“Are you well, Saer Charmhand?”
Of course it had been Lorzok. Kell would have let them collapse in the street first.
Saeldian summoned everything they had to smile at him. “I felt faint.”
“You did faint.” Lorzok brushed curls away from Saeldian’s brow to place his hand on their forehead. “Warm. Let me—”
“Save it,” Kell said. “Saeldian can swoon in a heartbeat and weep in the next. Whatever the occasion calls for.”
“Kell. My friend,” Lorzok said, his tone as mild as a Waterdhavian who was ready to punch someone. “Shut up, please.”
Lorzok’s hand cooled, and that feeling—like a brook laughing over stones, the water colder and cleaner than even magic could make it—filled Saeldian with peace and strength.
Lorzok let them stand on their own. “Steady now?”
“Steady,” Saeldian agreed. “Thank you. Maybe I’ve had too much sun.”
Jubilee tried to take Lorzok’s place in steadying Saeldian, but they didn’t need it. Another pinch of fleece had the spell working again. “We’re back. Where were we?”
“Sheld, you fainted in the street. Are you—”
“I said, we’re back.” Saeldian strode forward.
Jubilee huffed but kept up. Kell muttered something non-complimentary as he and Lorzok fell in behind them. Saeldian was being an ass now. But they had to keep moving. They were in a trap, and there was no way out but through.
It was time to be strong. It was time to look strong. Saeldian ran through all the steps Osalor had taught them about posture.Posture is the foundation of disguise. How you stand tells people who you are.Their patron had drilled them in posture, movement, control—hours spent looking at a mirror that held their own reflection and the sight of Osalor, patiently instructing and doing his best to hide when he was disappointed.
“I’m sorry, Jubilee,” Saeldian said. “You didn’t do anything to deserve being snapped at.”
“I know it wasn’t about me. Kell said they could come in as entertainers, right? That will work,” Jubilee said. “If they’re good.”
“Kell is good,” Saeldian said. “He could sing a robin right out of the trees, even without being a bard.”
Lorzok made a surprised noise. “I’ve never heard you sing, Kell.”
He hadn’t?
“You haven’t,” Kell agreed, “because I don’t.”
Yes, he did! What—
Saeldian looked over their shoulder. Kell turned his face so they couldn’t see his expression. He didn’t sing anymore.Since when?
Saeldian knew since when. And he blamed them for that too.
Saeldian pressed their amulet against their breastbone, but it didn’t volunteer any guidance on demand. It never had. But it had thumped in the tearoom, and the amulet had never been wrong. Unless…had Briona been touching them when it knocked against their breastbone? They couldn’t remember.
But if Briona had been? She could have used a spell to fake the amulet’s guidance. But to know to do that, she would have to know something about Saeldian that only two people in Faerûn did. And that made sense only if—
“All right.” Jubilee used the patient tone she wielded on her younger siblings when they were clashing. “We still don’t have a plan, so we need ideas. Kell, you still fiddle, I see. Lorzok, do you sing?”
“No. I can do birdcalls,” Lorzok suggested.
“I’m sure they’re excellent,” Jubilee said, “but that’s not quite what we’d need.”
“Maybe it’s just me and Jubilee on the inside,” Saeldian said. “There’s no way I can hold disguises on both of you. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
“Oh dear. Just when I thought we were having a good time,” Kell said. “It will not be just you and Jubilee. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
