Casket of Souls

by Lynn Flewelling

  “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.

  “My darlings!” Eirual cried, kissing them both soundly. “Why in the names of all the Four don’t you have a country house to whisk me away to?”

  “And rusticate away from the delights of the city?” Seregil shuddered. “I wouldn’t last a week!”

  “And yet you’re always disappearing.” Lady Syllia and her current lover, the celebrated actress Lavinis, had come up behind Eirual and stood there, smirking at Seregil. Seregil could smell wine on their breath from here. “Where do you two get off to, anyway?”

  “Other cities, I assure you,” Seregil said with a laugh. “I have all my ventures to oversee. Not all of us were born to fortunes.”

  Seregil and Alec’s occasional disappearances did cause talk, but over the years Seregil had gotten very good at spinning yarns boring enough that his listeners seldom asked for details, and Alec had easily picked up the habit.

  As more guests arrived, Seregil waved to the musicians and they struck up a lively tune, not for dancing yet, just to keep things festive. Everyone was gravitating toward the well-laden tables at the far end of the room, which featured more than a few contraband delicacies shipped in from Aurënen and Zengat. Illia and the boys had already found playmates and disappeared into the garden.

  As Alec mingled with his guests, he found Thero gazing around with a rather odd expression.

  “What’s wrong?” Alec asked.

  “Nothing, I just thought I felt—No, it’s nothing. Wonderful party, Alec.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. And guess who else is?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Atre, the Mycenian actor we told you about!” Alec looked around for Atre. “I don’t see him, but he’s here somewhere. If I find him I’ll introduce you.”

  Thero looked less than enthused at the idea.

  “And you are going to come to the theater with us,” Alec chided. “You spend too much time up in that tower of yours.”

  “I will, at some point. I’m very busy.”

  Alec grinned. “So you’re always saying. Well, I’m glad you came tonight.”

  Seregil appeared out of the crowd and took Alec’s arm. “Time to begin, talí. It’s up to you to do the honors.”

  “I’ll talk to you later, Thero,” Alec said as Seregil led him away to the feast. “And I’m holding you to going to the theater—”

  But the wizard had already disappeared into the crowd, no doubt to avoid making any promises.

  There was no sign of the summer’s deprivations here. Stacks of flat parsley loaves were piled on the table beside platters of cold sliced duck, boiled lobsters, butter fish, and bowls of little whelks in vinegar, as well as roasted vegetables with lemon sauce. Fruit tarts and spun sugar animals crowded another table. Anat, the young scullion, was stationed there, guarding the food from the hounds, who were lurking among the guests, yellow eyes fixed hungrily on the food.

  Alec picked up a loaf of bread and tore it in two, then poured the libation to the Four, signaling the beginning of the feast.

  When the meal was done and the sweet wine was being passed, there were gifts to be opened and admired—gloves, rings, earrings, expensive gaming stones, wines, embroidered handkerchiefs from several young ladies, and the like. Given the current privations, much of it was probably secondhand. Alec lingered just long enough over each one, and then it was time for magic and dancing.

  “Shall I?” asked Thero.

  “If you would,” Seregil replied with a wink. “Runcer, please fetch the children.”

  Over the years it had become something of a tradition for Seregil’s various wizard friends to bring the salon mural to life. The leafy grove, with its distant view of the sea, had been populated by all sorts of fanciful animals and beings, from fiery salamanders to centaur harpists. Tonight Thero conjured dragons—not just large ones flying in the distance, but also the little fingerlings often encountered in Aurënen, skittering among the fallen painted leaves, darting up painted tree trunks, and fluttering among the branches. To the Skalans it was magical, a gorgeous fantasy; for Seregil and Alec, it was a bit of home. Singing birds with golden feathers soon appeared with them, and a
huge dragon stalked its way around the room just inside the trees, glaring balefully at the partygoers as it emerged from behind a doorway.

  Amid much clapping and laughing, Seregil took Alec by the hand and drew him halfway up the sweeping staircase. Raising his wine cup, he saluted Alec with it. “To my lover!”

  “Who’s finally old enough for you all to stop shaking your heads over,” added Micum, raising his cup.

  “A scadnal!” Luthas piped from somewhere in the throng.

  This was greeted with cheers and more laughter, and the dancing began. Alec and Seregil led the first lively reel, then split up to make the rounds of their guests.

  So it was that Seregil found himself partnered with Atre for the pavane.

  “Will you really come to the theater again, my lord?” the actor asked, affecting a rather warm look as they moved through the slow graceful steps.

  Seregil laughed. “Don’t go working your wiles on me!”

  This was greeted with a dazzling smile. “Merely humble admiration, my lord!”

  Alec passed them in the circle with Kylith’s niece, Ysmay, on his arm and gave Seregil a questioning look. Seregil just winked.

  “Lady Kylith told me that you and Lord Alec are among the greatest patrons of the arts in Rhíminee,” said Atre. “I can see that, by your guests.”

  It was extravagant praise, but there were many artists and poets in the crowd, several of whom had gathered clusters of rapt listeners. Donaeus, the most famous—and the most arrogant—poet was, as usual, the focus of the largest, youngest knot of admirers. The man towered over them in his shabby velvets, declaiming his latest epos in his rich, sonorous voice. The great sculptor Ravinus, who had recently unveiled an acclaimed statue of the late Queen Idrilain in Temple Square, was apparently explaining some method to Lord Zymeus, shaping the air with his hands.

  “You excel at patronage,” Atre noted.

  “And you at flattery,” Seregil countered. “Would I be right in guessing you’re looking for backing for a new play?”

  Atre didn’t even look abashed. “And how could it not be a lucrative investment, with me as the principal actor? We are constrained by our current location, though. So many nobles won’t go there, and it’s so small we’re having to turn people away …”

  “That’s too bad. Have you come up with a solution?”

  Atre completed a stately turn and faced him again. “I have been looking at a larger venue in Gannet Lane.”

  “Gannet Lane? How ambitious of you!” Seregil chuckled. It was on the outskirts of the Noble Quarter, close enough to attract rich patrons. “Well, I am getting a bit bored with trade.”

  As the music ended, Atre bowed over Seregil’s hand. “My lord, your servant.”

  Seregil kept his expression neutral as he tightened his hand on the actor’s and murmured, “I do hope you mean that, Master Atre.”

  The actor blinked, caught off guard at having his polite blandishment taken literally. “Of course, my lord.”

  “Good. We’ll talk soon. I’d like to see this place in Gannet Lane before I decide whether to invest in it or not.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Atre bowed again and went to find another partner.

  “He’s a fickle one,” Kylith murmured as she took Seregil’s hand for the next dance.

  “I hope you don’t think I encouraged him too much.”

  “No matter. He’s handsome enough that I can forgive him a bit of flirting, although men aren’t really his sort.”

  “But he knows they are my sort,” Seregil noted. “And he is an accomplished actor.”

  “You are going to invest in his theater, aren’t you?”

  “Are you?”

  “We simply must get him out of that dreadful place they’re in now! And admit it, he charmed you.”

  Seregil gave her a gallant smile. “You’re a wicked woman, my lady.”

  Alec smiled and nodded to everyone, and gave the simpering youths and girls enough attention to be polite but not encouraging—which, to his continual surprise, seemed to make him all the more alluring—and let the older ones fuss over him or regale him, as the case might be. When he’d had enough, he escaped to the dancing, which he’d come to enjoy very much since those first awkward lessons at Watermead.

  He’d just finished a reel with Illia, and was about to make his way through the press to seek out Selin when a bit of conversation caught his attention.

  “I’m as fond of Seregil as anyone,” Duchess Nerian was saying to Duke Malthus as they stood with heads together near the servants’ passage, “but this is different. The Aurënfaie know they have us over a barrel and they’re taking full advantage.”

  Alec lingered inconspicuously, listening carefully as Nerian harangued Malthus about the price of Aurënfaie steel. Her name had been on Marquis Kyrin’s list, together with Malthus’s.

  “They are abiding by the terms arranged by Princess Klia,” Malthus reminded her. “It’s hardly their fault that the war continues to drag on. Like it or not, we need foreign horses, steel, and grain. Mycena’s decimated. There are reports of starvation in the midlands and along the river. The northern trade routes are unreliable at best this summer. There hasn’t been a gold shipment to the Royal Treasury since early spring. The ’faie are already granting us credit. Really, my friend, I think you’re being unfair.”

  Nerian paused a moment, then turned away, muttering, “Well, I suppose you’d see it that way. Sometimes I wonder if you’re really—” Just then she caught sight of Alec and smiled. “Happy name day, Alec. So nice of you to invite me.”

  The abrupt change was not lost on Alec, nor Malthus’s look of discomfort. “I’m delighted to see you again, my lady,” he replied. “I hope you didn’t find the fare too paltry.”

  “Hardly! Your Sara is amazing.”

  Alec lingered for a bit of small talk until he spied Selin talking to a poet at the bottom of the staircase. Before Alec could reach him, however, he was waylaid by Eirual and Myrhichia.

  “I think you owe us both a dance, Lord Alec, to make up for your absence from our house,” Eirual declared, her violet eyes bright with amusement and wine.

  “Both at once?” asked Alec.

  Eirual laughed, making the jeweled netting over her breasts twinkle in the candlelight. “You know I charge more for that, my lord.” If she’d meant to make Alec blush, it worked. It was an affliction he seemed not to be growing out of. “No, you take my lovely girl here. I’ll go find that lover of yours, if I can pry him away from those young men.”

  Indeed, Seregil was presently hemmed in by the poets and their set across the room near the front entrance. Thero was with him, and appeared to be enjoying some spirited debate with Donaeus. Eirual strode through the press and claimed Seregil for her own, pulling him by the hand from their midst and out to dance.

  The musicians struck up another reel and Alec took the young courtesan in his arms and whirled her across the floor. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Illia beaming and chattering away as she danced with Atre, who appeared to be charming her the way he did every other female in the room.

  Myrhichia laughed, cheeks flushed and strands of her dark hair escaping from the jeweled pins to frame her pretty face. “You’re in fine form tonight, my lord!”

  “It must be my dancing partner’s influence,” he replied gallantly. In fact, he liked her quite a lot. She was the second—and last—woman he’d slept with, the only time he’d done so willingly. He’d been halfway up the brothel stairs with her that night before he realized that she looked a bit like Seregil with her dark hair and grey eyes. That had been the beginning of a succession of unsettling revelations, the upshot of which had kept him out of brothels and women’s beds ever since, but he still felt a certain affection and gratitude toward her, and was beginning to have a greater appreciation of how Seregil remained friends with past lovers.

  Myrhichia was smart and amusing and proud of her craft, which involved a great d
eal more than what went on upstairs. She was a lovely singer, skilled conversationalist, played several instruments, and had Seregil’s own skill at bakshi and cards. It was not at all uncommon for young nobles to engage the services of such women for the mere pleasure of their company, and Myrhichia had many admirers.

  Illia caught him next and held on to him for three dances, teasing him through every one of them.

  “Are you having a good time?” he asked, swinging her around the steps of a gallop. “You look very grown-up with your hair up like that.”

  “I am getting grown-up,” she replied haughtily. “And I’m still a better dancer than you are.”

  “You’ll have to take that up with Beka, then, since she’s the one who taught me.”

  “I remember, that first time you came out to Watermead. You were a regular donkey, stepping all over her feet.”

  “You’d better be nice to me on my name day, or I’ll tread on yours,” he warned, hoisting her into the air as the music ended.

  Illia let out a most un-grown-up squeal, but hugged him soundly as soon as he put her down.

  He finally managed to excuse himself and caught Selin in the dining room, where people were playing cards. Elsbet was there, and had a respectable pile of winnings in front of her. Alec gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and she went pink in the face.

  “I didn’t know priestesses in training were allowed to gamble,” he teased as Elsbet laid another winning card on the table and her opponents groaned.

  “They shouldn’t be,” Selin exclaimed, throwing down his cards in disgust and paying his wager as Alec took a seat beside him. “Illior favors gamblers, and she wears the Immortal’s mark.”