Casket of Souls

  Princess Elani inclined her head, accustomed to deference, but Seregil was almost certain her gaze lingered a moment on Alec, though it was to him that she spoke.

  “Lord Seregil the Aurënfaie? I’m pleased to meet you at last, cousin. Aunt Klia holds you both as great friends.”

  “It’s been a long time, Seregil,” Princess Aralain said a bit less warmly.

  “Your Highnesses greatly honor us,” Seregil said. “And Your Grace,” he added, bowing now to Alaya as Alec did the same.

  Alaya smiled as she waved them to the last empty couch. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Alec. And look at you, Seregil! You have grown up from that sad little thing you were at court.”

  A servant immediately came forward with a gilded wine table, golden cups, and plates of tiny sweetmeats for them. Alaya eyed Atre approvingly. “Tell me about this other handsome young fellow you have brought with you.”

  “This is the great actor, Master Atre, lately of Nanta,” Seregil explained. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him and his company?”

  “I have indeed. How clever of you to bring him. Princess Elani has been so curious to see his players.”

  “A pity they are in such a poor venue,” added Princess Aralain, as if Atre weren’t there to hear.

  “Ah, but that’s changed, Highness,” Seregil informed her. “Lady Kylith, Alec, and I have set them up properly in Gannet Lane.”

  “Very good!” said Alaya. “Master Atre, I am so glad we will be able to sample your talent tonight. I’m sorry you missed Jenaria’s first offerings, but I’m sure she has another prepared for us.”

  The poetess rose again and bowed to the guests. “It would be my honor, Your Grace,” she replied. “I offer to you ‘The Hour of Blue Leaves.’

  “I’ve met my love in the shadowed bower,

  and we embraced as the sun’s last rays

  bled over the horizon. Leave-taking

  burned behind the eyes, promises kindled

  skin to skin. As the evening wind

  turned the leaves, pale blue against the night,

  I let my love drift out of the garden

  with only a fading musk on my palms

  where once we touched. How was I to know

  my love would become only a reflection,

  a shadow beneath the current,

  a blue leaf adrift on the stream of memory?”

  “How lovely!” Princess Aralain exclaimed. “Do give us one more.”

  “As you like, Highness.” The poetess pressed a hand to her heart. “ ‘Leave-Taking at Dawn.’ ”

  This one was much longer, a lover’s lament. Seregil lounged against his end of their couch, sipping his wine and nodding appreciatively at particularly well-turned lines. Alec sat beside him, cup raised halfway to his lips, his expression one of rapt attention. It was only partly an act on both their parts; the woman was talented. Even so, Seregil was acutely aware of the curious glances Princess Elani was stealing in their direction.

  He wasn’t the only one to notice. Reltheus looked their way more than once, and Aralain was watching with a hint of disapproval at the corners of her mouth. Alec was oblivious as usual to the attention he was attracting.

  When the poetess had finished, she bowed once more and withdrew, leaving the archduchess and her guests to discuss her verse. Having missed most of it, Seregil and Alec had little to say, but he noticed that Elani was equally quiet and not fully at ease. The conversation flowed around her, hardly seeming to register. Marquis Kyrin, on the other hand, was particularly knowledgeable. Apparently this sort of entertainment agreed with him, for he recited a few short poems himself, in a deep, melodious voice. Even then, he had a reserved air about him that was in sharp contrast with Reltheus’s open manner. Perhaps it was their political interests that had brought them together.

  When the subject of poetry was exhausted, Alaya looked to Seregil. “And now for Master Atre, I think.”

  Atre stood and delivered the soliloquy from an upcoming play in which he had the lead role of a wizard intent on capturing the affections of an unwilling young woman. It was dark and fiery, and Seregil found himself engrossed in spite of himself. Atre followed this with a comic monologue as the saucy but sharp-witted servant of a hapless noble who had a habit of getting into trouble of various sorts.

  Seregil smiled, watching him. Even without costume or makeup, the man captured the demeanor and arrogant stance of the wizard, then changed completely as he capered lightly around the courtyard declaiming the servant’s irreverent speech. He impressed even Seregil, who was himself an expert at such transformations, though never for a knowing audience.

  By the time he bowed, everyone was laughing heartily and applauding, even Princess Elani, who looked much more interested in this than she had the poetry.

  “You are the consummate performer, my dear!” Alaya said, offering the actor her hand to kiss and gifting him with a golden ring from her finger.

  “I am honored beyond words, Your Grace,” Atre said, gazing into her eyes as he took it, making even the old woman blush like a girl and clear her throat. Atre was already wearing a ruby ring Seregil recognized with a twinge of annoyance as having belonged to Kylith; Seregil had given it to her.

  “I think you must be the most amusing man in all of Rhíminee,” Aralain exclaimed, clearly charmed as she gave him a bracelet from her wrist.

  “You are far too generous, Your Highness,” Atre demurred, but pride shone in his eyes as he bowed and pressed his hand to his heart. “I hope you will come and see the plays in their entirety.”

  “I shall attend your theater very soon,” she assured him.

  “I shall, as well,” the princess royal said. Blushing a little, she pulled off one of her own rings and gave it to him.

  Atre was allowed to withdraw to a back table with the poetess, and talk turned to other subjects.

  “Tell me, Reltheus, what do you hear from Lord Danos?” Princess Aralain asked.

  “I received a letter just the other day, Your Highness. He and his company captured and held a bridge at Redpoll for the queen, who led her forces to victory on the Plenimaran frontier.”

  “He’s very fortunate to serve so close to my aunt,” said Elani. “I’d like to hear more of his exploits from him, when he returns.”

  “May Sakor bring him safely home,” added her mother, who appeared to be as smitten with this potential suitor as her daughter.

  “Most assuredly, Highness,” Reltheus told her. “Perhaps you’ll come to my estate again. Danos would be most honored to lead a hunt for you.”

  Elani smiled, looking charmingly girlish. “I’d like that.”

  And which more? Seregil wondered. The hunting or the young mans company?

  “He also sent a private note to the princess royal, if you will allow it, Highness?”

  “Certainly,” Aralain replied.

  Elani blushed a bit as she took the sealed letter and tucked it into her sleeve.

  “Do you have any more news of the war, Your Grace?” asked Alaya, clearly in his camp. “Is there any end in sight?”

  “I don’t think so,” Reltheus told her with a sigh. “Part of the regiment was moved up the river toward Fleet Ford. Danos said they’d seen a great deal of battle, and he’s lost some good riders. He himself was wounded—”

  “Not seriously, I hope!” exclaimed Elani.

  “A mere flesh wound, he said. Although knowing my boy, he wished to spare my feelings and those of his stepmother with any detail.”

  “Does he ever speak of Captain Beka Cavish?” asked Alec. “She’s with the Queen’s Horse, as well.”

  “Now and then,” Reltheus said, clearly intending to keep the focus of the discussion on his son’s exploits and bravery, which he extolled for several minutes. Princess Aralain hung on his every word, as did Alaya. And Elani, too, though her gaze did stray Alec’s way every now and then.

  “And what does he say regarding his commander?” asked Evesia, who’d been
quiet for some time.

  Interesting, thought Seregil, that Aralain had not asked after her half sister.

  “Nothing but praise!” Reltheus assured the marquise. “After the queen herself, Princess Klia is accounted the finest commander in the field. But you must hear a great deal of news, working so closely with her brother, the vicegerent. What does Prince Korathan have to say?”

  “Very much the same,” Evesia replied. “Only the other day he noted that the Queen’s Horse has one of the highest success rates in the army, but also among the highest casualties. No doubt because they are on the front line so often.”

  “The queen must have great confidence in her sister,” said Seregil. “We were honored to serve her, Alec and I, in Aurënen, and found her tremendously capable and intelligent.”

  “Oh, she is,” said Elani. The obvious affection there made Seregil doubt that Elani knew anything of a plot against Klia.

  As talk turned to the summer’s fashions and concerns about the lack of fine wool for the fall, Elani again fell silent. Alec must have noticed, too, for he took advantage of a pause in the conversation to ask her a question about hunting.

  The girl brightened again and soon they were discussing the pull weights of their bows and the relative merits of swallowtail arrowheads and broad heads. Alaya and the other guests were soon left behind and looked on in amusement—all but Reltheus and Aralain, Seregil noted, watching them through lowered lashes. There was a hint of annoyance behind Reltheus’s forced smile, no doubt at the attention Alec was getting, and Elani’s mother clearly had other plans for her daughter. This wouldn’t do, not after the work they’d done to curry the duke’s friendship.

  Seregil leaned over and draped an arm around Alec’s shoulders. “It’s a shame you don’t have your bow, love. I’m sure Her Highness would find it of interest.”

  The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on anyone, least of all Elani. She colored a bit and looked down at her hands.

  Embarrassed, but not angry, Seregil noted with interest. He leaned back and let his arm fall away, point made. It wasn’t jealousy but protectiveness; not only could they not afford to alienate Reltheus, but the slightest sign of interest in Alec by the princess royal would not set well with the queen.

  Alec shot him a puzzled glance, then turned back to the princess and smoothed the moment over by describing the Radly to her, and how it could be taken apart.

  “I’d like to see that,” she said, enthusiasm returning. “You and Lord Seregil must come shoot with me at the palace lists.”

  “I’d be most honored, Your Highness,” Alec replied.

  “As would I, Highness,” Seregil said, giving her a warm smile. “Although my shooting will be strictly for your amusement, I fear.”

  “Aunt Klia says you are one of the finest swordsmen she knows, though,” Elani replied. “Perhaps you will give me a match.”

  “I am yours to command.” Seregil hoped the invitation came soon, as he doubted Phoria would welcome his presence or Alec’s on the palace grounds after her return, much less contact with her niece.

  “She will prove quite an opponent for you, Seregil,” Reltheus said. “After all, she’s been trained by the queen.”

  “I’m no warrior, as you will soon attest,” Seregil said with a laugh, playing the fop. “I’m sure I wouldn’t last half an hour on a battlefield.”

  Talk turned back to the war after that. Seregil glanced now and then at the actor, who sat at the back table with the poetess. To most eyes the man would have appeared to be politely concealing growing boredom as he toyed absently with the expensive pearl bauble hanging from his ear, but his lazy gaze was never quite at rest.

  A man of no account, but one who pays attention, Seregil thought, once again feeling a certain kinship with him.

  * * *

  It was not yet midnight when Alaya bid farewell to her guests. As they were waiting for their horses to be brought around, Seregil turned to Atre. “You were absolutely wonderful.”

  “My lord, it was nothing, but I am glad to have been of service,” Atre replied modestly, though he was clearly pleased.

  “Come have a drink with us to finish off the evening. There’s a decent tavern in the next street.”

  “Of course, my lord!”

  The Mermaid was a luxurious establishment patronized by the nobles of the area. In addition to excellent wines and ales, it also had small private rooms available off the main chamber. Seregil gave the doorkeeper gold and he led them to one of these, a pretty little room with velvet couches arranged around a common wine table and murals of the amorous doings of mermaids on the walls between blue velvet hangings. A serving boy soon appeared.

  “Do you have any turab tonight, Yustin?” Seregil inquired.

  “We just got a cask in, my lord. It hasn’t even been tapped yet.”

  “Excellent. Turab it is.”

  “What is that, my lord?” asked Atre, settling on the couch across from the one Seregil shared with Alec.

  “Ale from my native land. Very rare and it doesn’t come cheaply these days.” Seregil unbuckled his sword and shrugged out of his heavy embroidered coat. “Do make yourself comfortable, Atre.” He took a lace handkerchief from his sleeve and patted his brow and upper lip. “It’s too warm to stand on ceremony any longer.”

  “For what you paid, you’d think they’d at least have given us the room with the window,” Alec complained, following Seregil’s lead as he took off his own sword and coat.

  “Thank you.” Atre undid the silver buttons of his coat to reveal a shirt of fine embroidered linen that probably cost more than Seregil’s and Alec’s put together.

  “You have the most exquisite taste in dress, Master Atre. You must steer me to your tailor,” Seregil noted. “Our venture in Gannet Lane seems to be playing out quite well for you.”

  Atre’s smile faltered. “My lord, if you think I am taking more than my share—”

  “Nothing of the sort. I was simply complimenting your wardrobe. I’m sure your accounts are all in order. But let’s not spoil the evening talking of such things.”

  The boy returned with a tray of colorfully glazed clay mugs topped with golden foam, and a platter of fine cheeses, grapes, and sliced apples.

  Lifting his flagon, Seregil said, “To the queen, may the Four protect her.”

  Alec and Atre joined the toast and took their first drink.

  Atre licked his lips appreciatively. “That’s very good!”

  “And they serve it properly here. Metal cups dull the flavor.”

  “I should like to hear more of your homeland sometime, my lord.”

  “A beautiful place!” Seregil sighed, staring pensively down into his mug. “So much more civilized than here. Your company would do very well in Virésse.”

  “Is that a city there?”

  Seregil smiled. “Yes, and a grand one. Virésse rivals Rhíminee itself, a thriving seaport and city. The folk there have more of a taste for things foreign than most of the clans.”

  Atre sipped his turab. “Perhaps I’ll see it one day for myself. Tell me, my lord, if it’s not too personal, but is it true that Aurënfaie can live to be five hundred years old?”

  “Many do.”

  The actor shook his head, smiling. “So much life. So much time! How many people you must know. You must be able to accomplish a great deal.”

  “It depends on the person, I suppose, though time seems to move more slowly there. I remember—” Seregil paused, dabbing at his eyes as he pretended to be overcome by memories.

  “It pains him to speak of home,” Alec explained, putting a consoling hand on Seregil’s shoulder.

  “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  Seregil shook his head as he laid a hand over Alec’s. “No, it’s quite all right. But you know well how it is to lose your home, don’t you? Were you happy in Nanta?”

  “Oh, yes. For a lad from Dresher’s Ford, it was quite an exotic place. Or so I th
ought before I came here.”

  “Where did you say Dresher’s Ford is?” asked Alec. “Somewhere in the northlands, isn’t it?”

  “Nowhere you’d know of, I’m sure,” Atre said with a laugh. “It’s a tiny place in the hills north of the Folcwine Forest.”

  “From there to performing before the future queen of Skala!” Alec raised his mug to Atre. “You have come a long way in every sense.”

  “If there’s one thing I admire in a man, it’s ambition,” said Seregil. “And I think you are not lacking in that, Master Atre.”

  The actor smiled modestly but did not deny it.

  “Mistress Merina spoke of you and Master Brader meeting her family in Rudderford,” said Alec. “Is he kin of yours?”

  “He’s my cousin on my father’s side, but he’s been more like a brother to me. We vowed as children to seek our fortunes together, and so we have. I must confess, I’d be lost without him. He’s far more practical than I am and sees to the business of actually running the theater. We’d still be street players in the northlands if not for him.”

  Seregil chuckled. “I very much doubt that. But since you’ve brought up the subject of business, tell me, have you ever done more for your patrons than make money for them?”

  Atre looked up sharply at that, blue eyes suddenly wary with the first honest emotion Seregil had seen all evening. “What are we speaking of, my lord?”

  “Your virtue is quite safe, my friend, if that’s what you’re thinking of with that dark look,” Seregil assured him.

  Color crept into Atre’s cheeks as he quickly tried to cover up his misstep. “Pardon, my lord, I shouldn’t have presumed—”

  “But I wouldn’t have been the first to ask, I think?”

  Atre’s silence was answer enough, and Seregil was reminded of how much cooler Atre was with his male admirers. “No, what I meant to propose was that I have a taste for gossip, and would be most appreciative if you could pass on any bits and pieces you might pick up among your various admirers. You’re moving in very good circles these days.”

  “What sort of gossip, my lord?” asked Atre, looking not at all opposed to the idea.