The Floodgate

"A courtesan can still be a lady, regardless of the circumstances of her birth or her profession," Basel pointed out.

"Courtesan!" she scoffed. "That's still putting it too high! My mother could claim that title. She was a wizard's mistress. Guess what that makes me?"

"Illegitimate or not, if you know your father's name and lineage, you are guaranteed certain rights and a wizard's training."

"Oh, I know the name, but he was married into a powerful family and didn't wish to embarrass them. So I was sent away. I was handed over to a merchant's company as a sort of movable entertainment."

The enormity of this revelation stu

Any words that came to mind only trivialized such betrayal.

After a moment Sinestra shrugged. "An old tale, badly told. Whatever you're going to do to me, get on with it."

"All I require from you is an explanation. Why did you come here looking for Keturah's talisman?"

"I didn't. I came looking for your apprentice."

Basel studied the woman. She was already reverting to her enchanted appearance: her hair was darkening to black, and her skin was no longer sallow but golden and smooth. He had worked on such cloaking spells before. "If I'm not mistaken, the spell you wear is Keturah's."

"I don't have that much talent," she agreed. "It's a permanent spell. Nothing will touch it but the powder Keturah gave me, and you can bet I don't use that very often! The medallion was mine, though, in a ma

Something in her tone set off warnings in Basel's mind. "Why did you think that would be necessary?"

Sinestra's face-now fully reverted to its young and beautiful form-twisted with frustration. "I can't tell you."

"I see," mused Basel. "Perhaps you can tell me what you wanted with Keturah's talisman?"

"There are many kinds of slavery," she said shortly. "Some cages have golden bars, but at the end of the day there's little difference between gold and iron. How well do you know my husband?"

"Not very."

"Count yourself lucky. With this talisman, maybe I could win free of his prying eyes. It would be wonderful to have an hour or two to call entirely my own."

"Or perhaps to reinvent yourself and start a new life elsewhere, as you have done before."

"Perhaps," she said noncommittally.

"You assumed that Tzigone would have this talisman?"

"Why would I do that?" she asked, her arched brows pulled down in genuine puzzlement. "After Keturah's capture, her effects were taken to Dhamari Exchelsor. I pla

"Take ease. I already know that Tzigone's methods lie slightly south of legal. Go on. You hired a thief to get the talisman for you."

"What do you take me for? I've known several different prisons, and I won't be responsible for sending anyone else there," she said grimly. "I hired Tzigone to train me, so I could go after it myself."

Basel nodded, satisfied. This woman had risked her life for Keturah. She was exactly the sort of friend and ally Tzigone needed. "But obviously, Dhamari Exchelsor did not have the talisman. He returned it to Keturah's daughter."

Puzzlement furrowed Sinestra's face, then gave way to stu

Basel was begi

The woman leaped from the cot and seized Basel's tunic with both hands. "Get her away from him!"

He marked the rising note of hysteria in her voice. Tamping down his own growing panic, he kept his voice low and soothing. 'Tell me."

"I truly can't." She released his tunic. A brief, silent struggle twisted her beautiful face, then her jaw firmed with resolve. "I can't tell you, but you can see for yourself. Go to Keturah's tower and into Dhamari's workroom. You'll understand why-"

Sinestra's voice broke off abruptly. A shudder ran through her, and her eyes rolled up until the whites showed. She fell to the floor in a paroxysm of violent spasms, her spine arching so painfully that Basel heard the snapping of bone. Her agony was mercifully brief. Even as Basel dropped to his knees beside her, she went limp and still.

The wizard cursed softly. Many of his colleagues ensorcelled their servants against revealing secrets. Apparently someone had been more thorough than most. Even the little that Sinestra had said was enough to condemn her to death.

Basel reached out a gentle hand to close the brave woman's eyes. At his touch, she melted into mist, and then faded away. Yet another precaution, he noted grimly. Without a body to test, it was exceedingly difficult to trace the origin of the killing spell.

He rose abruptly. This mystery would have to wait in favor of more urgent matters.

There were no magical gates between his tower and Keturah's, for he wanted no path that another wizard might follow. Basel had not ridden for years, but he quickly claimed his fastest horse and made short work of the road to Keturah's tower. The gatekeeper informed him that Dhamari was not at residence. Basel had little trouble convincing the servant into letting him in regardless; in fact, he noted a hopeful gleam in the man's eyes.

Basel hurried up the stairs to Dhamari's potion room. It was larger than most wizards' studies, but at first glance nothing seemed amiss. The room was also unusually tidy for a wizard's lair, with rows of vials and vessels and pots lined up with fastidious care. A collection of butterflies was mounted against one wall, neatly pi

Yet something about the display drew his eyes-a sense, perhaps, that something about this hobby was profoundly amiss. Basel walked along the vast cork wall, studying the collection carefully. At first the butterflies' colors were dazzling, with all the gem-like hues of a Halruaan garden. Then came butterflies he had never seen, enormous creatures armed with stingers or mosquitolike snouts or wicked taloned feet, clad in deep greens and vivid scarlet and orange that brought to mind a jungle's flowers. Next came butterflies the color of barren rock and desert sand. Snow moths, delicate as moonlight. Bats! Most were the tiny chameleon bats that wheeled about the sky at twilight. They were mounted against bright swatches of silk that tested and preserved their ability to change color.

His gaze fell upon the next creatures pi

"Dhamari called them," he murmured. Obviously, Keturah’s former apprentice had not abandoned his desire to master his mistress's special art. Starting with the small denizens of Keturah's garden, he had gone farther and farther afield. Where, Basel wondered, would such a quest stop?

He strode over to the shelves and began to search for an answer. One sweep of his hand knocked aside the neat rows of pots and vials. Hidden behind was a wooden box, nearly half full of tiny vials. As Basel selected a vial from the box, his eye fell upon an identical vial lying empty on the shelf. A decanter of wine stood beside it, dusty from long disuse and tightly stoppered. An identifying rune marked each vial-the same rune that had been engraved onto the potions Basel's wife had taken during their brief and tragic union-potions that would ensure the birth of a jordain child.