“I know we all know each other,” Manshoon said, “though I’ll admit I’d not intended us all to ever meet like this. Yet, circumstances change, and my paramount needs with them. So, gentlesirs, hear and heed attentively.” He gave them a soft, sharklike smile and added, “as I know you will.”

“Pull,” Storm commanded, turning away from him. A trifle gingerly, Arclath obeyed.

“Harder,” she added. Setting his jaw, he put his strength into it.

Suddenly, her arm moved sickeningly in his grasp. The silver-haired woman grunted like one of his guards taking a dagger thrust, reeled a little under his hands, and gasped, “Good. Back where it should be.”

Disengaging her arm, she turned to face him and growled with mock severity, “Now don’t make me have to do that again.”

Arclath drew in a deep and somewhat unsteady breath and then let it out again before he dared to reply, “I’ll try not to, Lady Immerdusk.”

Storm rolled her eyes. “Just ‘Storm,’ please. Whenever I hear that title, I feel several centuries older.” She reached for his tankard with the arm he’d just put back into its socket. “More tea?”

Arclath nodded, glanced at Amarune, and looked back at Storm. “I’m… ah, sorry to the both of you. To all three of you, rather, but Rune most of all. I-this is still going to take some getting used to, for me.”

“You’re not alone,” Amarune told him. “Raise the door bar again, and let’s get some sleep. I’m not just tired now; I’m cold.”

Storm proffered tea with one hand and a sleeping fur with the other. Then she leaned between the two Suzailans, long and sleek and shapely, to blow out the smoldering brazier.

“Let’s snuggle up. Elminster can keep watch.”

Arclath’s head came up. He gave her his best frown, and then peered all around the hut’s lone room… but saw only the two women. When his gaze came back to Storm, she looked amused.