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 Rhiminee,” Runcer intoned gravely. “Wizard of the Second Order of the Third Oreska.”
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 Aurenen 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
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 protegees. 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
“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 Aurenen 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
“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, tali. 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 Aurenen, 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
