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Authors: Philip Athans
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dear,” Inthelph said returning the woman’s curtsey with a little nod.
The two began trading banalities and Willem found himself utterly hung out to dry. He suppressed the beginnings of a feeling that might have turned into indignation,
anger, or something else inappropriate and instead stepped back a few steps and turnedinto the face of a woman who was walking quickly behind him.
They both recoiled from the near collision, eliciting only cursory glances from the partygoers around them. There were a few stuttered apologies, furtive glances, only passing the other’s gaze, and they stepped away from each other, he with boot heel clacking on the polished wood floor, her in a rustle of skirts and a toss of an errant strand of hair.
Before Willem could voice a suitable apology, he finally really saw her.
She was young, but Willem couldn’t say how young. Her body, hidden as it was in the formal skirts and fold after fold of silk and satin, was difficult to make out but she reflected a sense of slimness devoid of athleticism. Her pale face with its prominent cheekbones and slightly too-sunken eyes was one that in a woman of her youth would be called “homely” but would surely turn to “handsome” by her fortieth year. Her eyes blazed blue, and one of them peeked at him from behind that errant strand of chestnut hair, long and straight, with just the hint of a curl at the very last quarter inch. She smelled of rose oil and her thin lips were brushed with just a wisp of red. Her hands, as pale as her face, were tiny, ending in thin fingers that came almost to points at the tips, fingernails well manicured but not painted.
“Do please accept my apologies, miss,” Willem said finally, hoping his voice didn’t sound as reedy and trivial to her as it had to himself.
She smiled at him, and for just the briefest moment it was a smile of such warm sincerity that Willem was all but knocked over by it. He felt the curve of her lips, and the sparkle that passed like a shooting star in her eyes, in the deepest bottom of his heart.
Then her smile faded to one of polite graciousness, and Willem wanted to take a step away from her but didn’t.
“May I introduce myself?” he asked her, his voice finally sounding like his own.
She cleared her throatnot a dainty sound, Willem was surprised to enjoyand said, “If that is your custom, sir.”
Her voice wouldn’t have sounded like music to anyone else’s ears but Willem’s.
“Willem Korvan,” a man’s voice said, startling both Willem and the girl.
Willem had to consciously refocus his eyes, forcing them away from the girl and to the man in military regalia who had appeared as if by some translocational magic at his left elbow.
“There you are,” the officer went on. Willem finally recognized him as Thenmun, a minor but quickly rising lieutenant who had been recently assigned to aid in the reconstruction of the wall. The lieutenant had apparently been told by someone in authority precisely what had led to his predecessor’s reassignment and since then he had done an admirable job of avoiding the master builder’s wrath or Willem’s.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Willem said, grasping right forearms with the man as was the custom in Innarlith. “Here I am”
“Ah,” said the young officer, “do you two know each other?”
“No,” Willem answered before the girl could. “I’m afraid we have not been properly introduced.”
The girl smiled at him again, showing only a half-second of that true smileenough to cause Willem’s palms to sweat.
“Well, then, please allow me,” said Thenmun. “Miss Halina Sverdej, this is Master Willem Korvan, late of the kingdom of Cormyr.”
Thankfully, it was not custom for men and women only just introduced to take hands, so instead she curtsied again.
Willem nodded and said, “Miss Sverdej, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise, Master Korvan,” she said. “Please, call me Willem.” The
The two began trading banalities and Willem found himself utterly hung out to dry. He suppressed the beginnings of a feeling that might have turned into indignation,
anger, or something else inappropriate and instead stepped back a few steps and turnedinto the face of a woman who was walking quickly behind him.
They both recoiled from the near collision, eliciting only cursory glances from the partygoers around them. There were a few stuttered apologies, furtive glances, only passing the other’s gaze, and they stepped away from each other, he with boot heel clacking on the polished wood floor, her in a rustle of skirts and a toss of an errant strand of hair.
Before Willem could voice a suitable apology, he finally really saw her.
She was young, but Willem couldn’t say how young. Her body, hidden as it was in the formal skirts and fold after fold of silk and satin, was difficult to make out but she reflected a sense of slimness devoid of athleticism. Her pale face with its prominent cheekbones and slightly too-sunken eyes was one that in a woman of her youth would be called “homely” but would surely turn to “handsome” by her fortieth year. Her eyes blazed blue, and one of them peeked at him from behind that errant strand of chestnut hair, long and straight, with just the hint of a curl at the very last quarter inch. She smelled of rose oil and her thin lips were brushed with just a wisp of red. Her hands, as pale as her face, were tiny, ending in thin fingers that came almost to points at the tips, fingernails well manicured but not painted.
“Do please accept my apologies, miss,” Willem said finally, hoping his voice didn’t sound as reedy and trivial to her as it had to himself.
She smiled at him, and for just the briefest moment it was a smile of such warm sincerity that Willem was all but knocked over by it. He felt the curve of her lips, and the sparkle that passed like a shooting star in her eyes, in the deepest bottom of his heart.
Then her smile faded to one of polite graciousness, and Willem wanted to take a step away from her but didn’t.
“May I introduce myself?” he asked her, his voice finally sounding like his own.
She cleared her throatnot a dainty sound, Willem was surprised to enjoyand said, “If that is your custom, sir.”
Her voice wouldn’t have sounded like music to anyone else’s ears but Willem’s.
“Willem Korvan,” a man’s voice said, startling both Willem and the girl.
Willem had to consciously refocus his eyes, forcing them away from the girl and to the man in military regalia who had appeared as if by some translocational magic at his left elbow.
“There you are,” the officer went on. Willem finally recognized him as Thenmun, a minor but quickly rising lieutenant who had been recently assigned to aid in the reconstruction of the wall. The lieutenant had apparently been told by someone in authority precisely what had led to his predecessor’s reassignment and since then he had done an admirable job of avoiding the master builder’s wrath or Willem’s.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Willem said, grasping right forearms with the man as was the custom in Innarlith. “Here I am”
“Ah,” said the young officer, “do you two know each other?”
“No,” Willem answered before the girl could. “I’m afraid we have not been properly introduced.”
The girl smiled at him again, showing only a half-second of that true smileenough to cause Willem’s palms to sweat.
“Well, then, please allow me,” said Thenmun. “Miss Halina Sverdej, this is Master Willem Korvan, late of the kingdom of Cormyr.”
Thankfully, it was not custom for men and women only just introduced to take hands, so instead she curtsied again.
Willem nodded and said, “Miss Sverdej, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise, Master Korvan,” she said. “Please, call me Willem.” The
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