“Very much the same,” Evesia replied. “Only the other day he noted that the Queen’s Horse has one of the highest success rates in the army, but also among the highest casualties. No doubt because they are on the front line so often.”
“The queen must have great confidence in her sister,” said Seregil. “We were honored to serve her, Alec and I, in Aurënen, and found her tremendously capable and intelligent.”
“Oh, she is,” said Elani. The obvious affection there made Seregil doubt that Elani knew anything of a plot against Klia.
As talk turned to the summer’s fashions and concerns about the lack of fine wool for the fall, Elani again fell silent. Alec must have noticed, too, for he took advantage of a pause in the conversation to ask her a question about hunting.
The girl brightened again and soon they were discussing the pull weights of their bows and the relative merits of swallowtail arrowheads and broad heads. Alaya and the other guests were soon left behind and looked on in amusement—all but Reltheus and Aralain, Seregil noted, watching them through lowered lashes. There was a hint of annoyance behind Reltheus’s forced smile, no doubt at the attention Alec was getting, and Elani’s mother clearly had other plans for her daughter. This wouldn’t do, not after the work they’d done to curry the duke’s friendship.
Seregil leaned over and draped an arm around Alec’s shoulders. “It’s a shame you don’t have your bow, love. I’m sure Her Highness would find it of interest.”
The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on anyone, least of all Elani. She colored a bit and looked down at her hands.
Embarrassed, but not angry
, Seregil noted with interest. He leaned back and let his arm fall away, point made. It wasn’t jealousy but protectiveness; not only could they not afford to alienate Reltheus, but the slightest sign of interest in Alec by the princess royal would not set well with the queen.
Alec shot him a puzzled glance, then turned back to the princess and smoothed the moment over by describing the Radly to her, and how it could be taken apart.
“I’d like to see that,” she said, enthusiasm returning. “You and Lord Seregil must come shoot with me at the palace lists.”
“I’d be most honored, Your Highness,” Alec replied.
“As would I, Highness,” Seregil said, giving her a warm smile. “Although my shooting will be strictly for your amusement, I fear.”
“Aunt Klia says you are one of the finest swordsmen she knows, though,” Elani replied. “Perhaps you will give me a match.”
“I am yours to command.” Seregil hoped the invitation came soon, as he doubted Phoria would welcome his presence or Alec’s on the palace grounds after her return, much less contact with her niece.
“She will prove quite an opponent for you, Seregil,” Reltheus said. “After all, she’s been trained by the queen.”
“I’m no warrior, as you will soon attest,” Seregil said with a laugh, playing the fop. “I’m sure I wouldn’t last half an hour on a battlefield.”
Talk turned back to the war after that. Seregil glanced now and then at the actor, who sat at the back table with the poetess. To most eyes the man would have appeared to be politely concealing growing boredom as he toyed absently with the expensive pearl bauble hanging from his ear, but his lazy gaze was never quite at rest.
A man of no account, but one who pays attention
, Seregil thought, once again feeling a certain kinship with him.
* * *
It was not yet midnight when Alaya bid farewell to her guests. As they were waiting for their horses to be brought around, Seregil turned to Atre. “You were absolutely wonderful.”
“My lord, it was nothing, but I am glad to have been of service,” Atre replied modestly, though he was clearly pleased.
“Come have a drink with us to finish off the evening. There’s a decent tavern in the next street.”
“Of course, my lord!”
The Mermaid was a luxurious establishment patronized by the nobles of the area. In addition to excellent wines and ales, it also had small private rooms available off the main chamber. Seregil gave the doorkeeper gold and he led them to one of these, a pretty little room with velvet couches arranged around a common wine table and murals of the amorous doings of mermaids on the walls between blue velvet hangings. A serving boy soon appeared.
“Do you have any
turab
tonight, Yustin?” Seregil inquired.
“We just got a cask in, my lord. It hasn’t even been tapped yet.”
“Excellent. Turab it is.”
“What is that, my lord?” asked Atre, settling on the couch across from the one Seregil shared with Alec.
“Ale from my native land. Very rare and it doesn’t come cheaply these days.” Seregil unbuckled his sword and shrugged out of his heavy embroidered coat. “Do make yourself comfortable, Atre.” He took a lace handkerchief from his sleeve and patted his brow and upper lip. “It’s too warm to stand on ceremony any longer.”
“For what you paid, you’d think they’d at least have given us the room with the window,” Alec complained, following Seregil’s lead as he took off his own sword and coat.
“Thank you.” Atre undid the silver buttons of his coat to reveal a shirt of fine embroidered linen that probably cost more than Seregil’s and Alec’s put together.
“You have the most exquisite taste in dress, Master Atre. You must steer me to your tailor,” Seregil noted. “Our venture in Gannet Lane seems to be playing out quite well for you.”
Atre’s smile faltered. “My lord, if you think I am taking more than my share—”
“Nothing of the sort. I was simply complimenting your wardrobe. I’m sure your accounts are all in order. But let’s not spoil the evening talking of such things.”
The boy returned with a tray of colorfully glazed clay mugs topped with golden foam, and a platter of fine cheeses, grapes, and sliced apples.
Lifting his flagon, Seregil said, “To the queen, may the Four protect her.”
Alec and Atre joined the toast and took their first drink.
Atre licked his lips appreciatively. “That’s very good!”
“And they serve it properly here. Metal cups dull the flavor.”
“I should like to hear more of your homeland sometime, my lord.”
“A beautiful place!” Seregil sighed, staring pensively down into his mug. “So much more civilized than here. Your company would do very well in Virésse.”
“Is that a city there?”
Seregil smiled. “Yes, and a grand one. Virésse rivals Rhíminee itself, a thriving seaport and city. The folk there have more of a taste for things foreign than most of the clans.”
Atre sipped his turab. “Perhaps I’ll see it one day for myself. Tell me, my lord, if it’s not too personal, but is it true that Aurënfaie can live to be five hundred years old?”
“Many do.”
The actor shook his head, smiling. “So much life. So much time! How many people you must know. You must be able to accomplish a great deal.”
“It depends on the person, I suppose, though time seems to move more slowly there. I remember—” Seregil paused, dabbing at his eyes as he pretended to be overcome by memories.
“It pains him to speak of home,” Alec explained, putting a consoling hand on Seregil’s shoulder.
“Forgive me, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Seregil shook his head as he laid a hand over Alec’s. “No,
it’s quite all right. But you know well how it is to lose your home, don’t you? Were you happy in Nanta?”
“Oh, yes. For a lad from Dresher’s Ford, it was quite an exotic place. Or so I 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.