She smiled grimly into the darkness and went in search of the Lord Mace of Waterdeeo.
He was not on the dance floor, nor in any of the noisy, crowded antechambers that gave off it, where loudly-talking older nobles were busy insulting each other, gossiping, gorging themselves, and drinking themselves silly. Nor was he where Ambreene had expected to find him—the dim, smoky rooms on the floor above, where men who thought themselves wiser and more powerful than their fellow nobles muttered darkly about plots and trade treaties and the dark days ahead for Waterdeep, and added new layers of refinements and pacts to the already labyrinthine entanglements of the city’s intrigues.
Ambreene found privacy again and sent a seeking spell on a tour of the bedchambers and servants’ rooms that left her blushing and her eyebrows raised … perhaps permanently. In one, she found Laeral and her father together, but they were only talking. Relieved at not having to add the Lady Mage of Waterdeep to the ranks of those she must destroy, Ambreene continued her search, but found no trace of Lord Khelben in all the House.
Finally she farscried him far away across the moonlit gardens, speaking to a succession of young party guests out strolling idly about the grounds. Hmmph. Dispensing wizardly wisdom, no doubt.
Ambreene’s eyes narrowed, and she cast another spell. There was a sound like the faint jangle of harp strings, then:
“Grand night, to be sure,” someone who was not there said loudly in her ear, “but my gut’s rolling like a ship being beached through breakers!”
“It’s that wine,” another, thinner voice replied. “If you must try to drink the Hawkwinter cellars dry all by yourself…”
So her spell was working, but where was Khelben’s voice? Ambreene frowned and bent her will in the wizard’s direction.
A third, cheerful voice said, “Fair even, Lor—” then stopped as if cut off by a knife. Ambreene juggled the fading wisps of her first spell into life once more, and saw the man who must have spoken … a man in a half-cloak, daringly-patterned hose, and a doublet of slashed silk, standing conversing with Khelben. Gods-be-damned! The wizard must have a shield up to prevent eavesdroppers from hearing what was said!
Her eyes narrowed. What words, at a party, could be so important that they must be hidden from all?
Then she had a sudden thought and sent her clairaudience spell whirling back across Hawkwinter House to the private chamber where Eremoes and Laeral sat.
“Your service to the Harp is as timely and as enjoyable as always,” the Lady Mage was saying, “and I want you to know that it is not unappreciated or taken for granted, Lord.”
Ambreene blinked. Her father, a Harper? Gods above!
“I know that’s not the case,” her father replied, “but I must confess I had my own selfish reason for this gathering…”
“And would this reason be your youngest daughter’s growing mastery of magic?” Laeral asked smoothly.
“It would,” Eremoes Hawkwinter said. “I know Blackstaff Tower always has more would-be apprentices than either you or Khelben have time for, but if you’d be willing to explore her powers and, I confess, her thoughts and feelings; she’s been more affected by my mother’s death than her siblings or most folk her age would be … I’d be most grateful. I cannot hire the right tutor until I know her strengths and interests, and to query her directly would upset her, diminish me in her eyes, and yet fail to yield the truth.”
“I can do that in the morning, if you’d like,” Laeral said in kindly tones, and Ambreene’s prying spell collapsed as she shrieked in fear.
She must act now! Once Laeral poked into her mind, she’d have no secrets left and Khelben might well turn her into a frog or bookend or his slave while she was still whimpering under the Lady Mage’s mindprobe…
Trembling in haste, Ambreene shifted her form again. A young woman who was alluring indeed ran from the room, clattered down the closest stair to the gardens, startling couples out of their embraces as she rushed past, and found the moonlight as quickly as she could.
The succession of Harper agents seemed to have finished their business with the Lord Mage of Waterdeep, and for one
chilling moment Ambreene thought Khelben was gone from Hawkwinter House, and she’d missed her chance.
Then she caught sight of him in a far corner of the gardens, sitting alone on a bench in the bright moonlight. Pulling the Eye on its chain off over her head, Ambreene held it ready inside a sleeve of her gown, panted until she regained control of her breath, then set off swiftly toward her quarry.
This would be her only chance. To keep her oath, she could not fail now. Ambreene moved as quietly as she could without seeming to creep or stalk. If Khelben turned his head and saw her, she wanted to look alluring, not like a thief darting guiltily about.
He was stroking his chin as she drew near, and studying the bright belt of stars overhead as if they were telling him something.
“Well met, Lord Wizard,” she said enticingly, when she was only a few paces away. She kept her voice low and rich and laced with laughter, like a seductive courtesan she’d once overheard at the Palace entertaining a rich Calishite merchant. “Moonlight becomes thee.”
“I believe that last line should be mine, lady,” Khelben replied calmly, studying her with eyes that seemed to bore right through her magical disguise.
“I’m young yet,” she returned lightly, “and still working on my catalogue of blandishments and flirtations. All Waterdeep knows of your dedication to justice and fidelity to the Lady Laeral, my lord, but I was wondering if you’d mind if a lass who prefers wits and maturity to the empty swaggering of young men practiced a line or two on you, and perhaps grew so bold…”
She leaned near, giving the Lord Mage of Waterdeep a spectacular view of the fine leaping-dragons lace that edged her bodice, and continued slowly and huskily,”… as to share a kiss with me? Something I’d remember fondly and privately, mind, not shout from the rooftops…”
The Lord Mage of Waterdeep regarded her. For a moment, something that was almost a smile seemed to play about his lips. “What precisely did you have in mind, 0 enthusiastic young lady?”
Ambreene let the fullness of her sleeve hold the Eye, and stretched forth that hand for Khelben to see. His eyes flicked from one of her empty, ringless hands to the other as she knelt, so that their eyes were level.
“I am no disguised monster, only a lonely maid,” she said in sultry tones, staring invitingly, almost challengingly into his eyes, “and I’d very much like a kiss.” She licked her lips and purred, “I’ll submit to whatever magic you want to use, to be sure I’m… safe.”
The mage they called The Blackstaff raised an eyebrow. “And why go to all this trouble—possible humiliation and danger—just for one kiss from an old man?”
“I’ve heard what they say about wizards,” she whispered, eyes bright.
He looked swiftly around, as if to be sure that no one else was watching them, and then extended his arms and said, “Come, then, lass, and try whatever you’re trying to do…”
Ambreene’s eyes narrowed at his choice of words, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. Opening her mouth hungrily, she glided into his embrace, then twisted in his arms, whipping the pendant out and around his neck like a striking snake. The Eye of the Dragon flashed as she snarled, “Take his memories! Take them all! And give them tome!”
The chain tightened cruelly around the mage’s throat, but. he only pulled her closer and growled, “You wanted a kiss, remember?”
His lips were warm, but Ambreene shook her head violently and tried to bite him. When her mouth was free, she spat in his face and hissed, “Plead! Plead for your magic, archmage!”
She jerked the chain tight across Khelben’s windpipe. He did not turn the purple hue she expected, but only smiled faintly.