Casket of Souls

fine time to reestablish the Cat’s reputation. All it took was a word in the right ear—and gold and a message in the right hand—to engage the services of the shady, faceless nightrunner for hire. For years, the nobles of Rhíminee had employed the Cat to carry out their intrigues, thefts, and deliveries, little realizing that their money was lining the pockets of one of their own—now two of their own, since Alec’s arrival five years earlier. Seregil even let it be known that he’d used the Cat’s services, just for show. It wasn’t that he needed the money; it was the zest of the risk, and Alec craved it as much as he did.
    “We have it on good authority that the duke will be away from his villa at Cirna,” Alec told him. “His young wife is here in the city, in the final weeks of her first pregnancy.”
    “He’s not a man you want to be on the wrong side of,” Thero warned. “Do be careful.”
    “Aren’t we always?” asked Seregil.
    Thero raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Not in the slightest.”

 
    H OLDING the lightstone’s slim wooden handle between his teeth, Seregil wiped at the drop of sweat rolling slowly down his nose and glanced over one of the many letters they’d found in the duke’s private study, including a bundle hidden in a drawer with a false bottom. Archduchess Alaya, Princess Elani’s chief lady-in-waiting, was apparently a friend of the duke’s and not above sharing some interesting court gossip. According to the latest missive the vicegerent—the queen’s twin brother, Korathan—had taken another lover, young Lord Byris. A long time ago, Seregil had briefly held that honor. Korathan had always liked his bedmates young. In another, she spoke of a man named Danos, saying that the princess royal seemed to regard him warmly and looked forward to his letters.
    Across the large study, Alec was a dark silhouette against the glow of his stone as he searched the racks of scrolls and books that filled two walls. According to the duke’s kitchen maid, whom Alec had charmed at the fish stall in Cirna Market earlier that day, their information had been correct: the duke was away visiting friends at a nearby estate, and was not expected back for several days.
    It was well past midnight, but still so muggy that everything—the parchments, the leather blotter, Seregil’s thin linen shirt—felt uncomfortably moist. He’d pulled his hair back for the job, but it hung heavy against the back of his neck, making him feel that much hotter as he riffled through the rest of the letters. No breeze stirred the thickvelvet drapes that framed the balcony door. The sawing of crickets was so loud it drowned out the sound of the surf against the cliffs below. It was starting to give him a headache. But he did manage to find one more letter of interest among those that had not been hidden. It was from Count Selin, who happened to be a friend of Alec’s. In the brief note, Selin thanked the duke for a night of gambling and a good supper and invited Reltheus to dine with him and his widowed mother the following week.
    Alec was on the floor now, lifting the edges of the round wool carpet the desk stood upon. After a moment he let out a low whistle.
    “Find something?” Seregil whispered.
    “Hidey-hole, with a box.”
    “Traps?”
    “No.”
    Seregil heard him working a pick in a lock, then the rustle of papers. Alec reached up and handed Seregil a packet of letters tied up with dark ribbon. Seregil pulled one out and opened it. Finally, what they’d come for. He quickly checked a few more in the bundle, just to be certain. Judging by what he read, the secret affair had been passionate; Marquise Lania was a very descriptive correspondent and had obviously been thoroughly infatuated with the much older duke. It hadn’t taken much effort to learn that a land deal hung in the balance between Lania’s soon-to-be husband, Marquis Deciel, and another noble. Reltheus wanted the land for himself and meant to use the letters to pressure her into persuading Deciel. It was typical of the endless intrigues and posturing among the Skalan nobility.
    Seregil pulled out another letter to check the date, but suddenly Alec grabbed him by the shoulder and propelled him out onto the moonlit balcony. Seregil understood and pressed himself to the wall outside the door, clutching the purloined letters as Alec silently pulled the door shut. An instant later light showed beneath it. Someone was talking, but too