Songs & Swords 2 by Elaine Cunningham Page A

abundant mustache—had engaged her to show him the city’s sights. She did not like the man, but, since Tethyr was a constantly simmering caldron of political trouble, she would skim what knowledge she could from him.
    Despite all these successes, Larissa had felt vaguely ill for most of the evening and had been glad to see the party end. Perhaps she had caught a chill, she mused, glancing at the costume she’d tossed over a velvet settee near the door, just before she’d fallen into bed. The form-fitting, richly embroidered gown of a Shou princess had attracted much admiration, but thin red satin offered little protection from the chill night winds that buffeted the Sea Ward. Or perhaps she had simply been working too hard. In recent weeks, the Lords of Waterdeep had been stretched to the limits of their various abilities. Larissa’s talent was gathering information, and her sphere was the whirl of social events and court functions. She could not remember the last time she’d slept for more than two or three hours, and she was beginning to feel a kinship with the walking dead.
    Whatever the case, Larissa was in no mood to play the part of a simpering courtesan, dancing to some stranger’s whims. Usually she played her role with real pride and genuine enjoyment, but she had no heart for it today.
    Well, there was no help for it. Larissa stifled a yawn and continued her preparations. First she unbraided her red hair. Since her luxuriant tresses were too long for her to brush herself, she rang the small brass bell that would summon her maid. She stripped off her rings and massaged scented ointment into her hands. Then she rose from the dressing table and glided over to a vast oak wardrobe. Her pale green nightgown, a marvel of translucent silk, swirled and floated about her legs as she moved. Throwing open the wardrobe door, she began to debate which gown her latest client might fancy.
    Behind her, the bedchamber door creaked open. “Come in, Marta, and hurry. I must be dressed in an hour,” Larissa said without turning.
    “You need not bother, dear lady,” said a deep, heavily accented voice. “That green gown you are almost wearing pleases me well.”
    Startled, Larissa whirled in a cloud of floating silk. Lord Hhune of Tethyr was seated on the settee, insolently fingering the red satin of her Shou costume. In the doorway stood two dark-clad men, wielding curved daggers and holding captive between them a terrified Marta.
    Larissa’s right hand went instinctively to her left pinkie, reaching for the enspelled ring given to all Waterdeep’s Lords. Her heart plummeted when she realized she’d inadvertently taken it off with her other rings and left it on the dressing table. The ring not only granted her immunity to poisons, but it would have allowed her to summon her powerful comrades. Her mind raced over other options. Screaming for help would be futile. She had several skilled and trusted fighters among her servants; if they were not already here defending her, they were dead. All her gowns were equipped with cunningly hidden stilettos, but her nearly transparent nightgowns afforded her no such protection. Larissa had but one weapon at hand—the art of a courtesan—and her maid’s life depended upon her skill in wielding it.
    With a delicate laugh, Larissa glided over to Hhune. “I am flattered by your impatience,” she said in sultry tones. Looking up into his face, she gave him her most winsome smile and began to toy with the buttons on his coat
    “But my maid has little skill in such games as you and I might enjoy. Surely, your men would be better served at any one of our city’s feasthalls. Perhaps you could give them a day’s holiday to taste the city’s pleasures, so that we might spend the afternoon in … privacy?”
    Larissa swayed closer, and Hhune’s eyes darkened with an expression the courtesan knew well. She began to allow herself a bit of hope.
    “You are most beautiful,” the nobleman