red liqueur. The common variety of qualis, though still expensive, had a duller
colour and was inclined to visible sediment. A man of his position might live a
full life and never glimpse a fine, pure qualis, much less be offered a glass of
it. Clearly the Hell Hound was tempted.
‘A small glass, perhaps.’
She poured two equally full glasses and set them both on the table in front of
him while she replaced the stopper and took the bottle to the table by her bed.
An undetectable glance in a side mirror confirmed that Zaibar lifted the glass
farthest from him. Calmly she returned and raised the other.
‘A toast then. To the future of your prince and to the Aphrodisia House!’
The glasses clinked.
The potion Lythande had made was brewed in part from the same berries as the
qualis itself. The fine liqueur made a perfect concealing dilutant. Myrtis could
taste the subtle difference the charm itself made in the normal flavour of the
intoxicant, but Zaibar, who had never tasted even the common qualis, assumed
that the extra warmth was only a part of the legendary mystique of the liqueur.
When he had finished his drink, Myrtis swallowed the last others and waited
patiently for the faint flush which would confirm that the potion was working.
It appeared in Zaibar first. He became bored with his counting, fondling one
coin while his eyes drifted off towards nothingness. Myrtis took the coin from
his fingers. The potion took longer to affect her, and its action when it did
was lessened by the number of times she had taken it before and by the age