Casket of Souls

hunkered down in the shadows of a silversmith’s shop to await Atre’s reaction to the surprise they’d staged for him.
    The moon was sinking behind the clouds. Candles were lit inside the house, then one by one the windows went dark again as the occupants went to bed, and still no sign of Atre.
    Perhaps he was spending the night elsewhere. They hadn’t seen who had come back, and Seregil hadn’t noticed Atre’s voice among the others.
    Soon after, he heard Micum’s whispered “Luck in the shadows” from a nearby alleyway.
    “And in the Light,” Seregil whispered back.
    Big as he was, Micum scarcely made a sound as he materialized out of the shadows.
    “How is Thero?” Seregil whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.
    “I don’t know. Valerius is caring for him personally, though. Did you find Illia’s ring?”
    Seregil shook his head and Micum bit his lip in frustration. Clasping his friend’s shoulder, he put his lips close to Micum’s ear and caught him up on the night’s progress.
    The stars were beginning to fade and their cloaks were damp with dew when they heard the loud rattle and jingle of a carriage approaching. It rounded the corner pulled by a fine matched pair of white Aurënfaie horses, and although Seregil couldn’t quite make out the escutcheon on the door, the horses alone, together with the glint of gilt on the carved dolphins gracing the four corners of its roof, were enough to tell him that this was one of Atre’s more affluent and high-placed admirers. There were loud sounds of laughter and merrymaking as the coachman reined the horses to a halt in front of the house and they could hear Atre making his farewells as he alighted on the pavement. He paused a moment as the carriage rolled off, looking up at the sky and stretching, then put his key to the lock and disappeared into the house.
    Seregil gave Micum a crooked smile. “Here we go.”
    Atre wasn’t particularly drunk. He made a point of always keeping his wits about him, even when he went out carousing. Young Marquise Wentira and her friends had been quite amusing in their cups, though, and very generous.
    He lit a candle from the small night lantern in the front room and made his way up through the silent house to his bedchamber. Once there, he set the candle on the dressing table and pulled the night’s pretties from his coat pocket. Wentira’s silver locket was very nice, and contained a lovely miniature of her done on ivory, but she’d had it made for him and it was far too new to be of any use. Sweet-faced Lord Byris had unwisely parted with a gold ring set with a ruby that had been given to him by Prince Korathan. That one was best returned. If only he’d had it from the prince himself, what a prize that would have been, surpassing even the pieces he’d had from Elani. He held his right hand out toadmire the amethyst ring she’d given him at their first meeting. He loved flaunting it under the noses of the nobles who used him for their amusement; they hadn’t the slightest idea that he held the heir to the throne’s life quite literally in his hand. She was a vibrant girl, with life connections far beyond her years. An elixir from her ring or the emerald brooch would sustain him for weeks. He kept them about his person at all times.
    They were so very tempting.
    Of the night’s take, only Duchess Nasia’s chain was of any use. He set it aside for his next visit to Basket Street and placed the rest of the jewels into the casket in front of him. Leaning back in the chair, he yawned and stretched his arms over his head, ready for a good day’s sleep.
    Taking up the candle again, he crossed to the bed, then stopped, frozen in shock at the sight of the open elixir case sitting in the middle of the counterpane. Trembling, he placed the candle on the stand by the bed and grabbed the case. Two bottles were gone.
Two!
    He lit more candles and threw open the wardrobe doors. Everything appeared undisturbed, but he knew better. Tossing shoes and boots aside, he wrenched up the hidden panel beneath and pulled out the locked casket. It wasn’t locked anymore, and the phial containing Duchess Eona’s powerful soul was gone.
    Brader!
    Not bothering with a candle, he went to his cousin’s room and knocked softly on the door. After a moment Brader opened it. He was in his nightshirt, but his dark eyes were sharp and alert.
    “Come with me,” Atre whispered.
    He waited until they were safely in his chamber with