia remarked, for Drizzt had told her of his wife. “So you lost her and filled your days with an elf companion.”

Drizzt shook his head. “I thought I had lost her, lost all of them, but no, this was before that time.”

“Is there a point to your story?”

Drizzt sighed again. “Not an easy one to get to,” he admitted. “You’re barely into your fourth decade of life, but Innovindil’s lessons were an explanation of a life witnessing the birth and death of centuries.”

“Then why would I care?”

“Because it will explain … me,” Drizzt blurted. “My actions, or inactions.”

“Must everything become such an important act to you?” Dahlia said.

Drizzt chuckled. “You’re not the first to say such a thing to me.”

“Then perhaps you should listen.”

“I tried to,” the drow said, and he motioned to the spot before the bed where he had pursued Dahlia.

“Months,” she replied dourly.

“Innovindil told me to live my life in shorter expanses, in human terms, then to start over from there. Particularly, she said, if I meant to befriend, even to fall in love, with the lesser-living races.”

“She told you to get past your grief.”

“I suppose you could phrase it like that.”

“I just did. And so here we are—has it been a century now since you lost this human woman?—and you don’t seem to be taking her advice.” She noted Drizzt’s wince at the way she had pronounced human, clearly marking the word as an insult, and that, she thought, was telling. “And this is the same advice you intend to give to me?” She chortled again. “Shouldn’t you learn to abide by it first?”

“I’m trying!” he retorted, and sharply, much more so than Dahlia had expected. Well, she thought, at least she had gotten some emotion out of the fool.

“Is my lesson over?” she asked with equal sharpness.

“Perhaps mine has just begun,” Drizzt said with clear lament. “This is more complicated than you understand. When you are older—”

“Drizzt Do’Urden,” she interrupted, coming forward with a finger poking his way, “hear me well. You have known seven years for my every one, but in so many ways, I am older than you, likely more than you will ever be. In matters of”—she paused and glanced around, looking for the right word, and wound up just motioning dramatically for the room’s bed “—I am more experienced and more rational.”

“Your ear studs speak differently,” he said quietly.

“I may have demons to chase, but at least I don’t make love to ghosts,” she replied, and she stormed to the door, slamming it hard behind her.

She fingered the black diamond stud in her right ear, the last stud in that lobe, and realized that she might soon find her mortal battle with the drow she had just left behind.

That was why she had chosen him, after all. Finally, mercifully, at long last, Dahlia had found a lover who would almost surely defeat her, who would give her peace.

Strangely, though, Dahlia felt little comfort in that notion. Drizzt had pulled away from her. Drizzt was rejecting her, without even meaning to. When he told her that he didn’t want to hurt her, he spoke sincerely, she knew.

But still …

Dahlia’s striking blue eyes were moist when she left the inn, and more than one tear had streaked her delicate cheeks.





Dahlia walked into the tavern with a sour look on her face, not expecting to find her prey, since she had already visited several of these establishments in this area of Baldur’s Gate. Truly the city overwhelmed the elf’s sensibilities. She had been to Luskan several times, of course, and had grown up in the cities of Thay, and had even visited mighty Waterdeep on one occasion, but now that she was exploring Baldur’s Gate, the energy and commotion of the place overwhelmed her.

She certainly had no idea of just how many taverns and inns and assorted emporiums, often with apartments up above, would line every street. When she and Drizzt had broken away from the others, Dahlia had never imagined that locating Artemis Entreri would prove so trying an ordeal.

So she entered the tavern expecting nothing, her hopes sinking to emptiness.

The crowd parted before her, a coincidental shift in two separate groups of merchant sailors offered her a wider view of the place, and there he was, sitting alone at a small table in the far corner of the room.

Dahlia hesitated—he hadn’t seen her, she believed—and she considered her course. There would be no turning back now, she reminded herself.

She strode across the room. One man popped up in front of her, offered a wicked smile and a hungry expression, but she eased him aside with her walking stick, and when he resisted, she froze him with a look so cold that the blood drained from his face.

No one else intercepted her.

Entreri took note of her and leaned back in his chair.

“Imagine my surprise at seeing you here,” she said, taking the seat across from him.

“Yes, imagine. Where’s Drizzt?”

“I do not know, and I do not care.”

Entreri gave a little laugh. “After a month at sea? And with more months at sea before us? I would have expected you two to … catch up.”