Bernard saw Patricia as she came down the stairs just after dusk. There was a short lull now at the bar. The wave of customers who stopped in for their evening pint and a half-hour’s chat had mostly headed on home, while the serious carousers had barely begun their night’s drinking. The bartender had hoped she’d come to see him tonight. He knew what she wanted to ask. Delaine had written to him, asking him to be the one to tell a long-forgotten tale to this young woman with the face shut tight as a barred window. If it weren’t for Patricia’s sake, it would be better to let the story die away with the minds of those who had lived it.

“Bernard, are you very busy right now?”

He smiled at her. He’d had the chance to observe her several times now, and he knew that scarcely anyone she met could be harsh or rude to her. The worst ruffians had drifted away since Hendak had taken over the Coronet, true, but still there was something uncanny in the way the other patrons automatically made way for her. Perhaps it was a bit of her mother’s gift, but more likely it was because she dealt with everyone as a respected equal, and received the same treatment in turn. Except for that drunk half-elf this afternoon.

Bernard chuckled at the recollection. The sailor had somehow wandered all the way up here from the docks two days ago, and he’d stayed just the right side of being so flagrantly offensive to every woman he saw that he’d be thrown out. And a fat lot of good it’d done him, too. Last night he’d had to settle for one of Madam Nin’s girls, and even Priss had only agreed after the half-elf had paid a few extra coins to get a cleric to silence him for the duration.

He’d still been asleep when Patricia and her friends had returned to the inn a little after noon, so his first encounter with the monk had come when she and that Watcher had come back from transacting some business. The squire had come on up to the bar and ordered a tankard of ale, while Patricia had ducked straight into the kitchen to see Gemma the cook. When she returned, Salvanas apparently thought she’d been unaccompanied, and Anomen’s attention was on a joke the potboy was telling, so the squire didn’t interfere at the start.

The half-elf’s eyes lit up as he assessed the form passing in front of him. Bernard had to admit that the girl had certainly inherited her mother’s grace and fine figure, for all she hid it behind nondescript clothes. She had well-curved hips and a narrow enough waist, and enough above to balance it out. She was no malnourished street urchin or blowsy fishwife by any means.

Salvanas had practically licked his chops at the sight of her. As she passed by his stool, he said, “Ahhh... hello, my dear lady. You do look so... delicious... that the mere thought of wrapping my tongue around you enflames my mind with feelings of desire.…”

Patricia had halted instinctively as he began to address her, and from his vantage point behind the bar, Bernard had seen the first quick look of interest turn into puzzlement, then irritation, though she quickly wiped it away.

“I believe you have mistaken me for someone of your acquaintance, sir,” she said expressionlessly. “I assure you that my flavor would be unexceptional, and I do not suggest that you try the experiment.” With which rejoinder, she glided away.

“You wound me, my darling cub!” cried Salvanas tipsily, raising his mug and his voice until everyone at the bar, including Anomen, turned to stare. “I only wish to gorge myself on your beauty, to sate myself on your divine presence! My name is Salvanas di Riyos, and all I want is to be entwined by your arms in the embrace of sweet passion for a fortnight---.”

He got no further. Patricia had already disappeared through the door at the top of the stairwell, having apparently dismissed the drunk from her mind, but a heavy hand now descended on his shoulder. The slight man turned to find a large human wearing a tunic emblazoned with the insignia of the Radiant Heart staring grimly at him.

Bernard and all the other employees were intensely interested in the developing scene. They’d all been hoping that Salvanas would breach the unwritten code of tavern behavior and give them an excuse for pitching him through the door, and now it looked as if they were even going to be spared making the effort themselves.

“I understand that you will be packing your things and returning to your ship at once, Sailor di Riyos,” came the haughty, icy voice of Anomen.

Salvanas had had just enough to drink to make him a little slow on the uptake. “Er, no, I’ve got three more days of leave before we sail south,” said the half-elf. He winced as the hand on his shoulder suddenly tightened with a piercing grip.

“I’m sure you are mistaken. Your captain is calling for you even now, can’t you hear him?” The hand tightened even more, digging into a sensitive spot near his collarbone. Bernard could tell exactly when the squire’s subtler message finally penetrated the inebriated sailor’s brain, because an expression of horror filled his face.

Salvanas nodded weakly. “Aye, he does seem to have a sudden urgent need for my presence. If you’ll excuse me, I’d best be settling me score.”

Anomen had released the pressure then, converting it into a hearty buffet on the back that might have passed for a friendly slap by an uninformed observer. Bernard knew better. In his pathetic eagerness to make amends, the half-elf managed to make yet another blunder. “I’m sure I apologize for mistaking your woman for an old friend.”

Anomen halted in his tracks. He was halfway back to his tankard, but he turned around and went back to face the man again. His voice held a deadly fury this time as he addressed Salvanas.

“Sister Patricia is no man’s ‘woman’! Do not insult her honor or mine again, or I shall be forced to take steps. She is skilled enough to dispatch you with one blow, but she should not have to sully herself with the likes of you! Begone and never darken the door of this place again!”

Several of the tavern wenches exchanged meaningful glances as Anomen stood with crossed arms while Salvanas scurried away to collect his few belongings. “Must be sweet on ‘er,” whispered the potboy. “An’ I bet he’s never even kissed ‘er ‘and, loike, for all they’s grand folk a-goin’ on advenchoors. That Patricia could do better’n one of them cross Helm folks, though; she’s a real nice leddy. Ain’t got no side on her.” And Bernard remembered that he’d forgotten his own position so far as to agree with the lad, instead of boxing his ears.

He recalled all this in a few split seconds as he finished mopping the counter before replying to Patricia’s question. “No, the girls can cover the orders for a bit, and Kered’ll come get me if things get a bit out of hand. I know why you’ve come to see me; your cousin Delaine wrote me a letter. Come with me to Hendak’s office. I’ve a tale to tell you, and there’s something you should see.”

He could tell Patricia was somewhat mystified, but she followed without question. Once in the office, he poured them each a glass of Evergold from Lehtinan’s old stash. The barkeep took a chain out from under his tunic, and used the attached key to open a hidden safe in the wall. He drew out a long package wrapped in oilskin and laid it lengthways across Hendak’s desk.

“This is your inheritance, Patricia Rosehill,” he said in answer to her inquiring look, then held up a hand to forestall her questions. “I have a tale to tell you first, one that I thought you would have learned long ago. But Lady Delaine says that Gorion wanted only to forget as much of the past as he could, and so you have been left ignorant of much of your heritage. I was only a footman on House Rosehill’s town estate then, but I was sweet on your mother’s maid, so I got to know a good bit of what went on through her.”

“The whole love affair between Lady Delspeth Rosehill and your father began some thirty years back, in the late summer of 1339. Well, you might say that it was fated to happen once Winthrop met Lady Delaine, for it was the marriage of those two that brought the others together. Winthrop and Gorion came here from some other world; you know that much, right?”

Patricia nodded. “Yes, that much they told me. They stumbled into Abeir-Toril purely by mistake, then turned themselves to mastering the magic that was not available to them at home. They said they spent some years traveling on spelljammers, too.” She furrowed her brow, as if trying hard to recollect something else, but seemed to give up after a few seconds.

“You need to know something of your grandparents. They were very haughty folk, not downright cruel, but very intolerant of anyone that they felt was trying to move out of the proper station. Hidebound might be a good term. Well, Lord and Lady Rosehill had one daughter, but that was all. They’d one niece, Delaine, who was the child of the Lord’s younger brother that had died young. The only other blood of the House left was the Lord’s much younger sister.”

“Well, the future of the House depended on Delspeth making a good marriage. Lord Rosehill wanted a man of noble blood but poor prospects, who wouldn’t mind having his children be known as Rosehills. At first he thought he was in high luck, for Lady Delspeth was always a pretty child, and by twelve she was turning heads in the street. At fourteen the chief cleric of Sune came to beg Lord Rosehill to let Delspeth come to their temple as a novice. The lord had known the high priestess for years, so he agreed to let her train, on condition that Delspeth wear a certain metallic item of clothing. He wanted his daughter trained to arouse passion in others, but not to indulge in it herself. Quite simply, he looked on it as raising her marketability.”

“Delaine had always been in second place, but she was actually rather grateful to be out of the center of attention. The girl learned a few spells, but she could sing like a nightingale, and Lady Rosehill hoped that that would earn her fame when it came time for her to make her debut in grand society. Delaine had only half the fortune and none of the property that were Delspeth’s dowry, and she was left to do pretty much as she liked once she outgrew governesses. That was about the time I entered service.”

“Winthrop arrived in Athkatla in the winter of 1338. You were raised by him, so you know what a fine tenor he is. He and your father had parted ways for a few months, while Gorion went to study with some mage up north. Winthrop chose to stay here where the winter weather is less harsh. His voice and his manners were enough to earn him entry to the edges of high society, and he never seemed short of ready coin. By late spring he even found himself receiving invitations from some of the Foolish Forty, as the rest of us called the highest echelons of Athkatlan nobility in those days. Things have loosened up a good bit since the Godswar. It was at a party given by the Jysstevs--- they’ve always liked having a reputation for being patrons of the arts--- that Winthrop first heard Delaine sing. He was smitten at once.”

“Well, the long and the short of it is that the two of them decided to simply announce their wedding to your grandparents after the fact, on the grounds that it was usually easier to obtain forgiveness than permission. Gigi--- that was my wife’s name, the one who used to be the Rosehill girls’ maid--- helped them plan it all. The housekeeper knew we were keeping company, and she approved enow that she let us have the same afternoon out. One afternoon it was Lady Delaine and Winthrop that walked away from the house, and not us.”

Bernard chuckled, remembering the long hours of whispered confabulations that had led up to that moment. He saw Patricia staring at him aghast. “You mean Mama Delaine just ran off without telling anyone where she was going? After all the lectures they gave Immy and I when we were children about responsibility and always letting your parents know where you are?”

“Well, girl, a lot of water’s gone under the bridge since then. Things change when you’ve young ones of your own to raise. But I tell you I do think they had the right of it. Winthrop had the money and the manners, everything but a title. A good many of the other nobles would have jumped at getting a poorer relation so well settled, but not your grandpa. No, the only way to do it was what your cousin did. They walked straight down to the docks and got a priest of Oghma to wed ‘em. They paid the fee to have the marriage announced by the town criers, then rode off to Trademeet for a week. When they came back, Lord Rosehill didn’t have much choice but to put the best face on the affair and act as if he’d given his approval to the match.”

The bartender could tell that Patricia was struggling with this new view of the people who’d raised her. Winthrop and Delaine had done a good job with her and her sister; the woman was a credit to them, though a bit quieter than he’d expected. That was probably a streak of her father in her. Well, he’d best go on with his tale, or they’d be there all night.

“After a few months more in Athkatla, Lady Delaine and Winthrop went north to meet your father at Candlekeep, where he’d gone to buckle down to learning magic. I think they all stayed there for the next winter, then did a bit of adventuring in the spring, before they returned here to the City of Coin towards the end of Flamerule.”

“Your mother hadn’t been at home for a year or more; her beauty was so great that she was chosen to accompany the high priestess to the House of Beauty in Waterdeep for one of the great Sunite festivals. Lord Rosehill let her go because she had just turned seventeen, but he wanted to delay her debutante ball for a few months, until the maximum number of eligible suitors would be in town for the season. Gigi had stayed behind because the high priestess refused to let her accompany them. She said she wasn’t pretty enough, which didn’t sit any too well with me. By the time Lady Delspeth returned, your cousin had been gone for some months.”

“The older nobles still talk about ‘Delspeth’s Ball in Deepwinter’ as the height of entertainment. I know all of us on the staff were worn to a shadow by the time the day came. Lord and Lady Rosehill had their perfect night, though. No one could even remotely hold a candle to your mother. She outshone every woman in the room as the rising sun eclipses the light of the moon. By the next afternoon, the whole house was aswarm with noblemen bearing flowers and sweetmeats, until the place began to look more like a greenhouse than a residence. It was like Calimshan in reverse--- Lady Delspeth reigned supreme over a harem of titled men.”

“Yet for all the poetry she was read, and all the serenades played underneath her window, no one had yet touched Delspeth’s heart. Lord Rosehill had made a bit of a miscalculation by sending her into Firehair’s novitiate. Delspeth had learned too much to trust any man’s pretty words, no matter how sincere. She knew her father wouldn’t let her love freely, as is the true way of Sune, finding her pleasure where she might, and revoking her favor when she wished. She’d learned much of how to incite passion, but little of the constancy her father and Amnish law would expect. So she bided her time, showing none of her suitors more favor than another. Gigi told me that she heard Delspeth at her prayers many a morning, begging Lady Firehair to send her a man whose opinion she could believe.”

“So it went on for seven months. Lady Delaine and her husband returned then, with Gorion in tow, and of course Lord Rosehill could not bar them from the house. You know that your father’s eyesight was not good, yes?”

Patricia nodded. “He always had to wear those spectacles, custom-made at great expense by Bentley Mirrorshade. Papa said that Cure Disease spells wouldn’t fix what was wrong with his eyes, that they’d been shaped a bit wrong from birth. He showed me with alchemist’s watchglasses.”

“Aye, and the first time your father saw your mother, he couldn’t rightly be said to have seen her at all. He’d set them down while reading, and couldn’t find them again later. Turned out that they’d worked their way under a pile of papers. Well, he managed to make his way downstairs to the dining room for supper, and etiquette demanded that he be placed between Delaine and Delspeth at table. Delaine, of course, realized what had happened, and helped him out through the meal by saying things like ‘Oh, what lovely peas!’ or “No thank you, John, I’ve never liked sole,’ whenever the footman brought a new dish.”

“Lady Delspeth hadn’t laid eyes on him before then, but she noticed right off the bat that this skinny man didn’t stare at her like a moonstruck calf. In fact, he seemed to be unaware that she existed, except when she spoke. She told Gigi later that it was the most pleasant meal she’d had since she’d come home. The man actually took the time to listen to her, rather than ignoring what she said while he was trying to invent more compliments. By the end of the evening, she was smitten with him.”

“It took two more days for Gorion’s glasses to come to light, and during that time he couldn’t find any peace. No matter where he went, Delspeth kept turning up. In desperation, he finally begged her to read to him, so he could try to keep up with his studies that way. After so long around Delaine’s fine voice, Delspeth’s didn’t strike him as anything special, even though the poor girl used every trick she’d learned in Sune’s temple to try to make a necromancy spell sound like an invitation to have a romp in the hay.”

Bernard stopped suddenly, a little embarrassed. He’d gotten carried away himself, and Patricia was looking a shade uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and went on hurriedly. “Errr, well, once Gorion got a good look at her, he realized what he’d been missing, and it wasn’t long before they found themselves facing Lord and Lady Rosehill. Your grandfather blustered and blithered, but he had to concede defeat once Gorion bluntly told him that either he gave his consent, or there’d be hell to pay. Your father threatened to take Delspeth straight to the high priestess and demand that her chastity belt be removed. She was of age, and had been dedicated to the goddess’ service, and Lord Rosehill knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. They were wed very quietly the next morning.”

He stretched his hands forward to the package, unwrapping the oilskin covering to reveal a long rosewood box inlaid with a pattern of wild rambling roses. “The rest of the tale lies inside here. Your mother left you a letter and the contents of this box as your inheritance. I’ve been waiting a long time for you to come to claim it.”

Bernard stood and watched Patricia run her hand wonderingly down the case. He was impressed by the control she’d managed to hold over herself thus far, but he didn’t want to witness her reaction to the voice from the grave that waited within the box. He was grateful that Delspeth herself had taken on the chore of telling her daughter why she’d accepted death with open arms. He left the small office gladly, shutting the door behind him.