His reflexive movement showed her that he wasn't in the mood for any of that, though.

"Is it your anger?" the woman prodded. "Are you still thinking of that? The anger that created Artemis Entreri?"

"You know nothing," Entreri assured her, and shot her a look that even in the darkness she could sense warned her that she was walking on ground uninvited.

"Anger at who?" she asked anyway. "At what?"

"No, not anger," Entreri corrected, and he was talking to himself more than to her. "Disgust."

"At?"

"Yes," Entreri answered, and he pulled away and stood up.

He turned to Calihye. She shook her head and slowly slid off the bed to move to stand at Entreri's side. She gently draped her arm behind his neck and leaned in close.

"Do I disgust you?" she whispered in his ear.

Not yet, Entreri thought, but did not say. But if you ever do, I will put a sword through your heart.

He forced that notion from his thoughts and put his hand over Calihye's, then glanced sidelong at her and offered a comforting smile.

PART ONE

TIGHTROPE

Are they still together, walking side by side, hands ever near the hilts of their weapons— to defend against each other, I would guess, as much as from other enemies?

Many times I think of them, Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle. Even with the coming of King Obould and his orc hordes, even amidst the war and the threat to Mithral Hall, I find my thoughts often wandering the miles of distance and time to find in my mind's eye a reckoning of the unlikely pair.

Why do I care?

For Jarlaxle, there is the ever-present notion that he once knew my father, that he once wandered the ways of Menzoberranzan beside Zaknafein, perhaps much as he now wanders the ways of the World Above beside Artemis Entreri.