Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [125]
"You must be very rich," she said,
Myrintara laughed, "My girls often say that, too-usually just before asking for money."
"She's generally thought to be the most successful pleasure-queen in all the Moonsea North,"
Oelaerone told Shandril.
Myrintara looked pleased, "I'm also a Harper and a sorceress, though I'd prefer if both those things were kept from the ears of the Zhentarim."
"How do the masks come into it-in your name, I mean?" Shandril asked curiously,
"She's an expert at cloaking magic; such spells used to be called 'masks' in the Old Empires," Mirt said.
Shandril looked at him, "How is it you know all about her?"
Myrintara laughed again, "We were lovers, girl, Years ago." She looked fondly at Mirt, and added,
"Before he got fat"
Mirt looked injured; Shandril giggled at his expression, Myrintara glanced teasingly at him and sang a snatch of an old song: "Go upstairs, take off your armor…"
"No time now," Mirt growled at her, "But if there were, Myrin, ye'd have to watch sharp-or I'd slide ye down the stair rail again,"
Shandril looked back down the long, gleaming bannister of the stairs in wonder, At her expression, both Mirt and Myrintara exploded in laughter.
They were still laughing when Myrinlara ushered them through an arched doorway into a small room that was bare except for what looked like a massive stone coffin filled with water, Then she turned, face suddenly serious, and asked, "My dear, will you submit to one of my masking spells?"
"Will it make me subject to someone else's will?" Shandril asked quietly.
"No," Myrintara assured her, and Shandril nodded, "Step into the tub," Myrintara directed, "and lie down." Belarla and Oelaerone looked down at their soiled clothes and peered longingly at the water but said nothing.
Shandril looked up at Myrintara. "Like this?" Myrintara nodded, "I'll cast the spell on the water and then push you under the surface. Hold your breath and don't be alarmed; Ill let you rise very soon."
A few breaths later, it was done, and a dripping Shandril rose from the tub, Its once-clear water was now a muddv brown; Myrintara looked at it and sighed as she helped Shandril out. "Immersing you ensures you're completely covered," she said, "cloaked from all detecting magics. When you use spellfire again, my mask will be destroyed, but until then-no magic can find you, or see you if it is bent on someone or something known to be with you."
She led them down a passage and through an ornate archway into a chamber that took Shandril's breath away, Under her dripping feet were white fur rugs-whole pelts of northern snow bears. Each one stretched a good six paces in length; they formed a path toward a shallow stairway. The steps led to a raised area where a circular bed floated in midair. Polished, curved mirrors floated around it and spells made stars seem to glimmer in a night sky, Belarla whistled, looking up, "That's nice,"
Myrintara smiled, "The moon rises to match the real Selune in the sky outside-Tears and all."
Oelaerone made an acquisitive, purring sound in her throat, and turned on her heel to survey the rest of the room-a gleaming, luxurious array of smooth-finished chairs, dangling chains, restraining rings, and statues that were astonishingly lifelike, exquisitely beautiful, and breathtakingly explicit. Mirt was looking around with a sly smile and a raised eyebrow.
"See something you like, Old Wolf?" Myrintara asked him challengingly, an eyebrow raised.
"I should have stayed," Mirt said regretfully.
Myrintara laughed again and left them to a screen at the back of her huge boudoir. Behind it, another archway led into her wardrobe, Shandril had never seen so manv clothes in one place before-racks and racks of them, some hanging on wooden forms that dangled from the ceiling on chains. She stared around as Myrintara took them briskly through the corridor of clothes into dimness at the back of the room. There, for the first time, they found a few discarded chairs, with