She was floating off the ground. “Ye mean to kill him?” she asked, as if she were talking to someone standing before her. As she spoke, her eyes came back into focus. “The accent,” Jarlaxle remarked as Catti-brie’s shoulders shifted back—as if she thought she was leaning back in a chair, perhaps. “If ye be killing Entreri to free Regis and to stop him from hurting anyone else, then me heart says it’s a good thing,” the woman said, and leaned forward intently. “But if ye’re meaning to kill him to prove yerself or to deny what he is, then me heart cries.” “Calimport,” Drizzt whispered, vividly recalling the scene. “Wha—?” Bruenor started to ask, but Catti-brie continued, cutting him short. “Suren the world’s not fair, me friend. Suren by the measure of hearts, ye been wronged. But are ye after the assassin for yer own anger? Will killing Entreri cure the wrong? “Look in the mirror, Drizzt Do’Urden, without the mask. Killin’ Entreri won’t change the color of his skin—or the color of yer own.”
