Cascet of souls

CHAPTER 26. Lord Seregil Distinguishes Himself

“MY lord, it’s said that there is no way to cheat at bakshi, so I can only assume you are using magic,” Duke Foris growled that evening as Seregil slapped down one of his carnelian pieces and captured the duke’s spear.

The Three Dragons gambling house stood a few doors down from the Drake and was even more opulent, attracting a clientele made up of higher-ranking nobles. Young Selin had been invited, as well, and several other nobles Seregil knew only slightly; General Sarien was also there in the crowd that had gathered to watch the battle being played out between Seregil and Foris. Seregil’s reputation was well known up and down the Street of Lights, as was that of Foris, a young rake with a reputation of his own-one that had gotten the man banned from several of the brothels here in the Street, including Eirual’s, as it happened. Seregil was enjoying besting the man very much.

“No magic, Your Grace, just Illior’s luck,” Alec drawled, leaning on the back of Seregil’s chair.

“I’ve played him enough myself to agree, Foris,” Reltheus told the man. “He’s just damn good, and lucky.”

“It’s all right,” Seregil said, sliding one of his carnelian pieces into place in front of Foris’s lapis one to blunt another spear. Picking up the captured stones one by one, he glanced up at the duke with a cold smile. “I’m sure it wasn’t your intent to impugn my honor.”

The duke, however, was a little drunk and not put off by the veiled threat. Lord Seregil was better known for avoiding

duels than fighting them. “Nine rounds in a row? You must have a charm on you somewhere!”

A murmur went through the crowd; it was a serious charge.

Seregil leaned back in his chair and spread his arms. “Search me, Your Grace. I swear by Illior you’ll find nothing of the sort.” He looked around at the crowd with the slightly inane grin he affected when dealing with situations like this among the nobles. “Why, the rest of you can wager on it, but I say your money is best laid on me!”

“I’ll take that wager. Have him strip!” one of the ladies cried, holding up her silk purse, and the cry was quickly taken up by the crowd.

Foris’s smile was mean. “Yes, I’ll take that wager. Fifty gold sesters says he has a luck piece or mark on him. What say you, Lord Seregil? Will you stand by your offer?”

“I suppose I must,” Seregil said with a shrug.

“You can’t be serious!” Reltheus murmured, raising a surprised eyebrow.

“It’s a matter of honor,” Seregil said firmly.

“But how will we know it?” the general asked. “A charm could be anything. Is there a wizard here?”

“Here’s one!” someone at the back of the crowd shouted.

Old Reneus, one of the senior Oreska wizards, was none too pleased to be pressed into service for such a menial task, but with some cajoling and a fresh cup of wine he finally consented.

“Now you’ve done it,” Alec muttered as Seregil handed him his sword belt and pulled off his boots and socks.

The wizard took each one with evident distaste and quickly handed them back. “No magic here.”

“Better than a duel,” Seregil whispered back, then climbed onto his chair so everyone had a good view of him. “Really, Foris, you’re throwing your money away.” He slipped off his coat and dropped it into Alec’s waiting arms. The wizard took it and searched through the pockets. Seregil pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside with a flourish.

“There, you see? Nothing,” said Seregil, turning for the crowd to inspect his bare torso.

Foris smirked up at him. “There are still places to hide something. Keep going.”

“Perhaps he has it hanging from his cock!” one wag suggested loudly.

“I’d like to see that,” the woman who’d placed the first bet concurred. “Come on now, Lord Seregil. Out with it!”

One thing Seregil had never managed to master was blushing at will, but he made a good job of looking comically outraged. “You’re not serious? Really now, Your Grace, I’ve left those days behind me.”

“A wager is a wager, my lord, unless you’d rather settle this on the plain?” said Foris.

“I’m afraid he’s within his rights, my lord,” Sarien reminded him with an avid look in his eye. Seregil made a mental note to find out what sort of brothels the man frequented, if any.

Dueling was not allowed inside the city, but a blind eye was turned on whatever went on outside its walls, and killing someone in a formal duel there was not considered murder. It had been some time since Seregil had fought for his honor.

“Very well, then.” He unlaced his leather trousers and pushed them and his linen down with a graceful flourish. The crowd exploded in applause and laughter. Those closest to Alec slapped him on the back. Seregil climbed off the chair and stood grinning, hands on hips, as his trousers were inspected, then took them back and dressed as carefully as if he were in front of his looking glass at home, smoothing out every wrinkle. Money changed hands around him; it was clear that public sentiment was on his side, for whatever reason.

“Bravely done, young man!” General Sarien said, clapping Seregil on the shoulder before wandering off in the direction of the wine servers.

Taking his place again, Seregil raised his chin and grinned across the gaming table at his opponent. “Shall we continue, Your Grace?”

More applause erupted at the duke’s expense.

Caught, Foris had no choice but to finish-and lose-the game. With gritted teeth he paid off the wagers, swept his

stones back into their fancy embroidered bag, and strode off with all the dignity he could muster.

Seregil looked around at his admirers. “Next?”

The woman who’d championed the wager took the chair Foris had vacated and poured her stones into the polished tray in front of her. They were made of blue opal, and she held one up, showing him Illior’s crescent inlaid in silver on the back of it. “The Lightbringer will have to decide between us, my lord, for I’ve been known to have the Immortal’s favor, as well. Or would you like to inspect my clothing for charms first?”

“A tempting offer, Marquise, but your honor is above reproach.”

“You’re very gallant, Lord Seregil, but now I’m disappointed,” she said with a teasing smile. “Well, you had your chance. Shall we play?”

They were still arranging their stones for the first round when a young page made his way through the crowd and whispered something to Alec. He, in turn, leaned down and whispered in Seregil’s ear, “Kepi’s outside.”

“Nothing too serious, I hope?” said Reltheus.

“A messenger,” Seregil told him. “Alec, be a dear and deal with him, would you?”

“I promised Palmani I’d make an early night of it, and it’s nearly midnight,” Reltheus noted after half a dozen rounds.

“Oh, I’d rather hoped we could get in a few more games together,” Seregil told him.

“Come to the house, then, you and Alec, when you’ve finished your business. I believe I might have another bakshi game or two in me.”

“In that case, I hope you have a few coins left in your purse. Just let me go see where Alec has gotten to, and I’ll meet you at the house.”

He found Alec and Kepi on the pavement near the entrance to the gambling house, under the watchful eye of the doorman, who clearly disapproved of such an unsightly character in the Street.

Seregil hustled them both quickly out of sight into the shadows beyond the reach of the street lanterns.

“What is it?” Seregil demanded.

“It’s Atre,” Alec told him. “He’s gone and gotten himself stabbed.”

“That actor fellow’s a friend of yours, ain’t he?” asked Kepi, looking pleased with himself.

“How in the world did you know that?”

Kepi just winked and grinned.

“Bilairy’s Balls! What happened?” asked Seregil.

“Don’t know the particulars, only that he’s over in Brass Alley, back of the Skulpin. I just heard of it and I come straight up to tell you.”

“The Skulpin? What was he doing there?” The gambling house was in the unfashionable-and at this hour, dangerous-area near Atre’s old theater and catered mostly to locals. There were plenty of cutpurses, bawds, and footpads about at this time of night, ready to relieve the unwary of their winnings.

“Is he alive?” asked Alec.

“He was when my friend heard about it. I went to your house and they told me you was here. I come straight on.”

“Good lad. We’ll deal with it.” Seregil took half a dozen coppers from his purse and gave them to the boy. Kepi made him another ill-formed bow and took off at a run, darting between horses and carriages. He was soon out of sight among the evening crowd.

“Damnation!” Seregil scrubbed a hand back through his hair. He needed to find out what the scribe had given Reltheus, but he could hardly abandon the actor in such circumstances.

“I’ll see to Atre,” Alec told him. “You go with Reltheus and make some excuse for me.”

“All right. As soon as you’re finished, come to his house, or send word to me there if you won’t be coming.”

They walked in silence to the nearby stable to collect Alec’s horse. A groom led Windrunner out. As Alec went to mount, Seregil caught him by the arm and brushed his lips over Alec’s. “Take care, tali.”

Alec gave him a knowing look. “You know I will. And you.” He swung up into the saddle and rode out into the

throng. Trying to ignore the knot of tension in his belly, Seregil went back inside to find Reltheus.

Alec road to Brass Alley at a gallop and found the actor alive and groaning on a couch in a poorly lit back room of the gambling den. He was dressed uncharacteristically plainly without a jewel on him-an apparent attempt to fit in with his surroundings. Or perhaps he’d been robbed.

A small crowd of ne’er-do-wells and doxies were peering in from the doorway, but parted for Alec at the sight of his fine clothes and sword.

A drysian was with Atre, tending to a wound on his belly. The actor was white-faced and looked frightened, but at least he was conscious.

“What happened?” Alec asked, kneeling down beside him and taking the man’s hand.

“Oh, my lord!” Atre gasped, clinging to Alec’s hand with both of his, which were sticky with blood. “How did you know?”

“Never mind that. What in Bilairy’s name happened to you?” A few patches of stage cosmetics near his hairline stood out against his milk-pale skin, Alec noted absently. He must have been in a hurry to come here.

“It didn’t happen in my establishment, my lord,” a round-faced man in dusty velvet told him. “This is an honest house.”

Alec doubted that.

“It was a girl, on the street,” Atre told him. “She said she was hurt, and when I tried to help her-look what she did!”

“It’s not as bad as all that,” the drysian scoffed as he bandaged the wound.

“And took your purse, I suppose,” said Alec. It was a common ploy among the girl cutpurses. “What are you doing alone in a place like this?”

“Oh, you know-” Atre was too pale to blush but he looked rather ashamed of himself.

“Got tired of the pampered nobles and came back here, looking for a bit of rougher fun?” Brader growled as he

strode into the room and stood over Atre. Apparently he’d gotten word, as well.

The actor looked away, saying nothing.

“This is no place for the likes of you,” the drysian scolded. “Stay with your fashionable friends and find your fun there. I have better things to do than patch up you silly thrill seekers.”

“I will, Brother. By the Maker, I will!” Atre mumbled, then looked up imploringly at Alec. “Please, my lord, don’t leave me here.”

“Of course not,” Alec assured him, then turned to the master of the house. “Is it possible to hire a carriage at this hour?”

“No need,” said Brader. “I brought the cart.”

The drysian finished with the bandage and straightened up. “There, that should hold your guts in well enough. See that you keep the wound clean and it should be healed in a week or so, if a bit sore.”

“I have to be onstage tomorrow!”

“That’s why you have an understudy,” Brader muttered, handing the healer some silver.

The drysian nodded to them and took his leave.

“Oh, Calieus will be pleased!” Atre groaned. “He hangs over me like a carrion crow, just waiting for something like this to happen.”

Alec chuckled. “It’s his job, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. Good night, my lord.” Brader lifted Atre in his arms as if he weighed no more than a child. Alec followed them outside and watched Brader place the wounded man on some folded blankets in the back of the cart.

“Really, I think a carriage would be more comfortable,” said Alec. “I’ll happily pay.”

“No need, my lord,” Brader said gruffly. It was clear that he was angry with his friend and perhaps meant to deny him the comfort of better transport. Or that’s what Alec thought until Brader added, “With respect, we take care of our own.”

He climbed in and snapped the reins over the grey mare’s back.

That was a bit rude! Alec thought as the cart rattled away. I might as well have stayed with Seregil.

He was on his way back to the duke’s house, riding past a narrow side lane, when he noticed a hand on the ground at the mouth of it, just visible in the faint light of a nearby street lantern. Reining in, he got down and hurried over to see if someone was hurt. A young, poorly dressed man lay facedown in the dirt. Checking quickly for signs of footpads, Alec rolled him over. His eyes were open, but not fixed in death. It was another of the mysterious sleepers. The man was young, with the disreputable appearance of a footpad and the odor of a gate runner. From the looks of him, he’d been lying there for a day or more. All the same, Alec felt guilty at the thought of leaving him to die in the street like a sick dog.

With some effort, he slung the man over Windrunner’s saddle and led the horse to a nearby Dalnan temple. It was late, but temples didn’t close, at least not a Dalnan one. It would only take a moment.

A young, brown-robed girl answered the bell and helped him carry the stricken man in.

“What have you brought me, young man?” asked the old priestess in charge.

“One stricken with the sleeping death, Sister.”

“Ah, another. Bring him into the sick room.”

“Another? You’ve seen more here in the Upper City?”

“Only a few.”

There were two younger boys and a man with the flattened features and slanted eyes of the god-touched laid out on clean pallets.

Leaving the drysian and her helpers to take care of the man, Alec bent over the boys. “This one’s gone,” he said softly, resting his hand on the chest of the smaller boy.

The drysian went to the child and pressed a finger to his wrist, then nodded sadly. “Astellus carry him gently. This one lasted longer than most, from what we’ve heard. Who knows about others left to die unnoticed in some hovel or tenement?”

“How many others have you seen here, besides these?”

“Two others. I think they must have made their way up from the harbor.”

“Sister, when these stricken ones come to you, do you inspect them closely?”

“We do, my lord, looking for any kind of wound.”

“And you find nothing?”

“Nothing unusual, just the occasional bruises or cuts, but not on all.”

He thought a moment, trying to decide what Seregil would ask if he were here. “No markings?”

“What sort of markings?”

“Any kind. Guild marks, tattoos, brands.”

“No, my lord, nothing like that.”

“Are there more of these sick people at any of the other temples in the Upper City?” asked Alec, still kneeling by the dead boy.

“No, but as I said, with us being so close to the Harbor Way, it’s us who finds them. The main temple down in Grampus Street is where most of them are being taken, as there’s more found on that side of Trade Street.”

Only a few streets separated Trade from some of the lowest stews in Rhiminee. He took out his gambling winnings and gave them to her. “Thank you, Sister, and Maker’s Mercy.”

Her eyes widened at the weight of the purse. “Maker’s Mercy to you, too, kind sir.”

The whole household was awake when Brader arrived with the cart.

“What happened?” Merina demanded in alarm, following behind him as Brader carried Atre to his room.

“A foolish accident on my part,” Atre gasped. He made no objection as she helped him out of his clothes and into his ornate bed. “I found myself missing some of our former haunts-”

Merina exchanged a doubtful look with her husband. “More fool you, then. What would we do without you?”

“We’ll be doing without him for a few days, at least,” Brader told her, glowering down at Atre, then at the anxious

people hovering at the door. “Go on to bed, all of you. I’ll sit with him for a while.”

He closed the door firmly after them and pulled a chair up to the bedside. “What in the name of Soru were you thinking, going down there without me?”

“You were off with your family, weren’t you?” Atre’s tone bordered on accusing, and not for the first time. Atre had never married, never cared enough about any woman to do so, though he’d had no end of romantic conquests. If it had been up to him, Brader would have done the same. “Someone has to go. We’re running low again, you know.”

“It’s getting dangerous. You’re taking too many chances.”

“What choice do we have, my friend? Unless…”

Brader clenched his fists. “No!”

Atre gave a maddening little shrug. “Well then. Fetch me a draught, will you, please?”

Brader went to the wardrobe and took out the leather elixir box, selecting a milky phial at random.

Breaking the seal, Atre drank it down greedily, hand pressed to his bandaged belly. “Ah, that eases it a bit. Another.”

“You drank just yesterday. It’s too soon for so much.”

“Not with a wound!” the other man snapped, holding out his hand.

“You’ll still have to pretend to be hurt for a few days,” he reminded him as he went to fetch him another bottle.

“Acting is so much easier when you’re not in pain,” Atre shot back.

“Too easy, perhaps,” Brader muttered. “At least take warning from this.”

At Reltheus’s villa, Seregil and the rest of their party from the Three Dragons settled down over wine and pipes in the smaller salon.

Reltheus disappeared for a moment and came back without his coat on, he noted with interest. Seregil sat laughing over his wine with the others for some time, then announced a full bladder and walked a bit unsteadily from the room.

Reltheus’s study lay just down the corridor. The coat was

thrown carelessly over a chair and the pilfered letter was in the desk, concealed under a stack of other correspondence. Seregil hid behind the study door to read it, so as to be able to hear anyone approaching, and see who it was through the crack in the door. The letter was dated yesterday.

Your Majesty, Dearest Aunt, I made sacrifices at the Sakor Temple for your success and safety yesterday. I hope the Immortal will continue to smile upon you.

It has been raining here, so Master Seneus has held our practices in the smaller ballroom. He praises my sword work and says I’m continuing to improve. I’m sure I will learn even faster when you return as my teacher. No one is your match. I miss your guidance so much!

Seregil smiled to himself. He’d seen a great many young ladies’ letters, and it was clear that Elani was working up to something her aunt was not going to like. Seregil already suspected what that might be. He read on.

Your Lily had eight fine pups two days ago, all healthy and nursing well. She’s a wonderful mother. Duke Reltheus has already asked me to ask you if he might have one of them when they are old enough to give away. I told him you would be back by then and he could ask you himself. I hope you will. The duke has shown me such kindness and I can’t help thinking of him as a sort of uncle. He’s already planning a grand autumn hunt to welcome you home. The deer on his estate are thick this year. He was so very pleased to hear that you speak well of his son, Captain Danos.

Seregil wondered what Elani would think of the news that her swain had been suspected of treason.

Duke Reltheus reads me all of Danos’s letters and it fills me with such excitement! I can’t wait until I can be tested on the field of battle myself. It has been so difficult this summer, being praised for my skills, but having no chance to prove my mettle against a real enemy! As much as I pray for victory to

come soon, in my heart I worry that I will have no chance to see battle before it’s all over. I visit the tombs of our ancestors to give offerings, especially to Queen Gherilain the First.

I have a favor to ask of you, dear Aunt. As I wrote to you in my last letter, I have had occasion to come to know Lord Alec and our kinsman, Lord Seregil and can’t help wondering at your refusal to appoint them to my entourage. They are such good men. Alec is the best archer I have ever seen, even better than my own master of archery, and he has taught me so much! I beg you to reconsider.

Seregil frowned. The last thing he wanted was to return to court, and couldn’t imagine Alec wanting to, either. There was probably little to fear, though. Phoria might tolerate them being friends with her heir, but court appointments seemed very unlikely. It would be so awkward finding a way to refuse, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt the girl’s feelings. If the wind did seem to be blowing that way when Phoria got back, he’d have to embroil himself in some suitable scandal and disgrace himself long enough to be banished from the royal presence for a while. Bothersome, but easily arranged.

He replaced the letter in the desk and made a quick check of what was in Reltheus’s secret cache today, which turned out to be one coded document. A scan proved it to be another field report from Rider Caem, which must have been sent before he’d been caught. It was long and took several moments to puzzle out, but finally Seregil read Klia joined queen at Vremont. Heard shouting from royal tent. K chafes at her losses. Chided by queen, K vowed loyalty. K called her officers to her tent for secret talk. Repeat loyalty to queen. Battle tomorrow. Forefront again.

The battle of Vremont had been reported by the royal heralds as a victory several weeks ago. He wondered how long it would take Reltheus to notice that no more messages were coming.

Seregil put everything back the way he’d found it, and made a quick search of the rest of the large desk. In the

locked drawer he found the beginning of a letter to the queen in which Reltheus expressed some concern about Elani’s evident “infatuation” with Alec. He worried that it was unseemly for her to show feelings toward a young man known to be another nobleman’s lover.

Well, well, you double-dealing old fox, Seregil thought with wry amusement. You think there’s a weasel loose in the henhouse and you’re not about to stand for it. Still, Reltheus must think he or Alec could be useful or he wouldn’t keep them in his circle as he had.

He made himself a bit more disheveled and rejoined the company. Reltheus was playing bakshi with Selin while the others talked. Seregil caught Elani’s name.

“That was a pleasant afternoon with Her Highness, wasn’t it?” Seregil drawled drunkenly, flopping down on the velvet tufted couch beside Stenmir just to annoy the man. “The more I see of that girl, the better I like her. Marvelous wise head on those young shoulders. What a queen she’ll make!”

“There are those who disagree,” Count Tolin sniffed. “I’m surprised you don’t have more to say about Princess Klia being passed over, given your friendship with her.”

Seregil waved a dismissive hand. “She doesn’t aspire to be queen, as far as I know. Loyal as the day is long.”

“The days are getting shorter though, aren’t they?” Stenmir mused, deep in his cups.

Reltheus gave the man a sharp look, then smiled at Seregil. “I’m sure yours is the more valuable observation.”

“Don’t tell me people are worried about her trying to take the throne!” Seregil exclaimed.

“There are those who think she might.”

Seregil pretended to swallow another mouthful of wine and shrugged. “Reckless, foolhardy gossip. Don’t they know that could rip the country apart?”

“I told you he’s the queen’s man,” Reltheus said to the room at large as he pushed his last bakshi stone into place and defeated Selin.

“To the queen!” Seregil raised his cup unsteadily and the others joined in the toast.

Reltheus stood and held out a hand to him. “I need some

air and you look like you could do with some, as well. Come take a turn in the garden with me.”

Seregil wavered to his feet, still playing half inebriated, and took Reltheus’s arm. “Just the thing!”

The rain had stopped and a light fog had risen from the harbor, pleasant against the skin.

“I must say, it’s been a delight getting to know you, my friend,” Reltheus said warmly, patting the hand on his arm. “For all your reputation, I believe there’s more to you than you let on.”

Seregil schooled his expression to a tipsy grin, wondering if Reltheus meant to slit his throat here in the darkness. “I hardly think so. As I’ve often said, most of what you hear about me is true.”

“But I’ve heard a great deal, and not all of it scandalous. You were an important envoy in Aurenen, it’s said, threading the complicated politics of that country.”

Seregil relaxed slightly. “I was glad to be useful to Skala. I love my adopted homeland very much.”

“And you wouldn’t see it come to harm.”

“Of course not.”

“Then I may have a way for you to forestall that.”

Seregil stopped in the light of a garden lantern and looked up at him. “Me? How?”

“Oh, just a little thing,” Reltheus assured him. “As it happens, I have reason to believe that your friend Duke Malthus may be one of those wanting to put Klia on the throne in Elani’s place. I fear he might even be planning to assassinate Phoria and the girl. And I think our friend General Sarien may be in on the plot, as well.”

Seregil gave him a horrified look. “That can’t be!”

“I do hope for their sakes that I’m wrong, but I’m trying to find out for certain before I go to the vicegerent. And I think you can help me in that. You socialize with Malthus frequently. Has he ever said anything to you that would make you think he’s unsympathetic to Elani as heir?”

“Never! Do you think it’s really possible?”

“Yes, I do. If you could keep your ears open, even sound him out a bit, it would be a great service to Skala, the queen,

and Elani, of course. I couldn’t bear to see that girl come to harm.”

I’m sure you couldn’t, thought Seregil, although the man did sound genuinely concerned. After what Elani had told Alec about her feelings for Danos, Seregil was anxious to see her around Danos, to see if there was any real affection on the young man’s side, or just a dutiful son following his father’s wishes-or a mercenary desire to share the royal dais.

“I’ll certainly pay attention to see if Malthus says anything about it, but he is a friend, and I don’t want to get him into any trouble.”

“But you wouldn’t want anyone to think you were colluding with him, either, would you?” Reltheus asked mildly.

Now the gloves were coming off. “Why do you think anyone would think that?” Seregil asked in alarm that was not entirely feigned. If Reltheus turned on him and Alec, he certainly had sway at court.

Reltheus patted his arm again. “I’m sure you’ll prove your loyalty to Skala, Seregil. If you do hear anything compromising, it would be best if you brought it directly to me.”

“Not Prince Korathan?”

Seregil caught a fleeting look of exasperation in the other man’s eyes. Reltheus was quite the dissembler. “No, I think it will be better if you come to me.”

“Very well. I’m sure you know best,” Seregil replied.

They went back inside to find that Alec had arrived.

“And how is your distressed friend?” asked Reltheus, pouring wine for him.

“He’ll live,” Alec said with a smile, catching Seregil’s eye. “Got himself into a bit of trouble in a rough neighborhood. He’s gone home now.”

He and Seregil stayed long enough for Alec to have a few games, and it was closer to dawn than midnight when they finally took their leave. The wind had come up, swirling the thickening mist and blowing out street lanterns. Even here in the Noble Quarter, the lamplighters had turned in for the

night. It was the sort of night footpads crept into the finer streets, looking for an easy mark in the darkness.

“Atre’s all right?” asked Seregil.

“Minor knife wound from a girl cutpurse he tried to help, according to him. Brader came and fetched him.”

“How did he know where Atre was?”

“I didn’t think to ask,” Alec admitted. “Atre must have sent a messenger.”

“No matter, I suppose, so long as he isn’t mortally wounded.”

“Speaking of mortally wounded, I found a man with the sleeping death on the way back. I took him to a temple, and there were more.”

“Up here? How many?”

“Five in all. Tonight it was a god-touched young man, and-two little boys.”

A small but clear stab of heartache slipped along his bond to Seregil. He reined in close beside Alec. “Is it because they’re mostly children, tali?”

“Yes.” It was a hoarse whisper, and Seregil felt that tingle of pain again. Alec had always been good with children. Having Sebrahn for so short a time and then losing him had left a deeper wound than Alec would admit. Though he wouldn’t talk about it, every so often something would bring the sadness to the surface. It happened less often now, but the pain was still just as deep.

“It’s not just that,” Alec added softly. “I was nearly that poor once, and played in the streets when my father left me behind in towns sometimes.”

“At least he came back. You had someone who cared about you.” It had been a long time since Alec had mentioned his father, and although the man had sounded like a hard-bitten sort, Alec had clearly loved him and felt loved in return. At times he showed a bit of the man’s reticence, too, Seregil reflected.

“This disease doesn’t just strike children,” he pointed out. “There was that prostitute we found, and your fellow tonight.”

“That’s true,” Alec said grudgingly. “But the drysian said

the bawd had been to her with various maladies. She might have been ill. It makes sense for a disease to take the weakest.”

“The poor don’t get as much food, especially this summer. They’re not as healthy to begin with, and they die younger.”

Alec frowned. “If Korathan quarantines them, it will just make it worse.”

“But keep it from spreading and killing even more, as it appears it already is. These things run their course, like a fever or a wildfire. Did you get a good look at them?”

“Not a thorough one, but I asked about wounds and marks, tattoos and the like. There was nothing.”

“Well done.”

Alec was quiet for a moment. “The drysian told me there are a lot more sick ones at the temple down in Grampus Street. She said there are more falling sick in the Lower City all the time. That’s where she thought the ones she had came from. The man I found certainly looked like someone who could have been from the stews down there. I think he was a gate runner, from the smell of him.”

“We already have our hands full, Alec.”

“If it’s spreading up here, wouldn’t Valerius want to know?”

Seregil sighed. “We’ll go to him early tomorrow, and see if he knows anything about all this. Let him have a look at them. Illior knows there’s nothing we can do to help them.”

They rode on in silence for a few minutes. “The Skulpin seems a strange sort of place for anyone who loves luxury as much as our actor friend, don’t you think?” said Seregil.

“You think he was lying about why he was there?”

“I don’t know. It could just be a place he frequented when he and his friends lived there.”

“I’m surprised he had the energy to go, after a performance.”

“The Crane is dark tonight.”

“It is?” Alec frowned at something.

“What is it?”

“He had a little cosmetic on his face.”

Seregil chuckled. “He probably wanted to look as alluring as possible.”

“No, not all over, just around the hairline.”

“Not that surprising. It’s not always easy to get off, depending on what you use. It’s probably from yesterday.”

“I suppose so.” But Alec didn’t look satisfied. “Still-does Atre strike you as the sort of man who would stop to help a street urchin on a dark street?”

Seregil chuckled again. “Probably not the real story. Most of the doxies are half cutpurse, themselves. He must have propositioned the wrong one. Or ran afoul of some street toughs.”

“Maybe.” Alec paused, then asked, “By the way, did you enjoy your performance at the Three Dragons?”

“My amazing winning streak?”

“No.”

“Ah, the stripping naked in front of a hundred or so noblemen and women part of the evening. Enjoy isn’t the word I’d use, but it was satisfyingly useful.”

“Useful?”

“Absolutely! Before I met you, Lord Seregil was known for things like that. Well, not usually in such a public place, perhaps-”

“Perhaps?” Alec raised a skeptical eyebrow at that.

“At parties, mostly.”

“So you did things like that a lot?”

“Now and then, just to keep up my reputation. Mostly it was getting other young nobles into trouble stealing public statues or bluecoats’ horses while we were drunk, slumming in borrowed clothes, or daring each other to jump off Widow’s Cliff into the sea. You should try that, actually. Very invigorating-if you live.”

“And carrying on with actors, I suppose.”

“Oh, yes. And actresses.”

“Am I bad for your reputation, now that we’re spending so much time back in the city?”

Seregil grinned. “I’d say we reestablished my bad name tonight, wouldn’t you? I was lucky, though.”

“You did win a lot of money.”

“Yes, but I was thinking more of Foris’s search of my person.”

“What was so lucky about that?” Alec laughed. “He had you standing naked on a chair.”

Seregil winked at him as they passed under the glow of a street lantern. “Yes, but his search stopped short of the most obvious hiding place.”

“The most-?” Alec gave him a questioning look, then realization dawned and it was replaced by one of shock. “Bilairy’s Balls, Seregil!”

“Close.” Seregil grinned. He loved still being able to make Alec blush.

They were nearly to Wheel Street when suddenly Cynril and Windrunner both shied. As Seregil and Alec reined the horses in, two dark forms detached themselves from the deeper shadow of a side street and sprang up onto their horses behind them.

Seregil’s attacker locked an arm around his neck, choking him as they tumbled together to the street. Seregil landed hard with the man on his back. Between that and the pressure on his throat, he was already seeing stars. The pressure disappeared for an instant, quickly replaced with the cutting tension of a garrote. It caught on the collar of his coat, but he could feel the wire against his skin where the collar gaped. Fighting for his life, he reached back and clawed at the man’s hands. Panic lent him strength and he managed to roll the man off. He felt the wire cut into his neck as he wiggled around and jammed his thumbs into his attacker’s eyes. The garrote went slack as the man grabbed Seregil’s wrists and threw him over onto his back. Seregil wasn’t quick enough to roll away before the man was on him again, a knee planted in Seregil’s gut, choking him with his bare hands. The bastard was big and very strong, but Seregil was limber and fighting for his life. Twisting sideways, he brought his foot up and kicked his would-be murderer in the side of the head. The grip on his throat loosened again. This time Seregil managed to reach the poniard in his boot and stabbed the man through the neck. Scrambling to his feet, he turned to find that Alec’s

would be-assassin had the younger man pinned, tightening a garrote around Alec’s neck while Alec fought wildly. Seregil grabbed the man by the hair, stabbed him in the heart, and dragged the limp body off Alec.

Alec had managed to get one hand up to his throat between skin and garrote wire, which had probably saved his life-but the palm of his left hand was cut deeply.

They scanned the surrounding shadows for other attackers, but the night was silent except for the snorting of their panicked horses, who had stopped halfway down the street.

“Bilairy’s codpiece!” Seregil croaked hoarsely, examining Alec’s hand. Pulling out his handkerchief, he tried to bind the wound.

“Never mind me,” Alec replied. “Your neck is bleeding.”

Grabbing the handkerchief from Seregil’s fingers, he used it to blot the thin wound across the base of Seregil’s throat. If Seregil hadn’t managed to get loose, the wire would have cut his throat.

“We’re both in sorry shape.” Seregil could hardly speak above a harsh whisper. “Let me tend your hand. You’re bleeding all over me.”

Using Alec’s own handkerchief, he tied it around Alec’s cut palm, then pulled him close in the windswept darkness.

Alec hugged him back. “You’re shaking.” So was he, for that matter.

Seregil rubbed his smooth cheek against Alec’s, whispering hoarsely, “I just never get used to almost losing you, I guess. And they were good, the bastards. Professionals.”

They turned to the two dead men sprawled at their feet.

Alec nudged the one Seregil had stabbed in the neck. “Guild assassins?”

“That would be my guess.” Seregil picked up one of the fallen garrotes. It was made from thin, flexible steel wire with a small wooden handle at each end. “Yes, from the looks of this, I’d say they were professionals.”

Keeping an ear out for bluecoats, they made a quick search of the bodies, but neither man carried so much as a belt purse. It was too dark to look for guild marks, but chances were there wouldn’t be any; the Rhiminee guild was cagier

about such things than some. The lack of any identification and possessions was telling in itself.

Leaving them for the Scavengers, they rode for home.

“I wonder who set them on us?” Alec said as soon as they closed the front door behind them.

“I can think of two,” Seregil croaked, leading him to the kitchen. “Reltheus may have seen me spying at Elani’s today, although I don’t know how. He certainly knew where we’d be tonight. These assassin bastards probably followed us from there.” He paused. “And then there’s Malthus.”

“But he’s our friend!” Despite all his training and all the things they’d been through since they’d met, Alec still had some of his native innocence intact. The sign of a good heart, Seregil supposed, and usually he admired Alec for it, but in situations like this it could get a person killed.

“Queen-making might trump friendship, don’t you think?” In the kitchen he lit a candle from the banked coals on the hearth, filled a basin with water from the barrel by the door, then went to the cupboard where the simples were stored. “Interesting that General Sarien took an interest in me tonight. Even patted me on the shoulder. If Malthus’s cabal considers me a threat, then he could have been signaling one of the assassins, concealed in the crowd.”

“They could just as well have attacked me when I was alone tonight,” Alec noted.

“I don’t think you were the target,” said Seregil, sitting down beside Alec to clean and tend his wound. “Which would mean that Malthus believed me when I told him you weren’t involved.” He paused and shook his head. “Perhaps I tipped my hand too soon, speaking with him.”

Alec winced as Seregil sponged the blood away. “Or he knows you set his house on fire,” he said, only half joking.

“I doubt that. But we can’t afford to trust anyone now.”

“Maybe not. What are we going to do?”

Seregil pulled the garrote from inside his coat. “Send this and a heavy purse to one of my less savory connections.”

“Are we still going to talk to Valerius about the sickness?” Alec asked. “I really think he should know about it. Besides,

we don’t have any engagements so far tomorrow, and there’s not much we can do with Reltheus and Kyrin in daylight.”

Seregil glanced out the window, where the grey lowering clouds were beginning to brighten. “It’s almost dawn. We might as well stay up and have an early breakfast. We’ll go to the temple at sunrise. Valerius is a disgustingly early riser.”