They’d taken care of every detail and let Highsail believe that he was swindling them when he stole the papers and sailed off to take the treasure for himself.
They had laughed about that particular interloper’s fate for months afterward. Now here Saeldian was, humbled by their own expertise. Humiliating! Embarrassing! They could never tell anyone how easily they’d been fooled.
And to make it worse, Saeldian was stuck with Kell Redsong. Of all people! What vicious fate was this? Mistakes really were forever.
That breeze blowing in off the ocean was cold, and Saeldian let it slide into the gaps of their ensemble. The cold touched the tips of their ears. It wore down their annoyance at him being here in Waterdeep, walking on Saeldian’s streets.
Saeldian had fled Baldur’s Gate on the first ship south, fearingthat there was nowhere far enough that Kell couldn’t find them. He could always find Saeldian, and he had come to their rescue more than once with that knack. They spent a year dreading detection, but Kell hadn’t come to Velen or the City of Coin after that. Saeldian stopped rehearsing the explanation they’d need at their lips when Kell, who had found them, held a dagger to their throat—or worse, simply wanted to know why. But he never came, and after some years, Saeldian didn’t think of him that often.
But now Kell was here on a sunny, cheerful street bustling with people set on their own errands while the two of them kept a rigid arm’s length apart. The breeze carried a clean and salty air, and the cloudless sky foretold the warmth coming to visit Waterdeep for its celebrated summer—on the bright side, it was perfect weather for Bastion to finally hire people to fix the roof.
Enough daydreaming. They couldn’t escape Kell, so the faster this job was done, the better. Saeldian pinched a bit of fleece between their fingers and cast an illusion once the four of them were out on the street. It shimmered around the group, but only to Saeldian’s sight.
“Gather close. We need to talk.”
Kell fell into step on their left, the same way he had when they moved through the meaner parts of Baldur’s Gate and he defended Saeldian’s weak side. He didn’t realize what he had done for a few steps, then scowled and fell back to walk beside Lorzok.
“I don’t like it, but we’re in this with no way out,” Saeldian said. “I can’t believe I got fooled by acantrip.”
“It’s not your fault,” Lorzok said.
“I don’t need soothing. I need to keep my eyes open.” That was mean. But Saeldian was rolling downhill already, and no brake stopped their complaints. “For fey trickery, especially.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself—”
“Don’t worry, Lorzok.” Kell would have sounded jocular to anyone else, but it was meant to sting. “Saeldian’s just nursing injured pride over being deceived. Hard to believe you’re the best liar there is when you get fleeced into a fey vow by a Prestidigitation spell.”
“Big talk, Kell Redsong. She had your measure so exactly I bet she didn’t even need to fool you.”
“She offered our hearts’ desire,” Kell said. “Hard to resist what you yearn for most in the world.”
And all Saeldian ever cared about was gold? “Surprised you haven’t made it there already,” Saeldian said. “Almost feels like it didn’t want you back.”
The cruel rush of pleasure at the insult crashed into Kell’s flinch. He covered it over with frost and a delicate, contemptuous flare of his nostrils, as if he smelled something bad.
“Hey,” Jubilee said. “We have to work together.”
Lorzok barely stopped himself from putting a finger to his lips. “People might hear you.”
“We’re fine. We’re in one of Charmhand’s favorite spells,” Kell said. “Nobody outside can quite catch what we say.”
“What do you mean, they can’t hear us?”
“They can’t understand us,” Saeldian said. “We sound like mumbling. Keep your voice normal and no one will think twice.”
Kell Redsong. Here, in Saeldian’s city, on Saeldian’s team. Of all the awkward jobs whispering along the peace-kept streets of Waterdeep, how did they wind up in one with him?
A shopkeeper in a pristine apron waved tickets at them. “Take one, and have an extra five percent off our Goldenight prices tonight! We’ve vellum and parchment and rag, all grades suitable for your pen or your scrolls!”
Saeldian smiled, shook their head, and kept walking, with Kell glowering at their back.
Saeldian had never planned to catch up with Kell again, but now they knew: On the same morning Saeldian had left Baldur’s Gate, Kell had landed in trouble with the law. Had it been while the storm harp they’d stolen from House Hullhollyn was stashed on his person?
Had to be. If the Flaming Fist had pinched him for stealing an apple and then discovered the harp, that would have been bad luck, not betrayal. Maybe the Silver Cat hadn’t been as clever as they believed. Maybe they got sloppy somewhere. It didn’t matter. Kell took the fall; the Zhentarim got him out. Saeldian didn’t know the how or the why of that, but that didn’t matter either. Kell owed them his freedom and his life, and in all these years, they’d never called to collect.
“How did this happen? My head’s still spinning,” Jubilee said.
“The smartest grifter in Faerûn was bested by a novice’s cantrip,” Kell said. “Quite the mistake.”
