Casket of Souls

by Lynn Flewelling

  “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.

  ALEC was sitting on the kitchen floor, playing with Mârag, when Seregil came in with a letter.

  “Aren’t we the popular fellows!” he said with a grin, passing the letter to Alec. “A royal page just delivered this. That’s Elani’s personal seal, by the way.”

  It was written on expensive parchment, and had an impressive seal dangling from it on a ribbon, showing the image of a coursing hound running under Illior’s thin crescent moon, surmounted with Sakor’s stylized flame. It was an invitation written in a looping girlish script, inviting them to shoot with her early the following morning. Seregil studied it, committing it to memory.

  “Apparently your little show of possession didn’t put her off the notion,” Alec noted.

  “She seems a levelheaded girl. Maybe she takes after her aunt Klia.”

  Alec was sweating in his light coat before they’d crossed the Harvest Market, though it wasn’t due to the weather. The air was blessedly cool at this hour, and the lowering clouds held the promise of a summer shower. He pulled nervously at the quiver strap across his chest. The shatta clicked and rattled together against his left hip in time to Windrunner’s pace.

  Riding beside hi
m on Cynril, Seregil glanced over at him and shook his head. “Stop looking like you’ve been sent to the Red Tower!”

  “I hope I don’t land myself there before this is over,” Alec muttered.

  “Just remember your manners, and keep up that country charm. She already likes you.”

  At the appointed hour they showed the invitation at the gates of the royal park and rode into the grounds surrounding the forbidding Palace. The Palace was built against the side of the inner curtain wall, like a barnacle on a rock. It was a dour-looking fortress, built by Tamír the Great to withstand sieges, and had no hint of the Orëska House’s airy grace, though they were built at the same time. Buttressed by the western curtain wall that surrounded the city, its square towers overlooked the city and the harbor below. There were barracks on the extensive grounds, but gardens, as well, that softened the ugliness a little. Having come here in less-than-pleasant circumstances before, Alec shivered a little as he rode through the ornate iron gates.

  The royal lists were located in the south garden; archery was a favorite pastime of the nobility, as well as a martial skill. Courtiers of both sexes had already gathered with the princess, including Princess Aralain. A few of the women and girls were dressed in men’s clothing, the princess herself in something like a military uniform, with her fair hair in a braid over one shoulder, and a fine bow and quiver over the other.

  The vicegerent, Prince Korathan, was there, as well, dressed for shooting rather than court, together with Alaya, Duke Reltheus, Count Selin, and a host of other retainers and friends, including Tolin and Stenmir, whom Alec had seen at Kyrin’s house the night he first burgled it.

  Korathan stood talking to the princess as they approached. The prince was a tall, fair man, and Phoria’s twin, with the same pale eyes and hair now streaked with grey, as was his short-cropped beard. He had a somewhat warmer manner, however, and doubly so, it seemed, around his niece. He was another of Seregil’s former lovers, too, if very briefly and a long time ago. Alec tried not to think about that.

  Elani caught sight of them and waved. Alec waved back, then yanked his hand down and glanced nervously at Seregil. “Should I have done that?”

  “She’s smiling, talí. Remember, just be yourself and respectful. That’s why we’re here, after all.”

  Alec looked to Korathan for a read of the weather and found the man also smiling and at ease.

  Once in the royal presence, Seregil and Alec bowed deeply. “We are most honored by your invitation, Highness,” Seregil said, speaking for both of them.

  “Thank you for coming,” she replied, and he noticed her gaze straying again to Alec.

  “Alec, perhaps Her Highness would like to see the Radly.”

  “Oh, of course.” Alec unshouldered his black bow and held it out to her with both hands. There were a few titters among the courtiers at his slight awkwardness, but Seregil didn’t mind; it only bolstered the country-bred reputation that they’d so carefully cultivated.

  Elani ran her hands over the smooth black yew limbs and the ivory plate, admiring the etched maker’s mark. “And you say it comes apart?”

  Alec took it back, unstrung it, and twisted the handgrip, unlocking the steel ferrule and pulling the two limbs apart. He showed her how they fit back together, then took it apart again for her to try. She assembled it and set one end against her foot to restring it with practiced ease. Raising it in her left hand, she drew the string to her ear, then slowly eased it back. “The mechanism doesn’t weaken it?”

  “No, Highness.”

  Seregil exchanged a slight smile with the prince as Alec and Elani stood there, talking bows and shooting for some time, as if the rest of them weren’t there. Elani and Alec might be worlds apart in rank, but they spoke the same language, and with the same enthusiasm. In his element, Alec was almost as at ease as if he were talking with Beka or Micum.

  “Perhaps we should get to it?” Korathan suggested at last. In truth, the others were getting a little restless, no doubt less than pleased to see a newcomer of low rank getting so much attention from the princess at their expense. Seregil had spent enough time at court to know that the closer you got to the throne, the closer to the surface jealousy ran.

  Anxious to see the Radly in action, Elani took Alec as her partner, and Seregil found himself paired with the prince.

  “Well, well. I’ve gotten the lesser part of this bargain,” Korathan remarked as he stepped up to the line at their target. “Unless you’ve improved since I last saw you shoot.”

  “Improved is such a relative term. But you still probably wouldn’t want to depend on me for your supper.”

  Korathan just chuckled.

  Alec’s efforts with him had not been completely in vain; Seregil didn’t come close to besting Korathan, but he did manage to reliably strike the target.

  It felt at once strange and familiar, this. It had been years since he and Korathan had met as anything other than prince and lord, but for this brief time the barriers were lowered at least a little and Seregil got a glimpse of the man he’d liked and bedded when they were both so young. Years past the pain, the memory made him smile.

  “Are you going to shoot or stand there woolgathering?” Korathan asked, sounding more amused than impatient. A voice from the past. Maybe he was remembering, too.

  “I must ask a favor of you,” Princess Elani said to Alec as they took their places in the list, softly enough so that the crowd of courtiers watching couldn’t hear.

  “I’m yours to command, Highness,” Alec replied, surprised.

  The girl smiled and shook her head. “People have a habit of letting me win because of who I am. I don’t appreciate that. Rumor has it that you are an exceptional archer. I’d prefer to see your best.”

  Alec relaxed a little; in fact, Seregil had warned him to not make too much of a show of himself. He did insist, however, on giving her the advantage of shooting second. Placing his toe to the line, he adjusted his leather tab and nocked a red-fletched arrow to his string, bow arm still relaxed and hanging down. Then he fixed his eye on the distant bull’s-eye, raised and pulled the bow in one smooth motion, and let fly. The shaft struck dead center. He sent a second one after it and it struck so close on the left that it shaved a bit of fletching off the first. The third embedded itself just to the right of the first one. The feat was greeted with uneasy silence among the courtiers until Elani began to clap. As the others joined in, she raised an eyebrow at him. “You certainly took me at my word, my lord.”

  He bowed, at a loss for words and hoping he hadn’t put his foot in it right off the mark. He was glad he hadn’t gotten carried away and split one of the arrows, which he could very well have done on such a calm day.

  A page cleared Alec’s arrows from the target and Elani took her place at the line. To Alec’s considerable relief, she let fly three of her black-and-white-fletched shafts in quick succession and landed them in a grouping just as tight as his own.

  “Well shot!” Alec cried, as the courtiers applauded. As soon as the words left his lips he wondered again if he’d overstepped.

  Yet Elani looked pleased. “Thank you, my lord. Shall we have another go?”

  They shot several more times, with Elani proving herself Alec’s equal each time.

  “May I try the Radly?” She could have commanded him, but instead asked with the respect one archer accorded another. You didn’t ask such a thing lightly.

  “Of course, Highness.” Alec traded with her, and held hers carefully as she sent half a dozen arrows unerringly into the target, making a star design.

  When she was done she ran a hand over it again. “It’s a thing of beauty, Lord Alec. You must tell me where I can get one like it.”

  “Please, accept this one, Highness,” he said, though the words came with a twinge; this would be the second one, another gift from Seregil, that he’d lost.

  But she shook her head and handed it back. “No, it would be as wrong to part you from it as to take
one of your hands.”

  “Then at least accept these, Highness.” He untied half a dozen of the best shatta dangling from his quiver and presented them to her, a collection of carved gold, silver, ivory, two jades, and a carnelian. “They’re from Aurënen, and they’re called shatta, which means ‘prize.’ Archers win them from one another in matches like this.”

  Elani held them up, admiring them. “Yes, I know. Aunt Klia has some, from her time in that land. I gathered from how many you have that you must be very good. Thank you for these. Perhaps I’ll start the custom here.” She turned to her uncle in the next list over. “How are you and Lord Seregil faring, Uncle?”

  Korathan gave Seregil a wry grin. “If we’re going to start that custom today, my dear, then Lord Seregil owes me a good many more shatta than that.”

  They sat in the shade of a large grape arbor after that and drank chilled wine, then it was clear that Alec and Seregil were expected to take their leave. Alec left with a parting promise to send directions to Radly’s shop in Wolde and set off for the stables.

  Reltheus excused himself and accompanied them.

  “You’ve certainly made a favorable impression on the princess,” he said as they walked along. “Especially you, young Alec. You should be careful, or you’ll make your lover here jealous.”

  “He has no reason to be,” Alec replied, coloring a little.

  Reltheus chuckled at that. “Many young men would be pleased with such a conquest.”

  “I’d hardly say he conquered me,” Seregil said with a smile.

  Reltheus blinked, then got the joke. “I’ve heard you called the most amusing man in Rhíminee, Seregil. Since I’ve gotten to know you, I think I may just agree. Will you dine with me tonight, gentlemen?”

  “Why, we’d be delighted!”

  “I’ll send a carriage for you. I don’t suppose you could bring that actor fellow along?”

  “I believe he’s onstage tonight, unfortunately,” said Alec.

  “Let’s go and see him, then! My wife has been badgering me to take her. We can dine afterward.”