Cascet of souls

“We did, my lady, until the soldiers burned it to the ground. As you can see, we lost everything. Four of our players were killed. The rest of us barely escaped.”

“I hope our contributions tonight help you. I look forward to seeing more of your performances.”

Atre took her proffered hand and kissed it reverently. “You will always have a place of honor in our theater, my lady.”

“That was a more expensive evening than I’d anticipated,” Seregil murmured, pretending to be piqued as they took their leave of Malthus and his wife, and followed Kylith and Ysmay out to find their carriage. “I think, between us, we gave him enough to buy the wretched place.”

“You can certainly afford it,” Kylith said with a laugh. “And admit it, you were transfixed.”

“They were very good,” said Alec.

Seregil glanced around as they waited for the carriage to make its way to them through the departing crowd. There wasn’t a link boy in sight, what street lanterns there were in this part of town were only sporadically lit, and the hazy gold half-moon didn’t cast much light. Emboldened, a knot of ne’er-do-wells lurked on a nearby dark corner like wolves waiting to pick off stragglers from the herd. Their numbers had increased over the summer-thieves, footpads, even gate runners emerging from their sewer kingdoms at night-and they were becoming more brazen. It was getting to be an annoyance.

The carriage rumbled up at last. The page followed behind, leading Cynril and Windrunner. The footman jumped down and held the carriage door open for his mistresses. Kylith held out her hand to Alec and Seregil.

“Are you sure you two won’t join us at Duke Laneus’s for supper? He’ll be so disappointed. He’s been wanting to meet the handsome young men I talk so much about.”

“Please give him our regrets,” Seregil replied, kissing her cheek. “We have a long journey tomorrow.”

“But we’ll see you all at my party in a few weeks, won’t we?” asked Alec, kissing her good-bye.

“I hope before that!” she exclaimed. “Perhaps you could ask Atre and his players to be part of the entertainment.”

Seregil laughed. “So you’re already their patron?”

She settled back on the velvet seat and winked at him. “I know talent when I see it. Perhaps not all of them, but that fellow Atre, at least, could go far in this city.”

Mounting their horses, he and Alec rode beside the carriage down the Street of the Sheaf, the broad thoroughfare that bisected the city, and bade her and her party good night at Merchant Circle. The carriage continued on into the Noble Quarter while Seregil and Alec made their way toward the Oreska House.

There were throngs of people out strolling and taking the night air. Summer had come early to Rhiminee. Now, in mid-Gorathin, it was so humid and hot by day that even in the Upper City the air pressed down like a great, unrelenting hand. The market squares were all but deserted at midday except for a few stray dogs and beggars stretched panting in the shade of the stalls. Though not only because of the heat; with the war still dragging on, many goods were scarce or had disappeared altogether. There had been riots over food more than once this year, and the poor were reduced to stealing when they could no longer afford even a loaf of stale bread.

Many nobles had already fled to summer villas by the sea or in the mountains. Those unlucky enough to have neither a country home nor an invitation to one languished abed or at the finer public baths by day, and in the Street of Lights by night; the elegant brothels, theaters, and gaming houses there were seldom short of custom once the night cooled off.

In the poorer quarters of the Upper and Lower city there were no such luxuries. Bodies were found in the streets among the squalid tenements every morning, tossed out for the Scavenger Guild to deal with.

The Oreska House was a palace of sorts, and home to most of the wizards in Skala. It had been built in the heart of the Noble Quarter, symbolizing the unity between the wizards and the Crown. Its four tall white towers glimmered in the moonlight above the high walls that surrounded it. Inside, a huge park surrounded the House, with grassy lawns, groves, and gardens filled with plants useful to the wizards. It was always spring or summer there. Seregil drew in a deep breath of the cool, fragrant air as they followed the tree-lined way

toward the grand entrance. The Oreska House had been his home once.

The glass domes that capped the soaring white palace and its towers sparkled in the starlight. Cherry and lime trees were in bloom today, scenting the air and casting drifting petals on the breeze that caught in their hair and their horses’ manes. To his right, a young woman hovered cross-legged above a rosebush, her face serene as her fingers wove on the air glowing patterns of light that emitted sweet soft music. Farther on he caught sight of a wizard and his young protege working on some outdoor spell by the glow of a lantern. The sight struck a sore spot, a very old one, bringing with it memories of fires, hysterical horses, insects pouring in under the doors-Seregil’s inexplicable magical impediment had saved his life more than once, and set his feet on the nightrunner path-but even with these failures, his days as Nysander’s apprentice had been some of the best of his life. He’d thought they’d remain the best, until he met Alec.

Servants in red tabards bowed deeply to them and took their horses. Climbing the wide marble stairs, they entered the echoing atrium and strode across the huge dragon mosaic floor. Climbing five flights of stairs, they walked down the corridor to Thero’s tower and knocked. One didn’t just lift the latch at a wizard’s rooms, even if he was a friend.

There was a pause, then a loud popping sound and a muttered curse. A moment later the door flew open and Thero glared out at them, his thin, aesthetic face framed by tendrils of curling black hair that had come loose from the leather thong tying the rest of it back. He smelled of smoke and looked characteristically annoyed. “What? Oh, it’s you. Did you find it?”

“Of course.” Alec took out a packet of papers and waved it at him as they followed him inside to his immaculate workshop, which at the moment was filled with a haze of coiling smoke.

“I hope it wasn’t anything too serious,” said Seregil, taking a chair by one of the long worktables. Apart from the smoke, everything else-thousands of books and scrolls on their shelves, various pieces of magical and astronomical

equipment-were all in their places. Nothing like the comfortable chaos of Nysander’s day.

“At least I still have all ten fingers.” Thero sat down by a shattered crucible and opened the packet. “Just as I thought. Did you have any trouble?”

“No, the house was laid out as you said.”

“Of course. And how was the play?”

Alec hitched himself up on the table next to Seregil. “Quite good, actually. You should come with us next time.”

“I’m far too busy.”

“We’ve hardly seen you in weeks,” Seregil noted. “What have you been up to in this heat?”

“Among other things, I’ve been trying to make sense of this.” Thero picked up the oo’lu horn leaning against the table, one of the two they’d brought him from their battle with the Retha’noi. Nearly five feet long, it was decorated with a black mark in the shape of a hand and bands of designs cut in with a hot knife. One end was fitted with a ring of beeswax that acted as a mouthpiece. Placing his lips inside it, Thero puffed out his cheeks and blew a few throbbing, buzzing notes.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” said Alec. “But isn’t it dangerous, using it without knowing what the sounds can do?”

“I thought of that, of course, and sealed myself in the casting room for the first few tries. So far, all I’ve managed to do is annoy the servants. As far as I can tell, the magic must come from the witch who plays it. The oo’lu only channels it. I donated the other one to the Oreska museum.”

“How are you coming along with the alchemist’s books?”

“Ah, yes. Those. If you’d been able to get me more than half of each volume, I’d be doing better. Some of the details of the making of rhekaros were lost, but there are a number of other interesting concoctions. Alchemy is really quite fascinating- Oh, sorry, Alec.”

“It’s all right, Thero. I’m past it.”

The wizard shot Seregil a quick, questioning look, but he just shook his head slightly.

Changing the subject, Thero asked, “Did you pick up any interesting gossip while you were there?” The young wizard

was the head of the secret spy organization known as the Watchers, which included Seregil, Alec, Seregil’s friend Micum Cavish, and now Micum’s oldest daughter, Beka, a captain in the Queen’s Horse Guard. It was a