Seregil chuckled. “He probably wanted to look as alluring as possible.”
“No, not all over, just around the hairline.”
“Not that surprising. It’s not always easy to get off, depending on what you use. It’s probably from yesterday.”
“I suppose so.” But Alec didn’t look satisfied. “Still-does Atre strike you as the sort of man who would stop to help a street urchin on a dark street?”
Seregil chuckled again. “Probably not the real story. Most of the doxies are half cutpurse, themselves. He must have propositioned the wrong one. Or ran afoul of some street toughs.”
“Maybe.” Alec paused, then asked, “By the way, did you enjoy your performance at the Three Dragons?”
“My amazing winning streak?”
“No.”
“Ah, the stripping naked in front of a hundred or so noblemen and women part of the evening.
“Useful?”
“Absolutely! Before I met you, Lord Seregil was known for things like that. Well, not usually in such a public place, perhaps-”
“Perhaps?” Alec raised a skeptical eyebrow at that.
“At parties, mostly.”
“So you did things like that a lot?”
“Now and then, just to keep up my reputation. Mostly it was getting other young nobles into trouble stealing public statues or bluecoats’ horses while we were drunk, slumming in borrowed clothes, or daring each other to jump off Widow’s Cliff into the sea. You should try that, actually. Very invigorating-if you live.”
“And carrying on with actors, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes. And actresses.”
“Am I bad for your reputation, now that we’re spending so much time back in the city?”
Seregil grinned. “I’d say we reestablished my bad name tonight, wouldn’t you? I was lucky, though.”
“You did win a lot of money.”
“Yes, but I was thinking more of Foris’s search of my person.”
“What was so lucky about that?” Alec laughed. “He had you standing naked on a chair.”
Seregil winked at him as they passed under the glow of a street lantern. “Yes, but his search stopped short of the most obvious hiding place.”
“The most-?” Alec gave him a questioning look, then realization dawned and it was replaced by one of shock. “Bilairy’s Balls, Seregil!”
“Close.” Seregil grinned. He loved still being able to make Alec blush.
They were nearly to Wheel Street when suddenly Cynril and Windrunner both shied. As Seregil and Alec reined the horses in, two dark forms detached themselves from the deeper shadow of a side street and sprang up onto their horses behind them.
Seregil’s attacker locked an arm around his neck, choking him as they tumbled together to the street. Seregil landed hard with the man on his back. Between that and the pressure on his throat, he was already seeing stars. The pressure disappeared for an instant, quickly replaced with the cutting tension of a garrote. It caught on the collar of his coat, but he could feel the wire against his skin where the collar gaped. Fighting for his life, he reached back and clawed at the man’s hands. Panic lent him strength and he managed to roll the man off. He felt the wire cut into his neck as he wiggled around and jammed his thumbs into his attacker’s eyes. The garrote went slack as the man grabbed Seregil’s wrists and threw him over onto his back. Seregil wasn’t quick enough to roll away before the man was on him again, a knee planted in Seregil’s gut, choking him with his bare hands. The bastard was big and very strong, but Seregil was limber and fighting for his life. Twisting sideways, he brought his foot up and kicked his would-be murderer in the side of the head. The grip on his throat loosened again. This time Seregil managed to reach the poniard in his boot and stabbed the man through the neck. Scrambling to his feet, he turned to find that Alec’s
would be-assassin had the younger man pinned, tightening a garrote around Alec’s neck while Alec fought wildly. Seregil grabbed the man by the hair, stabbed him in the heart, and dragged the limp body off Alec.
Alec had managed to get one hand up to his throat between skin and garrote wire, which had probably saved his life-but the palm of his left hand was cut deeply.
They scanned the surrounding shadows for other attackers, but the night was silent except for the snorting of their panicked horses, who had stopped halfway down the street.
“Bilairy’s codpiece!” Seregil croaked hoarsely, examining Alec’s hand. Pulling out his handkerchief, he tried to bind the wound.
“Never mind me,” Alec replied. “Your neck is bleeding.”
Grabbing the handkerchief from Seregil’s fingers, he used it to blot the thin wound across the base of Seregil’s throat. If Seregil hadn’t managed to get loose, the wire would have cut his throat.
“We’re both in sorry shape.” Seregil could hardly speak above a harsh whisper. “Let me tend your hand. You’re bleeding all over me.”
Using Alec’s own handkerchief, he tied it around Alec’s cut palm, then pulled him close in the windswept darkness.
Alec hugged him back. “You’re shaking.” So was he, for that matter.
Seregil rubbed his smooth cheek against Alec’s, whispering hoarsely, “I just never get used to almost losing you, I guess. And they were good, the bastards. Professionals.”
They turned to the two dead men sprawled at their feet.
Alec nudged the one Seregil had stabbed in the neck. “Guild assassins?”
“That would be my guess.” Seregil picked up one of the fallen garrotes. It was made from thin, flexible steel wire with a small wooden handle at each end. “Yes, from the looks of this, I’d say they were professionals.”
Keeping an ear out for bluecoats, they made a quick search of the bodies, but neither man carried so much as a belt purse. It was too dark to look for guild marks, but chances were there wouldn’t be any; the Rhiminee guild was cagier
about such things than some. The lack of any identification and possessions was telling in itself.
Leaving them for the Scavengers, they rode for home.
“I wonder who set them on us?” Alec said as soon as they closed the front door behind them.
“I can think of two,” Seregil croaked, leading him to the kitchen. “Reltheus may have seen me spying at Elani’s today, although I don’t know how. He certainly knew where we’d be tonight. These assassin bastards probably followed us from there.” He paused. “And then there’s Malthus.”
“But he’s our friend!” Despite all his training and all the things they’d been through since they’d met, Alec still had some of his native innocence intact. The sign of a good heart, Seregil supposed, and usually he admired Alec for it, but in situations like this it could get a person killed.
“Queen-making might trump friendship, don’t you think?” In the kitchen he lit a candle from the banked coals on the hearth, filled a basin with water from the barrel by the door, then went to the cupboard where the simples were stored. “Interesting that General Sarien took an interest in me tonight. Even patted me on the shoulder. If Malthus’s cabal considers me a threat, then he could have been signaling one of the assassins, concealed in the crowd.”
“They could just as well have attacked me when I was alone tonight,” Alec noted.
“I don’t think you were the target,” said Seregil, sitting down beside Alec to clean and tend his wound. “Which would mean that Malthus believed me when I told him you weren’t involved.” He paused and shook his head. “Perhaps I tipped my hand too soon, speaking with him.”
Alec winced as Seregil sponged the blood away. “Or he knows you set his house on fire,” he said, only half joking.
“I doubt that. But we can’t afford to trust anyone now.”
“Maybe not. What are we going to do?”
Seregil pulled the garrote from inside his coat. “Send this and a heavy purse to one of my less savory connections.”
“Are we still going to talk to Valerius about the sickness?” Alec asked. “I really think he should know about it. Besides,
