The Feywild Job

Chapter One

The Pigeon Drop

In Which Sael­dian Is Given an Offer They Can’t Refuse

Aunt Lothiel’s Teas and Temptations was full of sparkling charm, and Sael­dian was sorry they would never be able to come back after this scam was over. The pearlescent glitter the hostess had sprinkled on their hands had felt like divination magic, and Sael­dian had to assume they’d been caught using their disguise.

The gnome who had shaken the powder across Sael­dian’s knuckles while greeting them with “Make a wish!” hadn’t reacted, though. She led Sael­dian to the table they asked for, sitting in a sunbeam with a lacy tablecloth draped all the way to the floor, and left them to get comfortable. The right man had noticed Sael­dian when they first arrived and had already glanced their way again as they sat down.

Wearing a little illusion magic wasn’t a crime, even if Sael­dian had sculpted an image that gave them a beautiful disguise. They darkened their skin to gleaming, flawless brown and made their eyes light hazel, and decided on adding a tidy, precisely shaped beard with face-­sculpting makeup and silky, shiny brown hair a little darker than their skin. Their ensemble had been shaped by will instead of a needle. It wasn’t like they’d showed up armed, after all. Plenty of people in Waterdeep might correct an uneven chin or hide another imperfection. And their appearance had caught the attention of their target—­a well-­dressed, wealthy young man with real silver buttons on his silk brocade doublet.

He would do.

Sael­dian quickly glanced away, then looked back, and the mark smiled. Sael­dian studied the tablecloth, allowing a little smile as they did. He was human, and he wasn’t bad-­looking. His clothes were pressed and well fitted; he had neatly styled hair and a nice smile and the ease of someone who never had to think about how much gold anything cost. Sael­dian had a cistern leak that was very helpfully proving that the shingles under it needed patching. Remembering it helped the worry Sael­dian let show on their face seem real, and they glanced at the door.

The tea and cakes arrived on a pedestal plate. Sael­dian poured a dainty glass cup before checking back on the mark, who smiled the moment their gazes met. Sael­dian smiled back and reached for a cake that smelled of violets, popped it into their mouth, and choked.

The little round table rocked as Sael­dian shot to their feet. The carved chair tumbled backward. The teacup sloshed an amber stain over the tablecloth, rattling in its saucer. Sael­dian clutched at their throat and headed for the comfort room, but the mark leapt out of his seat, getting in their way.

He was taller and stronger, so he easily turned Sael­dian away and pulled them so close the silver buttons on his doublet pressed against their slender back.

“Bend forward,” he commanded.

Sael­dian squeaked as if outrage were the correct response, but they obeyed. The arm around their waist tightened. Two smart blows landed exactly between their shoulder blades. A lump of half-­chewed cake and violet petals landed on the gleaming walnut floorboards.

Sael­dian sucked up a huge breath and fell to coughing. The mark didn’t let them go.

“Are you all right?”

Perfectly played. Sael­dian raised their hand, asking for a moment, and coughed harder.

“Not yet,” he observed wryly. “Allow me.”

He guided Sael­dian back to their table. As they walked, Sael­dian glanced at the pale blue tiefling in a fashionable silk shirt and a shiny yellow cravat sitting at the table by the door. Jubilee sipped a delicate cup that steamed with heat and popped a pale yellow cake into her mouth. She watched the spectacle, no more curiously than the others, but Sael­dian could almost hear her saying, Good work, Sheld.

Of course it was good work. Sael­dian Charmhand never missed a hook. Jubilee hadn’t panicked either. That deserved some praise, once they walked away from this phase of the job and Jubilee would need feedback and reassurance.

The gentleman set the toppled chair on its feet. “Some helm­thorn berry tea? A small sip will soothe your throat, but I don’t blame you if you’re wary of the cakes.”

Sael­dian gave a shaky laugh. “Perhaps I’ll brave the cakes another day. Thank you for your rescue, even if I’m so embarrassed I want to disappear.”

“It could happen to anyone.”

“Yes, but it happened while I was rudely staring at you.”

He set his shoulders back as he gave a pleased smile. “Is it terrible if I say I’m flattered?”

Hooked. “I’m Helarel Brightleaf,” Sael­dian lied.

He was close enough for Sael­dian to watch his eyes shine. “Venthar Dornan.”

“Thank you for rescuing me, Saer Dornan.”

The table had been cleared. The lace tablecloth was pristine white. A human server stood a polite distance away, holding a tray with a fresh pot and cups. “My duty and pleasure, Saer Brightleaf. May I sit with you while you recover?”

“Oh—­” Sael­dian looked to the door and let their shoulders sink. “Yes. I—­think it’s all right.”

Venthar looked at the door and leaned in closer to say, “You are expecting someone. How late are they?”

Sael­dian stopped stirring honey into their tea. “How did you know?”

“You were watching the door. And forgive me, but you looked worried.”

Sael­dian let themself sigh. “I think they’re not coming.”

He’d rescued Sael­dian once already. A little more curiosity, and they’d have enough to patch the cistern again. The roof was tomorrow’s problem.

“They’re a fool,” Venthar declared. “Who would leave you so rudely unaccompanied?”

Sael­dian smiled. So easy. “You’re so sweet. But it was a business meeting. Or, I should say, a business plea.”

“A business meeting?” Venthar’s smile became a little indulgent. “What kind of business? I’d love to know.”

“I have spent some years dedicating myself to the call of fashion intersected with practical enchantment,” Sael­dian said. “I had an idea. And it worked! But I need a particular material—­oh, you don’t want to know all of this.”

“On the contrary! I am most intrigued. Fashion, you say? Like the ensemble you currently wear? It’s quite lovely.”

Sael­dian had fine-­tuned every detail of this ensemble, from the sharply pressed pleats of their heavy silk robe belted over a wide, smooth skirt to a mostly unbuttoned vest woven from fabric as iridescent as grackle feathers. It suited Sael­dian’s elegant, long-­limbed motions and the changing weather that had finally come to Waterdeep. “This is my design, yes, but it’s not what I meant.”

“Really? Here I was wondering if one of the fey had come to enjoy tea and cakes before Goldenight revels.”

“You’re so kind,” Sael­dian said. “I won’t deny the influence. But a hundred cutters in Waterdeep could match it without so much as a whisper of the Weave involved. I have developed a more . . . bespoke service. I’m getting this all tangled. Let me show you.”

Sael­dian reached inside their pouch and pulled out the bait. They spread a square of embroidered cloth across their palm and offered it to Venthar, who stared at it for a moment before daring to touch it.

He could poke at it all he liked. Sael­dian’s best work went into that handkerchief.

“We don’t even know what to call it yet,” Sael­dian murmured. “It’s spun from the result of our experiment, and it’s a long story, but—­”

Venthar wasn’t listening.

He’d touched the fabric and traced his finger over the embroidery. Not a stitch out of place. Sael­dian had been careful while making this filmy white-­on-­white square, and the magic they’d infused into it wove through every thread.

It took another minute before Venthar summoned the will to close his eyes and lift his hand away, rubbing it on his own silk-­embroidered jacket. He winced a little.

“We can’t make it into woven cloth; the cost would be unthinkable. But the thread—­”

“It’s beautiful,” Venthar said. “Illusion magic, of course. But—­”

“It’s Enchantment,” Sael­dian corrected. Gently. “It makes the wearer feel confident, seem magnetic. It’s . . . charisma.”

And Sael­dian’s spell would fade in a few minutes, so they tucked the sample into a tiny pouch. Venthar looked disappointed for a moment.

“This sample is overdone just to demonstrate what the charm­thread can do,” Sael­dian explained. “It wouldn’t be responsible to use this much of it on an entire ensemble. If someone had all their stitchwork done with this—­”

He leaned closer. “What?”