would see her until the dawn, and she was determined that her efforts and
planning would not be in vain.
She waited alone, remembering her first days as a courtesan in Ilsig, when
Lythande was a magician’s raw apprentice and her own experiences a nightmare
adventure. At that time she had lived to fall wildly in love with any young
lordling who could offer her the dazzling splendour of privilege. But no man
came forward to rescue her from the ethereal, but doomed, world of the
courtesan. Before her heauty faded, she had made her pact with Lythande. The
magician visited her infrequently, and for all her boasting, there was no
passionate love between them. The spells had let Myrtis win for herself the
permanent splendour she had wanted as a young girl; a splendour no high-handed
barbarian from Ranke was going to strip away.
‘Madame Myrtis?’ ‘
A peremptory knock on the door forced her from her thoughts. She had impressed
the voice in her memory and recognized it though she had only heard it once
before.
‘Do come in.’
She opened the door for him, pleased to see by the hesitation in his step that
he was unaware that he would be entering her parlour and boudoir.
‘I have come to collect the taxes!’ he said quickly. His military precision did
not completely conceal his awe and vague embarrassment at viewing the royal and
erotic scene displayed before him.
He did not turn as Myrtis shut the door behind him and quietly slid a concealed
bolt into place.
‘You have very nearly undone me, captain,’ she said with downcast eyes and a