Arclath swallowed, trying to think through his panting rage, to fight down his anger and frustration.

“Let…,” he gasped, “let me up. I’m… I can’t spend much longer tussling with you in this bed. ’Tisn’t seemly, as… older nobles say.”

“Aye,” Storm said in a dry voice, running one finger along his thigh-past the part of him that was stirring uncomfortably. “I’ve noticed.”

She raised herself on one elbow. “If I let you go, have I your word you’ll not depart this cabin, Lord Delcastle?”

Arclath crooked an eyebrow. “You really think you can hold me?”

Storm descended in a lunge that brought one of her hands around his throat. Her grip was like iron.

“Yes,” she replied calmly. “Yes, I do.”

She was giving him just enough space to breathe. Arclath used it to swallow, sigh, and tell her, “You have my word. Just as long as you tell me where Rune went, and what’s going on!”

Storm grinned. “The eternal demands of the young. I can answer your first. She’s gone somewhere near in the forest, taking Elminster to an… unexpected meeting. As for your second question, your guess, Lord Delcastle, is as good as mine. They should return soon, though, and you can be sure I’ll demand answers from them just as strenuously as you.”

Arclath nodded. “Your terms are accepted. Upon my word as a Delcastle.”

“That’s well spoken, lord,” she replied, in precisely the indulgent tones he’d heard matriarchs of Cormyr’s haughtiest noble Houses use.

Ah, but she was one, now, wasn’t she? Marchioness Immerdusk, and a few more titles since…

Huh. A matriarch less like his mother he couldn’t imagine.

His words were obviously what she’d been waiting for, so she released him.

“Someone,” Arclath said slowly, as he sat up and rubbed his throat, “was speaking in our minds when I awoke. Someone of great power.”

“Yes,” Storm replied calmly, handing him his sword and settling herself in a comfortable sitting position beside him. Her long, silver tresses curled almost demurely around her. Watching Gods, but she was beautiful.