Cascet of souls

CHAPTER 14. Making an Imperssion

SEREGIL and Alec’s fortunes continued to improve when they received an invitation in the archduchess’s own hand, asking them to join her salon the following evening. Seregil, in turn, sent a message to Atre. The actor appeared at their door the next day, dressed nearly as splendidly as they were.

“Sorry to pull you away from your work,” said Seregil as they set off on horseback, but only out of politeness. “I suppose you had to cancel the show?”

“Oh, no,” Atre assured him blithely. The man had hired a glossy black gelding for the evening and rode well. “We have a few plays in our repertoire that don’t include me. My understudy, Calieus, and young Teibo have center stage tonight. But of course, I would have come, even if it meant canceling a performance. I’m delighted to repay your generosity in such a small way.”

“And I’m delighted that you are a man of your word,” Seregil replied.

A damp, salt-laden breeze blew up from the harbor as they rode through the well-lit streets of the Noble Quarter to the grandest part bordering Silvermoon Street.

Alaya’s villa was four times the size of the house in Wheel Street. When they arrived, Seregil was surprised to find not only two servants in white livery ready to greet them and take charge of their horses, but half a dozen of the Palace Guard on duty as well.

The captain politely asked their names and gave them a slight bow. “Her Grace is expecting you.”

Servants ushered them inside and led them through a lavishly appointed receiving room into a grand salon, the walls of which were painted, Skalan-style, with colorful murals depicting ocean scenes. The archduchess’s main holdings were on the southeastern coast, though she was seldom there now that she served at court.

A large set of double doors at the far side of the room stood open, and through these they stepped into a garden courtyard ringed with fragrant flowers and trees and lit by crystal lanterns on tall gilt stands. The center was paved with pink marble slabs with compact lines of aromatic creeping thyme between them, bright with tiny purple flowers. Alaya and her guests reclined at ease on silk-draped couches set up beside a moss-crusted fountain. Carved sea serpents rose up out of the broad marble basin to spit tinkling streams of water.

Reltheus was already there, sharing a couch with a middle-aged woman Seregil recognized at once as Princess Aralain, mother of Elani. The princess royal sat with Alaya, slender as a boy in her sea-green silk. Elani had her aunt and mother’s fair hair and pale eyes, but must have taken after her father more than the royal side, for she was rather pretty, though Seregil noted a small scar just to the left of her chin, and another across the back of her right hand; swordsman’s scars. Her hands were not coarse-no doubt she wore gloves-but her nails were trimmed short.

Archduchess Alaya was dressed in purple silk, her white hair a mass of jeweled braids and ringlets. Marquise Evesia and her husband occupied another couch, and Marquis Kyrin completed the party, Seregil was surprised but pleased to see.

A young woman with red-blond hair stood in the circle of couches, the celebrated poetess Jenaria. She was reciting lyric verse at the moment. Seregil, Alec, and the actor remained respectfully in the doorway, waiting for her to finish.

When the poetess finished and sat down amid a flurry of applause, Seregil and his companions stepped forward and bowed deeply to the princesses and their hostess. Atre remained behind them.

Reltheus stood and joined them. “Your Highnesses, Your Grace, allow me to present Lord Seregil of Rhiminee, and his companion, Lord Alec of Ivywell.”

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 Aurenfaie? 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 Rhiminee,” 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 Aurenen, 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 Viresse.”

“Is that a city there?”

Seregil smiled. “Yes, and a grand one. Viresse rivals Rhiminee 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 Aurenfaie 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 thought 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.

“Well, about Alec and myself, of course. One does like to know who one’s real friends are.”

“And anything to do with the royal family is always welcome,” added Alec, as if an afterthought. “We happen to be good friends with Princess Klia and are rather protective of her. The nobility can be so fickle, even cruel.”

“But of course!” Atre assured them with a knowing wink. “And who knows what people might say in front of the mere entertainment, that they wouldn’t say to your face, eh?”

“I think we understand each other,” Seregil replied, reaching for the purse on his discarded belt.

“No need for that, my lord. You’re far too generous as it is. You and Lady Kylith were the making of our little company, such good connections.” He gave them a seated bow. “Having the honor of your trust is worth far more to me than gold. I am eternally in your debt, my lords.”

“As you wish. More turab?”

Atre bid his patrons good night and headed home, very well pleased with his evening’s work on all accounts. Holding up his hand, he admired the rings he’d been given tonight. The oval amethyst from Princess Elani looked good enough to eat.

Lord Seregil’s proposal had not been a complete surprise; Atre knew a fellow actor when he saw one, and there was a good deal more to Seregil than the man let on. For all his foppish airs and fawning over his young paramour, there was a hint of shrewdness about both of them that Atre knew better than to discount.

An odd pair, that, he thought as he rode from the noble quarter to the Street of the Sheaf. Lord Seregil had clearly been born to culture and the cutthroat world of court life.

Lord Alec’s manners, on the other hand, were a thin veneer that couldn’t quite mask his country roots. Given what Atre had learned about the pair in the short time he’d been moving in noble circles, he wasn’t alone in wondering how a young bumpkin from a place so obscure no one seemed to know where it was held the attention of a rake like Seregil. Atre allowed himself a thin smile; nobles did indeed gossip about them, and it was generally assumed that Lord Seregil didn’t keep the boy around for his conversational skills. Atre believed that was an underestimation of both men; the affection between them seemed quite genuine, and Alec was no fool.

Unlike the area around the old theater in Basket Street, Atre’s new haunt was an unlikely place to meet with footpads, but he still kept a sharp eye out as he passed under the swaying street lanterns.

Thanks to the largesse of their several patrons and the success of the plays, he and his company had been able to rent a large house in Gannet Lane quite near the theater. For the first time since the near disaster in Mycena, they had a proper roof over their heads and enough rooms for the various members of their little household to spread out in. It had been below Atre’s dignity to share space with the boys of the company in that Basket Street attic, but there had been little choice.

Here he’d already begun to surround himself with fine things again-rich furnishings, luxurious linens and hangings for his carved bedstead, a few tapestries and carpets. He’d filled two wardrobes with excellent clothes and had caskets overflowing with jewelry, most of that gifts from his ever-growing circle of admirers.

The house was quiet when he arrived, flushed with turab and success. His aspirations among Skalan nobility reached far beyond Lady Kylith and Lord Seregil; meeting the princess royal and her mother had been an unexpected turn of luck. He could tell that his performance had pleased Elani far more than that poet woman’s drivel. Another potential connection.

The large, sparsely furnished front room was dark except for a candle someone had left burning for him in a clay

holder. Taking it with him, he climbed the creaking stairs and unlocked the door at the far end of the hallway. Entering his room, he set the candle on the dressing table and studied his handsome face in the gilt-framed glass on the wall, looking for flaws and finding none.

He thought again of the fascinating Lord Seregil. It was a shame, really, that title. The man was wasted on nobility. What an actor Atre could have made of him! Not that he’d share a stage with such competition, but with another handsome principal actor to build a second cast around, Atre could expand the repertoire still further, perhaps even acquire another theater. Yes, it was a pity, but having the man’s patronage was something, and his interest. He’d seen the way Seregil’s gaze had fixed on him now and then, and the way the princess royal had been looking at Seregil’s young lover. Indeed, such a pair could prove useful. And there was the matter of Seregil asking him to spy for him; it seemed he’d gained the man’s trust.

Sitting down at the dressing table, he began sorting the night’s jewels. For each one he wrote out a label with the name of the previous owner and tied it on with a bit of blue silk thread. Some went into a jewel casket on the dressing table. A few others were set aside for special safekeeping.

Brader came in without knocking.

“Look!” Atre showed him the amethyst ring on his little finger. “A gift from the princess royal herself.”

Brader raised a disapproving eyebrow.

Atre closed the jewel box with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t help it if people give me things. The rest of you have your own little collections, too.”

“We don’t flaunt them. And we don’t label them.”

“How else can I be sure to wear the right ones when I’m with the person who gave them to me? They want to see them on me, as you very well know.” The frown tilted into a fond smile as he fingered the jewel hanging from his ear. “It makes them feel special.”

There was a touch of malice in Brader’s answering smile. “Yet not all of them give you gifts. Or do you have a new bauble or two in there from our lesser patrons?”

“Lord Seregil and his boy give me money, and they have some useful connections. The higher-ups seem to find them amusing.”

“And did they find you amusing tonight?”

“Of course! I told you we’d be entertaining royalty before you know it.”

“Nothing less is good enough for you, is it?”

Atre grinned at his reflection in the mirror. “Why should it be? We’ve fallen into a nice bit of luck here, cousin. I plan to take full advantage. You’re not going to oppose me, are you?”

The big man shrugged. “You’re the master of the company. But your ambition and vanity have led us-”

“My ambition and vanity have kept us alive and prospering. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m tired and we have a full rehearsal tomorrow. You should get some sleep, too, cousin. You’re looking a bit haggard. Are you eating well? Shall I fix you a little something?”

Without a word Brader turned and left, shutting the door softly behind him.

Smiling to himself, Atre admired the princess’s amethyst ring again. He was indeed fortunate in his patrons.