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 Rhiminee,” 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 Aurenfaie 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 Aurenfaie 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
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 deal 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.”
