In which Jarlaxle and Artemis take a flight.
“This is not an apology!” Artemis shouted.
He had to shout to be certain of being heard over the rushing wind and the snap of griffon wings. Jarlaxle patted his hand, threw a grin over his shoulder, and the griffon suddenly banked hard east. Artemis gripped Jarlaxle tighter—east was better than west at least, because west lay the harbour, and he had no desire to take an impromptu dip off a hundred-foot drop.
He’d almost stabbed Jarlaxle when he’d shown up at Tymora’s Blessing in the middle of the night, whispering Artemis’ name in the dark. Somehow, Artemis had let himself be persuaded out of the inn and onto this beast. Rooftops flashed past below, too fast for him to tell if anyone bore witness to their mad flight. He hadn’t even known Jarlaxle could ride a griffon—though he supposed at this point he shouldn’t have been surprised.
The griffon’s wings beat harder and the city fell further and further away below. Artemis’ stomach lurched, and this was surely what Jarlaxle had wanted—him clinging on for dear life. Jarlaxle himself seemed perfectly at-ease. He leaned back against Artemis as the griffon evened out, slowing into an easy soar across sleeping Waterdeep.
“I’m sorry about the dragon,” he said. His fingers traced idly over Artemis’ white-knuckled grip.
“Her offspring is going to make you sorrier.”
Jarlaxle chuckled and glanced out over the dark harbour. “Only if the wyrmling finds out I have the crystal.”
“Which it will, if those new friends of yours keep prying.”
“For someone who decided he wasn’t getting involved, you are surprisingly up to date on my affairs.”
“Where you are concerned, it pays to be well-informed.”
The griffon angled around in a wide arc through the night, and as it flew lazily on, Artemis found himself searching the harbour, eyes flicking over the larger vessels moored out away from the docks. He picked out the Eyecatcher easily enough, and thought again of the offer of a berth.
In his arms, Jarlaxle hummed something, so low that Artemis felt more than heard it. A drone-like melody, littered with little runs of off-kilter arpeggios. Menzoberranzan music.
Artemis sighed, and set his chin on Jarlaxle’s shoulder. “Where did you even get this creature? It’s not part of your carnival.”
“I’m flattered you remember the contents of my carnival so clearly.”
“Answer the question.” Artemis tugged an earring with his teeth.
“I borrowed it.” Artemis bit him. “I’m going to give it back! Besides, you ought to know better by now than to ask questions you do not want the answer to.”
“I ought to know better by now than to let you talk me into things.”
“Mm, that you should.” Jarlaxle turned his head, and though the angle was awkward, he caught Artemis’ mouth in a kiss anyway. “I’m glad you don’t.”
“Get me back to the inn in one piece, and perhaps I’ll let you talk me into something else,” Artemis said. The thrum of excitement that ran through Jarlaxle was tangible.
“Truly?”
“Inn. One piece. Then we’ll talk.”
Jarlaxle leaned over the griffon’s neck. “You heard the man—quickly, before he changes his mind!”
They swept over the sleeping city, and by the time they made it back to Tymora’s Blessing, Artemis had not, as it turned out, changed his mind.