Laspeera's smile was warm with promise. "You won't regret it."
Making no move to cover herself, she added, "Please don't be surprised or offended if I-or all of the royal family-pretend not to know you, if you happen to see us, even in private. If we think Vangerdahast is spying on us at that moment, our acting thus may be all that protects your life. Remember always that you will be safest if he doesn't notice you at all."
She leaned forward over the fire.
"As for me, I've been watching you for a long time, and I like what I see." Then she blew him a kiss and added softly, "Take care of yourself, Brorn."
A moment later, she was gone. Vanished as if she'd never been there at all, leaving only the other sack of coins across the flickering flames from him.
After a moment, Brorn cursed, raced around the fire, and clawed that sack open. More golden lions and-he plucked up a few at random and eyed them very closely-aye, as good as any minting he'd ever seen.
"Tymora," he muttered, "I don't know what I did to gain your good graces, but-thank you. A thousand thank yous. I hope you won't be offended if I bury most of these, take a handful, and go and get myself a playpretty for a long night of proper rutting before I seek out one of your altars and make a proper offering."
Filling his pouch, he scooped coins back into the sacks, tetied them, and sat back with a disbelieving shake of his head.
"Holy dancing dung-goblins," he told the fife in happy disbelief.
Tymora was merciful. The fire didn't answer back.
Chapter 11
Deliverance from tumult and fire
For to us all, when most afraid Comes a pressing need for aid Deliverance from tumult and fire Challenges, or doom most dire; Aid, mayhap, for a bold Harper bright Or means to drive down a lich or a wight Or wise words, hope, a smile or a kiss- Answered need our greatest bliss
Princess Alusair was rather proud of herself. For months now she'd been trading dark, well-made, but plain gowns-of the sort one of her maids could just get away with wearing on special occasions outside the Royal Palace-for specific garments from among their "everydays." She'd built up quite a bundle of patched and worn smocks, aprons, breeches, jerkins, and hooded half-cloaks. These gains, bundled up together, were all hidden, stuffed undet a loose tread-board on the private stairs down to the Princes' Stable. Though she and Tana, princesses both, now shared that little enclave in the sprawling Palace srables, it was still "the Princes' Stable" and probably always would be. Her sister rode only at regular times these days, so for the rest of the time the narrow, dark stair was Alusair's own.
Wherefore she now had suitable garments in which to depart the Palace by way of those same stables, without immediately being recognized as a princess. Which meant she was spared the racket of alarm gongs and horns and the humiliation of being pounced upon by well-meaning Highknights and Purple Dragons and war wizards and dragged before her royal father-or mother or both-for discipline.
Hmm. Discipline. Her shapely behind was still burning, but the spanking hadn't chastened her one whit. Gods above, but her mother could whack hard!
Alusair's rump burned a little more painfully at the mere recollection. Not to mention the homespun rasping over rawness wherever where her silken clout didn't cover her.
She was, she'd discovered, actually a little proud of her burning behind. Though it was hardly something she could show casually to passersby, she felt it gave her something in common with the scarred old retired Purple Dragons she'd been seeing for as long as she could remember-the veterans who showed off their war marks proudly on feast days.
She, too, had been wounded standing up for Cormyr.
The step, tugged a little sideways to free it from its pegs, came up readily enough. Out came the bundle, and she stripped on the stairs in excited haste, shoving her glossy nightgown in with the clothes she wasn't going to use. Tugging on breeches, a worn and stained jerkin, and a hooded half-cloak, Alusair replaced the step and scampered on down the stairs.
Not to the bottom, where she was sure to be seen by stablehands or one of the guards. No, she'd long ago noticed that her stair passed an open end of the hayloft. It took but a moment to reach up, swinging and kicking in midair to bring her legs up over the edge then around a riser. With that post securely wedged into the backs of her knees, she could twist and claw the rest of herself up to join them.
The loft was low, long, and straight, like an attic. Mice squeaked and scampered through the hay as she crawled swiftly along through it, but they didn't bother her. The length of the hayloft could take her right out of the royal stalls into the next part of the stables, above the horses of equerries, envoys, and senior courtiers, to a third area reserved for the mounts of visiting royalty and dignitaries. She knew none were visiting Suzail just now, which meant there'd be neither stablehands nor guards, and all would be in darkness. Right next to the sprawling Royal Gardens, which she knew like her own morning face in rhe mirror, leaving her with an easy way to slip out of the Palace and back in again later.
Guards patrolled the Royal Gardens, but Alusair knew where they'd be. Moreover, they were watching for undesirables trying to sneak in, not get out. So long as her mother forbade the lopping of boughs off the mrimmon trees to quell any wisp of a chance that there'd ever be a paucity of mrimmon jelly on the royal cheese platters, there'd be several easy ways over the garden walls for a fairly light and agile princess who didn't mind undignified acrobatics.
Two strides away from the still-bouncing bough in her wake, Alusair was the very image of a weary, head-down underservant, trudging home late and in much need of a crust and a tankard of warm soup.
"Not a bad actor, our little spitfire princess," Wizard of War Baerent Orninspur said to his fellow mage.
Nodding, Wizard of War Mrask Tallowthond replied, "Almost as if she's done this a time or two before."
They indulged in a shared chuckle and fell into step behind the princess, keeping to the shadows on the harbor side of the Promenade-the side they were almost certain Alusair would soon be seeking.
Both wizards were tall, thin, young men who would not have looked out of place in armor, but Baerent was the one with the flashy good looks that caught feminine eyes wherever he went. Less handsome Mrask, lacking such easy charm, took refuge behind a moustache and a sharp tongue.
"Least she entertains us on these little jaunts," Baerenr said. "Where d'you think she's bound for, this time? Another night of drinking and flirting?"
Mrask shook his head. "Too purposeful, and too much restless haste in her chambers, earlier. She's bound on some secret little mission or other and excited about it." He jerked his head. "There she goes now."
The weary little servant had crossed the broad Promenade, dodging lamplit coaches and the ever-numerous rhrongs of citizenry walking with handcarts and sling-satchels and lit pipes, to reach the mouth of a side street.
The two war wizards walked faster, trying to get closer to see where she went ere the corner between them hid het going through a door, ducking down an alley, or sprinting up a stair to some upstair abode.
Tiny locks of her hair rode in their belt pouches, so they could use tracing magic if they had to, but Obarskyrs tended to go strolling weighed down with magical gewgaws. If Alusair felt their trace, her revealing behavior would change-even before things started getting unpleasant for Mrask Tallowthond and Baerent Orninspur.
As it happened, Mrask got to the corner a stride ahead of Baerent. He was in time to fling out a hand to keep his colleague back out of sight. "The spitfire gets adventurous! She's headed into the Touch!"