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Arilyn’s response.
    So, apparently, did Arilyn. The half-elf’s gaze flicked to Danilo’s face in wry acknowledgment, then to the sword still in her hands. She thrust the weapon back into its sheath and turned to her hostess.
    “My apologies for the disturbance. Again, I might add,” Arilyn responded dryly. She gestured to her shredded skirt. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Thann, I think I’d better change.”
    Cassandra Thann eyed the half-elf with genteel distaste. “On that,” she said, with a pause that silently shouted, if in nothing else, “we are in accord. Suzanne will show you to a guest room with an appropriate wardrobe. Choose whatever suits you.”
    It was a command thinly cloaked in courtesy. Arilyn acknowledged both with a curt nod, then turned to follow the maidservant who darted forward to do her mistress’s bidding.
    Danilo caught Arilyn’s arm as she shouldered her way past him. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said, speaking only for her ears.
    She met his eyes and lifted one ebony brow. “On that,” she replied in kind, “you can bet your—”
    At that moment the dance music resumed, drowning out the last words of her response. Danilo, however, was fairly certain he got the gist of it.
    He watched her leave, her stride back to its normal length now that the slender column of velvet no longer hampered her. He sighed as he turned to face the family matriarch, the other of the two most formidable women he knew.
    Cassandra Thann was, or so most of Waterdeep believed, sister to Khelben Arunsun. She was also mother to nine children who had in turn supplied her with a small flock of grandchildren. She had probably passed her sixtieth winter, but despite the lines of displeasure creasing her brow, she appeared no more than a decade older than her youngest son. Her carefully arranged
    hair was just as thick and fair as his, her figure youthful and trim. The fine, sharp, sleek lines of her cheeks and jaw had not been blurred by age. Rumor suggested that Cassandra’s beauty owned a debt to potions of longevity, but Danilo didn’t believe it. More likely, the years simply didn’t dare to touch her.
    “Remarkable party,” he commented lightly. He clasped his hands behind his back as he eyed the renewed dancing. “Resilient crew, wouldn’t you say?”
    “A good thing they are,” Cassandra retorted, her sharp tone at odds with her blandly smiling countenance. “That ridiculous stunt of yours was nearly the end of this affair.”
    Danilo watched as Myrna Cassalanter, a young woman with bright henna-colored hair and the eyes of a hungry predator, closed in on his old friend Regnet Amcathra. Rumor had it that the Cassalanter clan was anticipating a match between their house and the young scion of the wealthy Amcathra clan—a rumor probably started by Myrna herself. Regnet, Danilo knew, had other thoughts on the matter. Panic, thinly veiled by gallantry, suffused poor Regnet’s face as he led Myrna onto the dance floor. No one, it seemed, was having an easy night.
    “An early end to the ball. What a disaster that would be,” Danilo murmured.
    “You insisted upon attending this year,” Lady Cassandra pointed out. Her eyes tracked the path Arilyn had taken out of the hall, then turned their full force on her son. “I trust that no announcement will be forthcoming this year?”
    This set Danilo back on his heels. For a moment, he wondered how Cassandra had learned of the plans he and Arilyn had cherished four years past. Upon consideration, he realized that his mother’s comment owed more to tradition than augury. It was not uncommon for betrothals to be announced at the harvest and spring festivals. Even so, her words disturbed him.
    “And if it were?” he challenged.
    “Ah.” Cassandra smiled faintly, her face reflecting an infuriating mixture of relief and satisfaction. “I thought as much. The rumors considering your … liaison… with this half-elf have been