Cascet of souls

CHAPTER 28. Ruby Lane

SEREGIL had his answer about the attempted assassination the following afternoon when Runcer appeared at the library door. “My lord, there’s an urchin asking for you.”

“The usual urchin?” Seregil asked, setting his book aside.

“No, my lord. A new one.”

The boy in question had been left waiting on the front doorstep. He wasn’t much older than Kepi, and had the same capable, starved look about him. He hopped to his feet as soon as Seregil stepped out.

“Message for you, m’lord,” he said, making a sort of bow.

“Yes?”

“Just one word, m’lord. ‘Laneus.’ ”

Seregil felt a cold sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, although he’d expected something like this. He gave the child a silver penny and went back inside.

Alec came in from the kitchen and found Seregil staring at the murals, absently rubbing at the thin scab on his throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“Laneus didn’t waste any time. He set the assassins on us. I doubt they’ll stop at just one attempt.”

“Time to pay him a visit, don’t you think?” asked Alec.

“Perhaps he and his lady would enjoy an evening out? I’ll send invitations to him and Malthus, and Eirual and Myrhichia, too. The women will be a good distraction. I’ll fall ill at the last moment and send you to play host. Take them to the Red Hart. If anything goes wrong, you can excuse yourself and ride like hell to warn me.”

“Why can’t I do the housebreaking? You’re better at entertaining the nobles.”

“You’ll be fine.” Seregil leaned forward and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “Besides, it’s my turn.”

“We’re taking turns now? If that’s the case, then you’re wrong. You burgled Malthus, and Reltheus,” Alec countered, undeterred by the kiss. His expression darkened ominously. “This is the second time you’ve tried to keep me from going out alone. Is this about that night I broke into Kyrin’s house without you?”

“No, tali, I just-” Seregil broke off with a sigh. He’d sworn long ago not to lie to his talimenios. “Well, maybe a bit.”

“I’m going,” Alec said in a tone that he seldom used with Seregil, or anyone else, for that matter. “Either you trust me, or you don’t.”

“It’s not a matter of trust.”

“Yes, it is.” Alec took him firmly by the shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “You’re going with Laneus. Because you are much better at charming the nobles than I am, and always will be. I’ll be fine-and careful. I promise.”

A muscle twitched in Seregil’s jaw as he clenched his teeth against all the arguments he wanted to make. It was true; he hated the thought of Alec doing the job alone, in a large and unfamiliar villa. But Alec was also right about their individual skills. His young partner had taken to nightrunning and swordplay far more naturally than he had to the delicate thrust and parry of social subterfuge.

Caught in the strong current of that earnest blue gaze, Seregil gave in. “All right. You do the housebreaking.”

Alec grinned. “And I won’t set anything on fire.”

Dressing for the evening, Seregil was careful to leave the lacings of his shirt loose, so that the garrote mark showed. It would be interesting to see how Laneus reacted to the sight of it.

The sharp thud of an arrow striking a wooden target drifted in through the open bedroom window. Seregil shrugged into one of his more elaborate coats and wandered over to watch

Alec send another shaft to the center of the painted bull’s-eye. The setting sun cast a mellow light over the garden and picked out glints of pure gold in his lover’s hair as he smoothly nocked an arrow and raised the bow again, speeding a third arrow to split one of the first two. It was a neat trick, if hard on arrows, and one that never ceased to impress people. Alec made it look as easy as picking a single ward lock.

As he lingered there at the window, however, another image came to him: Yhakobin’s villa in Plenimar, and the day he’d stood at a barred window, seeing Alec alive in another garden, walking with Ilar.

Stop it, Seregil told himself, willing the painful image away. The past was past and Alec was right about his unreasoning fears.

He stood a moment longer, admiring the strong lines of Alec’s slim body, and the lean, corded muscles in the younger man’s bare forearms as he pulled the bowstring to his ear again. Seregil had long since come to appreciate that archery was far more to Alec than a mere skill; it was a kind of meditation, a way he sometimes focused that fearless mind of his.

Alec let fly, then looked up and smiled at him, as if he’d known he was there all along. Seregil smiled back and went to find his boots.

Alec saw Seregil off that evening, then stole off to the Stag and Otter to pass the evening until it was time to go. Settling by an open window in the sitting room with a book Thero had lent him on dragon lore, Alec tried to read, but soon found himself scanning the same page over again. He set it aside and gazed out over the neighboring rooftops as the shadows lengthened across the city. Seregil had always been concerned for him, he knew, and in the early days of his apprenticeship that concern had been warranted. He wasn’t sure when it had begun to irk him, but it did now.

When it was full dark he went to one of the clothes chests in the bedroom and put on a plain dark coat and trousers, then tucked a square of black silk and his tool roll inside his

shirt. The cool weight of the tools against his bare skin was familiar and comforting, as was the dagger at his belt. After a moment’s thought, he buckled on his sword belt and threw on a light cloak to cover it, in case of assassins or footpads, though the latter were less likely in that quarter.

He blew out the lamp and went back to the sitting room and one of the chests there. Inside, he found the muslin bag he was looking for and selected an owl feather. He held it a moment, sending up a silent prayer to Illior Lightbearer, patron of thieves-and nightrunners, presumably-then singed the tip of it over the remaining candle and tucked it behind his ear for luck. Gathering the rest of the night’s equipment, he blew out the candle and set off.

Laneus’s handsome three-story villa in Ruby Lane had plenty of tempting balconies and lots of trees. Alec skulked down an alleyway to the tradesmen’s lane that ran behind it. The wall here was higher than most. Seregil had joked that the higher a noble’s rank and the greater their fortune, the more they walled themselves in.

He checked the lane, then took the rope and muffled grapple from under his cloak. Checking the cloth wrappings that would mute the sound of the metal on stone, he swung it up and grinned when it caught on the first try. Tugging it to make certain it was securely seated, he climbed up to the top and peered over. Metal spikes that had once protected the house had been sacrificed to the war here, too.

The garden was large and laid out in a formal pattern, with traditional crushed-shell paths that showed pale in the starlight between the beds of flowers and herbs. Balanced there, Alec appraised his route in. On this side of the house there were no trees or convenient drainpipes close enough to the balconies to be of any use. However, the ground floor was lined with tall glass doors overlooking a terrace and an ornamental fishpond. He’d have preferred a kitchen or pantry window, but the sides of the house were walled off. There was no choice but to take the risky way in across the terrace into the lower level, where it was more likely that some servants could still be underfoot.

But he wasn’t about to give up the job he’d had to fight for.

There was no sign of a watchman, but there could be a dog. Or dogs.

He took out the bit of sausage he’d found in Ema’s pantry and tossed it toward the house. It was an idea he’d had the last time a dog surprised them, and it worked. There was a single bark, then a huge brindle hound ambled from the shadows and went for the sausage. Alec whistled softly and when the hound looked his way Alec raised his left hand, first and little fingers extended, and made the turning motion of the thief’s cantrip, whispering, “Soora thasali.” He wasn’t certain the charm would work at this distance, but the dog didn’t bark.

Alec shifted the rope and climbed down into the garden. The dog trotted over for a scratch behind the ears, then disappeared into the shadows again. Avoiding the shell paths, Alec made his way to the terrace and sidled up to one of the tall glass doors. All was dark inside, but the faint moonlight spilled across a patterned carpet and the slender curved legs of what looked like a dining table. It was unlikely that servants would be sleeping there, so he picked the lock and slipped inside.

At the far end of the room a set of double doors was outlined in some faint illumination, probably a night lamp. Alec waited to be certain the light was not moving-a lantern carried by some watchman-then stepped out into a long corridor. To his left he could see part of a receiving hall, the source of the light, and a corridor continuing on from there. The place was huge, and he sent up a silent plea to the Lightbringer that whatever there was to find was down here somewhere. This was a two-man job, though he wasn’t about to admit it to Seregil later. He didn’t have to prove himself again, he knew. He just had to prove to Seregil that he could let Alec out of his sight and not lose him again. He had no intention of getting caught.

The back of the house was taken up with the dining room, several sitting rooms decorated in different styles-none of which contained any sort of secret hiding place that he could find-a larger dining room, two garderobes, and the kitchen.

From there a plain stairway led up to what was most likely the servants’ quarters. The corridor past the receiving hall led to a lavish ballroom.

In the receiving hall, a marble staircase led up to the part of the house he next needed to explore. He judged he’d already been at it for nearly an hour, and wondered fleetingly how Seregil was doing keeping Laneus and the others occupied.

Night lamps burned along the upstairs corridors, as well. Shoes set out for cleaning along the upper corridor showed him which rooms were occupied-five in all. Avoiding those rooms, he discovered a huge library and a large, mostly empty room that served for sword practice, judging by the various styles of blades in racks on the walls.

At the far end of the corridor he at last found what appeared to be a man’s study. It was rather small and by far the coziest room yet, with a pretty fireplace and a jumble of books, scrolls, and male bric-a-brac on the shelves that lined the room. It was tempting to take some small item as a present for Seregil, but he didn’t want to chance leaving the slightest sign of his visit.

The writing desk under the window overlooked the top of the garden wall and the side of the neighboring house. He took out his lightstone and fitted a leather cone around it to shield it from anyone happening in. Rifling the locked correspondence box first, he found a half-finished letter. As he read it his eyebrows arched in dismay.

There was no signature, but comparing it with other letters in the box, it appeared to be in Laneus’s hand. He debated taking it, then decided against it and instead copied the letter out. His script was far less elegant and clear than Seregil’s and he blotted a few places in his haste, but it was soon finished. There was also a sealed letter addressed to General Sarien.

Alec carefully pried the seal loose. The letter was wrapped in the sheet with the general’s name on it. The letter itself had no date or salutation, just a few lines in Laneus’s bold script.

Seven more to the cause. Will bring them to our next meeting. Must have assurances of your men soon.

There was nothing overtly damning in it, but knowing what he did and whom it was addressing, it wasn’t too difficult to guess what was really being said.

Seven more-

This bore out their concern that arresting the principal players would cause the unknown followers to scatter.

He rubbed the bottom of the sealing wax with his thumb to soften it, then stuck it back down and turned his attention to the desk, and then the room. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t find any secret caches of papers, though he searched every available surface except the ceiling and wiggled anything he could lay hands on, looking for a trigger for a secret space, or a passageway like the one Seregil had found at Kyrin’s house. Nothing.

At Eirual’s brothel, Seregil found the lady in question still in her dressing room. The little chamber was filled with the sweet fragrances of expensive perfumes and powders. She was admiring herself in a long mirror as her maidservant adjusted the folds of Eirual’s pale green silk gown. Several pairs of fancy shoes were lined up for inspection in front of the wardrobe.

“You’re just in time, my love!” the courtesan greeted him, smiling at Seregil in the mirror. Lifting two ornately woven jeweled necklaces from a casket on the dressing table, she turned and held them up for him to judge. “Pearls or the peridots?”

Seregil struck a thoughtful pose. “Pearls, I think. They look so cool and inviting against your skin.”

“Pearls it is.” She handed the necklace to Seregil and lifted her black ringlets from her neck.

Seregil dutifully fastened the heavy strands and brushed his fingertips playfully down her nape. “Hmmm, yes. Most inviting.”

She turned and kissed him on the cheek. “Such a tease. I do miss you, you know. You were always one of my favorites.” She noticed the black armband he wore as she reached for one of the pearl hairpins on the dressing table. Her coquettish smile faded. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Nor I.”

Eirual shook her head as if repelling sadness and began decorating her elaborately braided hair with pearl hairpins. “And where is the fair Alec? Still downstairs?”

“No, he’s not well tonight. I’ll be escorting both you lovelies myself, and will be the envy of all who see me.”

“You always are, I suspect.”

Myrhichia hurried in with a white silk girdle embroidered with pearls. “I thought you might want this,” she said, draping it around the older woman’s shapely hips. “What do you think, Seregil?”

“Perfect! The pair of you are a vision of loveliness not to be outdone by all the titled heads of Rhiminee.” Indeed Myrhichia looked as beautiful as her benefactress in midnight-blue silk stitched with crystal beads, and matching hairpins glittering in her dark hair. “You look like the night sky in Bokthersa, full of stars and mystery,” he told her, kissing her cheek.

“But where is Alec?”

“Indisposed, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, and I was so looking forward to teasing him a bit!”

When the women had completed their adornments to their mutual satisfaction, the three of them strolled arm-in-arm to the Red Hart, glittering among the evening crowd and drawing admiring glances from many they passed. At the elegant tavern the master of the house escorted them to the private room Seregil had reserved for the evening.

Laneus, Malthus, and their ladies soon joined them, and introductions were made all around. Malthus and Ania knew the two courtesans, and greeted them warmly, as did Laneus and his young wife. Eona seemed particularly thrilled to meet the famous Eirual.

They dined on poached butterfly fish, jellied eel, raw oysters, warm sesame bread, dishes of olives and pickled vegetables, and a rare Mycenian white wine of excellent prewar vintage.

The courtesans were charming as always, and Seregil could see Eirual’s tutelage in Myrhichia’s sparkling conversation, and her knowledge of current events and politics. She

and Laneus had a spirited debate over the tax on gemstones, and ended the argument with laughter.

Seregil watched the two men with veiled interest; both gave every indication of being delighted to dine with him, and their ladies expressed great concern over Alec’s supposed fever. His wound was remarked upon and Laneus’s shock at the story of how Seregil and Alec had been waylaid by assassins seemed quite genuine, but perhaps not as violent as Malthus’s, who went white to the lips and stole a glance at Laneus as Seregil elaborated.

“By the Light, he might have taken your head off!” Duchess Ania exclaimed.

“If the bluecoats hadn’t come along and chased them off, he probably would have!” Seregil told her. “Of course, all I could think of was Alec, but he was much better at fighting his man off, though he cut his hand quite badly.”

“You didn’t tell me that! I hope that’s not the source of his fever,” Myrhichia exclaimed, fanning herself in agitation. “Blood poisoning is a serious ailment. I lost an uncle to it, and he’d only pricked his finger on a rusty arrowhead.”

“Brother Valerius saw to it personally,” Seregil assured her. “It’s just a summer fever. He’s been out in the heat too much.”

“Playing with Princess Elani,” Malthus noted with a smile, having recovered. “Or so I hear.”

“By all reports, you two have suddenly been spending a lot of time at court,” said Ania. “It was Duke Reltheus who introduced you, wasn’t it?”

“Actually it was by way of Count Selin,” Seregil replied, popping an olive into his mouth. “He got us admitted to Archduchess Alaya’s salon, and we met the princess royal there. He also introduced us to Duke Reltheus. Quite the gambler, the duke.”

“As are you,” Laneus said. His expression was bland, but Seregil was certain he caught just a hint of double meaning.

After the cakes and sweet wine, Ania and Eona unexpectedly rose to go.

“We’re off to the Swan,” Eona told them, extending her

hands to Eirual and Myrhichia. “Won’t you come gamble with us, ladies, and we’ll leave the men to their boring talk?”

“Go on,” Seregil said with a laugh. “Who am I to stand in the way of a woman’s pleasure?”

“I can vouch for that,” Eirual laughed, taking Eona’s hand.

Seregil felt strangely outnumbered when the women were gone, though he hardly expected the two men to attack him. They sipped their wine and made small talk about horses and tailors for some time, then Laneus struck.

“Malthus tells me that you have some concerns regarding the princess royal’s safety,” he told Seregil. “He was left with the impression that you believe there may be some dark movement against her.”

“I merely passed on rumors that I had heard among the royal set, purely out of concern for Malthus’s safety.” He turned to Malthus. “I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear. I wasn’t accusing anyone of anything.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Laneus answered for the other man. “It wouldn’t do for such rumors to go any farther.” He paused a moment. “May I ask where you stand on the succession, Seregil, now that you’ve come to know the heir?”

“The princess royal is a remarkable young woman, but so young!” Seregil exclaimed, selecting another olive from the common dish.

“Young for what?” asked Malthus, rising to the bait as hoped.

Seregil shrugged. “Well, if-Sakor forbid-our queen should fall in battle as her mother did before her, then don’t you think Elani is, well-” He paused as if unsure of his audience. “What I mean to say is, the war seems to be far from over and she’s untried in battle. Perhaps if Phoria had taken her into the field, as Idrilain did with her, it would be a different matter, but to put the weight of Skala’s future on such slim shoulders…” He looked around as if he’d said too much and nibbled the olive. Laneus was doing a fine job of watching his face without being obvious about it. “Not that I’m speaking against the succession!”

“You’re right to be careful, my lord,” Laneus warned.

“Especially as your friendship with Princess Klia is so well known.”

Seregil pretended to be momentarily baffled. “But what-” He gave Laneus a wide-eyed look of surprise. “What are you saying, Laneus? That I-? Illior’s Light, no! You know I never involve myself in politics. My friendship with either of the princesses is strictly on a personal level. I’m immensely fond of both of them.”

“But if it came to a choice between the two?”

Seregil made a sign against bad luck. “Pray the Four it never comes to such a pass, my lords! It’s unthinkable.”

“Really? You wouldn’t back either?” asked Malthus.

“If it came to that, then it would be civil war, and I’m sure I’d take to my heels in that event,” Seregil said with a delicate shudder, adding quickly, “But I would fear for both their lives.”

“I can’t decide if you’re a sly fellow, or just a coward,” Laneus remarked.

“I’ve been called worse in my time,” Seregil replied, a little surprised at the abrupt turn of the conversation.

Malthus intervened. “Come now, Laneus, there’s no need to be rude. What he means, Seregil, is that it seems odd that you, who have been friends with Klia for nearly her entire life, are suddenly so close to Elani and Reltheus.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t know, then?” Laneus asked with a tinge of sarcasm.

“Know what?” Seregil persisted in his obtuseness, wondering how far he could draw the man out.

“That Reltheus and his cronies mean to assassinate Klia, and perhaps even Phoria. We believe there’s already been one attempt on the princess’s life, though news of it has been suppressed.”

Seregil affected shocked astonishment. “How do you know about it, then?”

“I have my channels.”

“By the Light, why? And why Phoria?”

Laneus sighed, as if dealing with a half wit. “It’s perfectly obvious. Klia is still the rightful heir in many minds. They

can’t chance her taking Elani’s place. As for Phoria, Elani is still young, impressionable, and fatherless. She’s obviously devoted to Reltheus, regarding him as a second uncle. Better to be the power behind the throne now, than when she’s matured and has ideas of her own. Now is the time to strike.”

“But that’s monstrous!”

“You’ve never heard your friend Reltheus let drop any such sentiment, perhaps only a passing comment?” asked Malthus.

“Never,” Seregil assured him, aware again of how Laneus was watching him without seeming to. “Then again, we never discuss politics.”

“Well, I hope we’ve put your mind at rest about our own intentions,” said Malthus. “We mean to protect all three women.”

“A noble endeavor,” said Seregil. “But what can just the two of you hope to accomplish against such dark forces?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Laneus told him. “Knowing what you do, can you support us in that?”

“Support you,” Seregil said slowly, as if puzzling out the hidden meaning. “Keep my mouth shut, you mean?”

Laneus smiled at that. “Bluntly put, but yes.”

“How could I not support such a noble endeavor?” Seregil replied. “It’s certainly in the country’s best interests.”

“Very good. Then we have your word?”

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand, though. Why haven’t you gone to Prince Korathan about all this?”

That set Laneus back on his heels for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “We’re still gathering intelligence. We don’t have sufficient evidence yet.”

“Perhaps Seregil could help us, given his close association with Reltheus?” Malthus suggested.

Laneus raised an eyebrow at Seregil.

“Spy on Reltheus?” he asked, inwardly amused.

“He might let something slip in front of you. Or one of his compatriots. We have reason to believe that he’s not alone in his plotting. You’re in his set now. Can you think of anything you’ve heard that might be suspicious?”

“I’m not so much in his set as in the princess royal’s. I

haven’t socialized with many of Reltheus’s other friends.” Seregil grinned. “I think he may be a little embarrassed at our association. Now you have me afraid to be around him. What if I was suspected?”

“I would speak for you, if it came to that,” Malthus assured him.

“Well… I suppose, if it’s to protect Klia and the queen. Yes, you have my word, I’ll back you.”

He shook hands with both men. Perhaps Malthus believed what he’d told Seregil, but Laneus had liar’s eyes.

Apparently the evening’s business was complete, for they went to meet the ladies at the Swan, a gambling establishment set aside for women. A manservant met them at the door and left them in an elegant waiting room with a few other husbands and lovers, where Eona and the rest soon arrived to collect them. The two duchesses appeared to be on the best of terms with Eirual and Myrhichia.

“This lovely girl is a luck bringer!” Eona exclaimed, holding the younger courtesan’s hand as if they were sisters. “As long as she sat by me at the card table, I couldn’t lose! And she and Eirual tell such saucy stories!”

Anxious to prolong the evening for Alec’s sake, Seregil said, “I’d like to test that luck, myself. Why don’t we go on to the Three Dragons?”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of your very interesting performance there,” Ania said with a knowing smile. “I wonder if they’ll allow you in again?”

“Or perhaps a repeat performance will be required,” Eirual teased.

“If the former, dear ladies, then I know I am welcome at the Drake. And if the latter, well…” He trailed off suggestively.

“I fear we must beg off,” said Laneus, much to his wife’s disappointment. “I don’t care for such pursuits, but the rest of you go on.”

Bilairy’s Balls! Seregil cursed inwardly, trying to gauge how much time had passed, though the only emotion he allowed to show was disappointment. “Perhaps you’re right. I should probably go home and see how poor Alec is doing.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be asleep by now,” Malthus chided. “Come, just a few games and then we’ll let you go.”

Duchess Ania slipped an arm through his. “Please, Seregil. I really do want to see if they’ll make you disrobe again! Marquise Rela was there, and told me you were quite the handsome sight. I won’t take no for an answer, my dear!”

Alec was in the library, searching without much hope of success, when he heard voices outside the door.

“I didn’t want to leave!” a woman was saying angrily.

A male murmur answered, though Alec couldn’t make out the words.

“He is not! And why should you accept his invitation in the first place, if you feel that way toward him?”

Another conciliatory murmur, then Alec heard the unmistakable click of the door handle turning. He dove under the nearest table, which had only a short tapestry cloth thrown over it, and made sure the black silk over his face and the rag covering his hair were in place.

A pair of breeches-clad legs passed by and a lamp was lit on the table above Alec’s head. After a moment he heard the slide of a book on a shelf and the riffling of vellum pages.

Illior help me if he sits down. Alec scarcely dared to breathe. The man left the room at last, leaving the lamp lit and the door open behind him.

Alec crouched under the table, heart pounding, as first one servant, then another came in. Now what?

Choosing his moment, he crawled out from his hiding place just long enough to blow out the lamp, then quickly retreated, like a snail into its shell.

More servants, or perhaps the same ones, bustled up and down for what felt like a very long time. Was Seregil home already, worrying about him or worse yet, regretting his decision to let Alec have this job on his own?

Things finally quieted down. Hoping the room was dark enough to hide him if he was wrong, he crept to the window and tried the sash. Of course it would be locked! After a moment’s cursing, he realized that it was only latched. Undoing the catch, he stuck his head out to appraise his situation. Just

to one side of the window there was a steep slate roof, no doubt part of a summer kitchen or well house. If he lowered himself out carefully, he might be able to get a foot over onto it, and if there were handholds…

The sound of voices in the corridor decided him. Slipping over the sill, he swung one-handed from it and found purchase on a bit of decorative stonework under the window. Pushing away from that as hard as he could, he made it onto the roof, but immediately lost his balance and slid down the slick slates. Fortunately there was a gutter and he managed to jam his heels into it in time to keep from skidding over the edge onto the flagstones below. It was a noisy fall, and a watchdog began barking somewhere out of sight. Feet firmly braced against the wooden gutter, Alec hastily fumbled out another bit of sausage and threw it out into the kitchen yard. A huge black dog appeared, but instead of eating the offering, it began to bark at him. For the second time that night, Alec managed the dog trick successfully, but not before someone came out to investigate. As soon as he heard a door thrown open below him Alec lay back on the slates as flat as he could, praying they didn’t come too far out or he’d be seen for sure.

“What the ’ell is it, Brute?” an old man’s raspy voice demanded.

Alec heard the click of the dog’s claws on the flags, footsteps with them, a muttered curse, and the sound of the door closing again. He had to get out of here before someone noticed the rope hanging tellingly down the back garden wall.

Seregil was expecting the assassins this time, and heard them coming. There were four of them. Either Laneus had engaged them before he knew Alec had been taken ill, or he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

It put him in a bit of a quandary; if Lord Seregil single-handedly took down four trained Rhiminee assassins, it would cause unwanted talk. The question was nearly decided for him when one of them grabbed for Cynril’s bridle and another tried to drag Seregil from the saddle. Seregil clung on with one hand and grappled the man with the other, going

for his eyes. He missed and caught him by the throat instead. His fingers tangled in something and he felt a tug when he managed to push the man off. Another assassin grabbed his foot and tried to pull it from the stirrup, but Seregil kicked Cynril into a gallop, rode down the man in front of him, and hurtled like fury as an arrow whined past his ear. He was halfway to Wheel Street before he realized that he was clutching something in his right hand. Reining in under a street lantern, he unclenched his fist from around a small bronze disk on the remains of a slender chain. He must have pulled it from the man’s neck during his escape. On one side he could make out the stamped outline of Sakor’s flame; on the other was the flame-and-palace emblem of the City Regiment.

Alec was quite pleased with himself when he arrived back at the Stag and Otter before Seregil did, and little worse for wear beyond a torn shirtsleeve and a bruised elbow. He hurriedly washed away the sweat of the night’s labors and just had time to settle on the couch with a book when he heard Seregil on the stairs, taking them two at a time and quickly muttering the passwords. The door swung open and Alec caught a fleeting look of relief on Seregil’s face before the other man managed to cover it. Seregil sauntered in as if he hadn’t just run up the stairs.

“You must have been having a good time,” Alec noted over the back of the couch. “I’ve been here for ages.”

“It was rather amusing, dining with people who want you dead,” Seregil said with a crooked grin as he sat down beside Alec.

He smelled a bit of horse sweat, Alec noted, and the legs of his trousers were damp around the knees, as if he’d lathered Cynril coming home. “Everything all right?”

“I met up with a few more fellows bent on doing me mischief-”

“You what?” Alec demanded in alarm, looking for wounds.

Seregil fended him off, laughing. “Lord Seregil took to his heels and made it home in one piece, as you can see. But I

did come away with this.” He flipped Alec the bronze disk. “What do you make of that?”

Alec turned it over and inspected both sides. “It’s a soldier’s charm, isn’t it? And this design looks like the crest of the City Regiment.”

“I think tonight’s assassins were General Sarien’s men.”

“You’re probably right.” Alec told him about the note to Sarien.

“That certainly sounds like they’re still recruiting. And if Sarien is turning his own troops against the queen, then this is worse than I thought. We’ll have to keep a closer eye on the man.”

“I found this, too.” Alec then handed him the note he’d copied. “Well, this is a copy.”

“Obviously, and nearly illegible.”

“I was in a hurry.” Alec snatched it back and read it aloud. “Your Highness, I am most honored to have my humble invitation so graciously accepted. I assure you, all arrangements regarding the princess royal will be in place. I regret to say that I do not trust your friend Lord Seregil. He is far too friendly with certain factions who do not wish you- And that’s where it ends. He must have been interrupted.”

Seregil took the letter from him again and reread it. “Well, he doesn’t address Klia by name. Given the salutation, it could conceivably be to her, Korathan, or Aralain. But not Elani, since he mentions her in it. Not good news about me, though. That’s clear enough.”

“Do you think one of the royals asked about you?”

“Impossible to say from this, but we can’t discount the possibility. If so then it was most likely Aralain.”

Alec looked down at the damp spots on Seregil’s breeches again. “How many assassins were there?”

Seregil avoided his eye. “Only four.”

“Only?”

Seregil patted Alec’s knee. “They were on foot and I managed to ride away without a fight. Gave Cynril a nice little run, and I’m none the worse for it.”

“Laneus is getting a bit obvious, isn’t he?”

“Desperate is more like it.”

“The quicker we turn over what we know to Korathan, the better!”

Seregil looked down at the copied letter again. “No. If this is interpreted as meant for Klia, then it could cast further doubt on her intentions.”

“What do you really think?”

“You know what I think, but it’s not enough to convince the prince. Besides, this could be a jilt, something left lying around for us to find.”

“You think he was expecting to be burgled?”

“He may have thought that’s why I was inviting him out, to get him out of the way for the evening. Did you leave any sign of being there?”

“No, of course not!” Then Alec’s face fell. “The window. I had to go out a window in the library and there wasn’t any way to latch it after me. What about you? How were Laneus and Malthus?”

“Laneus is a cold fellow, and clearly in charge. Malthus may think he has some control over the man, but I doubt it. Laneus asked me to spy on Reltheus for him.” He gave Alec a smirk. “But it does seem a hollow offer, with the assassins and all.”

“Do you think he’ll keep trying to kill us?”

“I’ll drop him a tidbit or two to pique his interest. Maybe he’ll find me too useful to murder.”

Atre carefully locked the door of the dank little room, lit the candle from his shuttered lantern, and bent down to retrieve the casket from under the table. Opening it, he stirred through the jewels, enjoying the play of all those life threads caressing his fingers. So tempting, all of them, but he had one in particular in mind tonight. He found the thick golden chain and laid it out on the table in front of him. The ornate links of worked gold glimmered richly against the rough wood. This was the one Laneus had given him, after insulting him with dinner in the kitchen that night. The man had insulted Lord Seregil, as well, and it amused Atre to be his benefactor’s secret protector, at least in this instance. It was always sweet to take a strong life, and doubly so when

seasoned with revenge. Not to mention the mischief it might wreak among the various conspirators. Nothing in his mother’s teachings had forbidden having a little fun.

The actor’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile as he took a pair of jeweler’s snips from his workbox and cut off a single link. The concentrated life energy was still strong, even in a piece of the whole; Laneus was an old man, and a powerful one. The gold clinked pleasantly against glass as he dropped it into an empty phial and filled it from the waterskin he’d brought. When the bottle was corked and sealed, he inscribed the ring of symbols into the wax. The spines of light flashed brilliantly, lighting up the room for an instant as the duke’s strong soul was sucked into the water. Atre’s mouth watered with anticipation as he scratched in the final symbol in the center and whispered the words over it. The water turned a milky white as the soul was fixed. Ideally, he would have allowed it to steep for several days before fixing the soul to the elixir, as he did with those of the poor, to increase the potency, but he still had no desire for the “sleeping death” to appear among the nobles just yet. And given the power of the duke’s life force, this elixir would be rich enough even without aging. Kylith’s-made and drunk the same night, as well-certainly had been.

The duke’s life pulsed against Atre’s hand, making his whole body ache with need. No doubt it would be reported that the man had died suddenly in his bed. Given the duke’s age, it shouldn’t raise eyebrows, any more than had Kylith’s sudden death.

He wrenched away the warm wax and cork and emptied the draught down his throat. The power hit him like a blow to the belly, then spread out through his body like fire. His vision went white, and searing waves of heat and cold made him shudder with pleasure, even as the bitter flavor of the elixir coated his tongue.

Atre sprawled across the rude table, waiting for the world to stop spinning, and laughed aloud, voice muffled by the thick walls. He felt-immortal, and the pleasure was all the more sweet, knowing that Duke Laneus was dead.

Just one more. The thought flitted across his whirling mind. Just one…

Caught up in the euphoria of the elixir, Atre took a golden hairpin set with a small citrine from the box and twirled it between his fingers, making the stone glow like a tiny flame in the lantern light.

With a dreamy smile he set it aside. Not yet, but soon. Reaching into the box he selected a piece at random. It was a cheap brass brooch set with jade, given to him by an old merchant’s wife back in their Basket Street days. He’d only kept it because it was rich with life. Reaching for his tools, he set to work prying one of the jades loose.

He grinned to himself as he began the procedure again. After all, who’d notice the death of a nobody like that? When it was finished he gulped it down and moaned aloud at the renewed hit of sensation. The lantern light seemed to swell around him, filling the chamber with a swirling golden cloud. He could feel his pulse moving in every inch of his body, and the pounding of his heart sounded like the thunder of the surf crashing against the shore. It hadn’t been like this for a long time, too long, with Brader’s insistence on austerity and caution.

When the euphoria began to fade, he found himself clutching two more empty phials, each made from the item of a slum child. He must have pulled them from the rack and opened them while caught up in the glow of the second elixir. His skin was tingling, his muscles twitching against his long bones, hand shaking as he placed the last three phials in the rack.

Be careful! a small, sane voice whispered to him as the elixir’s effects lingered on. You know what can happen if you get too greedy.

Squatting down, he buried his hands in the jewels, watching the waving glow that surrounded them, a veritable carpet of life threads. Under the elixir’s influence, he could see them even better, see how they extended to fill the room, waving like sea grass under the swells. Lifting a handful of the jewels, he pressed them to his face to cool it. Precious jewels, indeed. So precious.

Just one more… Just one more…

Shaking now, he went to the rack and pulled out a labeled elixir, one of the “special vintages” as he thought of them, made from the soul of a disgraced, very drunk soldier he’d met in the Ring. It wasn’t labeled; he hadn’t bothered to ask when he traded him a lucky “dragon’s tooth” for the tiny military charm soaking inside this phial. Such life and experience! Oh, this one would be fine. He cracked the seal and sucked down the bitter contents, then let out a cry as the concentrated, properly aged elixir struck his belly and mind. Colors wheeled around him, and snatches of beautiful music. He saw faces, felt the touch of hands upon his skin, the shuddering exultation of orgasms compounded by time, and life. So much life!

He came to lying on the floor next to the open jewel casket with no sense of how much time had passed. For all he knew, it could have been hours, or days. That was one of the dangers of overdoing things, but even now he felt the same old whisper of need.

Just one more…

No matter how many he drank, he was never quite sated, and he knew better than anyone living that drinking the powerful ones only made it worse. But he lacked Brader’s ability to deny himself the pleasure of excess.

Staggering to his feet, he pulled the parchment label from Laneus’s chain and fixed it to the empty phial with a few drops of wax. It pleased him to keep the empty bottles labeled until he needed them again, trophies to gloat over. He slid it in beside the empty one bearing Lady Kylith’s name and took off the bone necklace. Brader would be able to tell what he’d done, and he’d have to wear a little more cosmetic to keep the others from noticing, but ah, it had been worth it! He hadn’t indulged himself like this in months.

Reeling a little, he put the room back in order, avoiding looking at the racks and their still-enticing contents.