Casket of Souls (12 page)

Still gripping it in one hand, he jumped up and grabbed Seregil in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you, talí. I just … I don’t know what to say, except thank you!” Holding the bottom end of the bow against his foot, he bent it to set the bowstring in its notches, then eyed down the length of it. “It’s perfect.”

“That’s good. It would be a long ride to return it. That bow Riagil gave you is a good one, but I could tell you missed yours, so I couldn’t very well leave you without one, could I? I had Runcer set up a few targets in the garden. Care to try it out?”

Alec was already out the door to fetch his quiver.

The back garden wasn’t large enough to set up a very challenging target, but Alec split a few wands and murdered a bull’s-eye painted on a board propped against the garden wall. When he was done, Seregil and several of the servants who’d come to watch applauded.

“I feel safer already,” said Seregil.

They were at supper when Micum and his family arrived. Alec tossed his napkin aside and hurried into the hall to greet them.

“Here we are at last!” Micum had little Gherin on his shoulder and his giggling blond foster son, Luthas, under one arm. Gherin had his father’s red hair and freckles but his mother’s dark eyes. Luthas looked more like his birth mother every time they saw the child. That couldn’t be easy for Seregil, Alec knew, given the lingering guilt he still felt over Cilla’s death.

Kari came in just behind Micum, one arm around Elsbet, their middle daughter—still in her temple initiate’s robe—and holding young Illia by the hand, laughing with them over something. Unlike Beka and Gherin, both girls had taken after her, pretty and dark-haired.

“Uncle!” Illia ran to Alec and threw her arms around him. When he’d first met her at Watermead, he’d been able to sweep her up in his arms with ease. Now her head came nearly to his shoulder, but she hadn’t lost any of her natural exuberance.

“Why haven’t you come to Watermead this summer?” she demanded.

Alec laughed. “That’s your greeting?”

Ignoring that, she ran to hug Seregil as he came in. “Uncle Seregil!”

Seregil swung her around and kissed her. “At least she isn’t demanding presents from you, Alec.”

“Because she knows you always have them,” her mother said, shaking her head as she came to kiss them both. Illia was wearing the tiny pearl necklace and earrings they’d given her a few years ago, as well as a silver ring from Seregil.

Elsbet had lost some of her shyness since she’d entered the Temple of Illior as an initiate and didn’t have to be coaxed into a hug.

“Look,” she said, showing them a round, elaborate tattoo of Illior’s dragon on the palm of her hand. It was done in black, but now some small parts of the design had been filled in with green and blue.

“Second level already?” said Seregil.

“She is the family scholar, after all,” Micum said proudly. “The head priestess was very complimentary.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Alec.

“Do I get to sleep in the library again?” asked Illia.

“Of course,” Seregil replied.

“But you’re not to stay up all night reading,” her mother warned.

Illia gave Alec a conspiratorial look; why else would she want to sleep there?

They’d hardly gotten settled in for the night when Runcer appeared at their chamber with a familiar pinched look of disapproval around his eyes and mouth.

“That young boy is back, asking for you, my lords,” he told them, sounding pained at having to deliver such distasteful news. “I put him in the garden.”

“Thank you. I’ll see to him,” said Seregil.

They’d met Kepi, so to speak, in the spring when the boy had cut Thero’s purse in the Harvest Market. He’d led Seregil and Alec a merry chase to get it back, too. It wasn’t that there was anything irreplaceable in the purse, but the fact that the boy had been able to get that close to a wizard and two nightrunners and then nearly gotten away intrigued Seregil. Since then, they’d found occasion to use him as an extra set of eyes and ears, together with a handful of other youngsters Kepi brought them.

The boy was perched on the rain butt, wolfing down a mince tart. Runcer might not approve of him, but the cook, Sara, had a soft spot for the child and never let him get away without something in his belly.

Kepi was a true child of the streets, and knew neither his
parents nor his own age. From the looks of him, he could have been anywhere from ten to a malnourished twelve or thirteen. He was skinny, with a pointed little face, wide blue eyes, and a tangle of blond hair so pale it was nearly white under the faded silk head scarf Seregil had given him. His long tunic—some nephew’s castoffs that Sara had cut down for him—hung loose on his narrow shoulders, and his legs and feet were bare and dusty beneath it. He could play the innocent when needed, but in truth he possessed all the craftiness and the streak of savagery needed to survive in his part of the city. But he was also bright and quick, and utterly devoted to his benefactors. As soon as he caught sight of Seregil and Alec, he hopped down from the barrel and made them an awkward little bow. “Evenin’, my lords,” he said, spewing crumbs. “Hope I didn’t disturb you or nuthin’.”

“No. Is there something you wanted?” asked Seregil. The boy had no outstanding assignments from them.

“I was hoping you had some work, my lord. With you gone so long, it’s been a hungry time.”

“What happened to the money we left you with?” asked Alec.

Kepi’s brash grin faltered. “Gambled it, my lord.”

Seregil chuckled. “A lesson from Illior. Hard-won money is easily lost.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You’re in luck, though. I do have something for you to do. I want you to watch the house of Duke Reltheus in Silvermoon Street. It’s the fifth one on the palace side, east of the gate. If the duke goes out at night, especially alone late at night, I want to know when and where. And keep an eye on who goes in. Don’t worry about the daytime, just after dark. And find someone to keep an eye on Marquis Kyrin in Emerald Street, too.”

“I will, my lords, just as you say.”

Seregil counted out a handful of coins and let the boy out the back postern gate. Kepi disappeared into the night like a stray cat.

A
LEC
wasn’t really displeased about the party, but when he was growing up in the wilds, his father had never made any particular fuss about his name day except to note it. Neither had Seregil until now, since it came so soon after the summer festival, but this year he claimed that Alec reaching his majority warranted a proper party among the nobles.

“It’s an important event, talí. People would talk if we didn’t,” he told Alec firmly as they shared breakfast with the Cavishes that morning.

Alec rolled his eyes. “They talk about us, anyway.”

Micum chuckled. “Well, you were quite the scandal.”

“What’s a scadnal, Papa?” asked Luthas.

“It’s silly people being jealous because our uncles are so handsome together,” Illia explained, much to her father’s amusement. “Aren’t they, Uncle Seregil?”

“Of course! They’re green with envy at my good luck.” Seregil raised Alec’s hand to his lips, making him blush.

Illia noisily kissed the back of her own hand, mocking them, and the two little boys did the same, thinking it the greatest joke. Alec stuck his spoon to his nose and crossed his eyes at them, making the children scream with laughter.

“That’s enough of that,” said Kari. “Illia, take these jackdaws out to play. There’s still work to be done for the party. Come along, Elsbet.”

“Kari, you’re our guests,” Alec objected. “You don’t have to work.”

“Don’t be silly.” Kari shooed the children out and headed for the kitchen to consult with Sara.

Micum sat back in his chair and sighed. “I learned long ago to just get out of her way when she makes up her mind. And you know she enjoys it.”

“And I hate to have you working at your own party, too, Alec,” said Seregil. “But if you can sound Selin out about his friend, it will be a good night’s work.”

Micum raised a bushy red brow. “You two are up to something.”

“Just a little job for Thero,” Alec explained.

“Anything I can help with?”

“Keep your ears open for talk of Elani and Phoria,” Seregil replied.

Laughter drifted in from the garden through the open dining room door, then the sound of something breaking.

“Micum!” Kari shouted from the kitchen.

Micum rose, taking out his pipe and tobacco pouch. “I think I’ll go help Illia keep the damage to a minimum.”

As much as Alec had complained, by the time the guests started arriving that evening he was the very model of a noble young host. He wore his embroidered violet coat impeccably, as he did the fancy amethyst earring dangling from his right earlobe. With his long blond hair loose over his shoulders, he looked a bit older than usual. Or perhaps it was his demeanor. Glancing sidelong at his talímenios, Seregil—in sea green and gold tonight—felt a familiar tug of pride. When Alec had first come to Rhíminee he’d been charmingly—and sometimes dangerously—naïve and unworldly. The naïveté was long gone, of course, but there was still a freshness about him that drew people, and made many underestimate him in the most convenient ways, just as they dismissed Seregil as a rich young wastrel—charming and entertaining, to be sure, and always a generous host, even in these hard times, but a wastrel nonetheless.

“My face is beginning to hurt with all this smiling,” Alec muttered as they greeted the steady stream of guests.

Stationed at the salon door in his best blue coat, silver buttons
aglow in the candlelight, Runcer announced each noble as they arrived.

A good many of them were young lords and ladies Seregil and Alec gambled and drank with, including Count Selin, who arrived early and caught Alec in a friendly, one-armed hug as he balanced on his elaborately carved and gilded crutch.

The other guests were interspersed with wealthy merchants who oversaw Seregil’s many and varied trade investments. There were also poets, artists, and even a few of the most brilliant male and female courtesans from the Street of Lights houses.

“How many did you invite?” Alec whispered to Seregil as guests continued to arrive.

“Counting the Cavishes? Only a hundred or so, give or take.”

“Lord Thero of Rhíminee,” Runcer intoned gravely. “Wizard of the Second Order of the Third Orëska.”

The abbreviated name still sounded strange to Seregil. For centuries, ever since one of the Skalan queens had taken one of Seregil’s great-uncles as consort, the court had used the ’faie fashion of lengthy patronymics and matronymics. Despite the fact that Aurënen was supplying horses and arms to Queen Phoria, she had put an end to that, reverting to “proper” Skalan nomenclature and short hair for men. The latter was fashion rather than law, of course, so Seregil and Alec, as well as a good many others, had left theirs long in silent protest.

Lady Kylith was the next to arrive, accompanied by her niece Ysmay and the handsome auburn-haired actor from the Basket Street theater, resplendent now in black and silver. It appeared the man had wasted no time in spending their money.

“You remember Master Atre, don’t you?” Kylith said as she kissed each of them.

The actor bowed deeply. “I hope I give no offense, my lords, with my humble presence.”

“Great artists are always welcome here,” Seregil assured him. “I think you’ll find yourself in good company.”

“I hope you will visit our theater again, my lords,” Atre said. When he smiled, the corners of his dark blue eyes tilted up in the most engaging way. A touch of cosmetics there? Or perhaps it wasn’t necessary. Atre’s skin was smooth, his eyes bright with youth. A naturally handsome man.

“We have several other plays, depending on the night,” Atre was saying.

“If Seregil can be coaxed from the
bakshi
tables,” Kylith said, lazily waving a fan in one hand. “Oh, but I see the delightful Lady Kari is here!” Kylith went off to greet her friend with Atre in tow.

Duke Malthus entered with his wife, Ania, and they both hugged Alec warmly.

“We haven’t seen nearly enough of you this summer!” Ania exclaimed as Malthus carried their silk-wrapped gift to a table already groaning with them.

“I couldn’t agree more, dear lady,” Seregil replied.

“I’m off to our summer villa in a few days. Malthus must stay and work, of course, but you two should come with me.”

“I will consult our calendar,” Seregil promised.

Their friend, Eirual—yet another of Seregil’s past lovers—who owned one of the most elegant pink-lantern brothels in the Street of Lights, swept in soon after with several of her protégées. The queen had set the fashion for higher necklines. Eirual and her courtesans led the fashion and flouted it all at once; their gowns featured bodices made of colorful jeweled lace and high lacy collars, but sheer enough to still offer a tantalizing hint of the assets beneath.

Eirual was half Zengati, and her exotic beauty had made her fortune in the Street. But it wasn’t only her looks; she enjoyed life to the fullest and made sure those around her did, too. The lovely Myrhichia was with her, her dark, elaborately coiffed hair sparkling with sapphire hairpins.