Casket of Souls

sea, had been populated by all sorts of fanciful animals and beings, from fiery salamanders to centaur harpists. Tonight Thero conjured dragons—not just large ones flying in the distance, but also the little fingerlings often encountered in Aurënen, skittering among the fallen painted leaves, darting up painted tree trunks, and fluttering among the branches. To the Skalans it was magical, a gorgeous fantasy; for Seregil and Alec, it was a bit of home. Singing birds with golden feathers soon appeared with them, and a huge dragon stalked its wayaround the room just inside the trees, glaring balefully at the partygoers as it emerged from behind a doorway.
    Amid much clapping and laughing, Seregil took Alec by the hand and drew him halfway up the sweeping staircase. Raising his wine cup, he saluted Alec with it. “To my lover!”
    “Who’s finally old enough for you all to stop shaking your heads over,” added Micum, raising his cup.
    “A scadnal!” Luthas piped from somewhere in the throng.
    This was greeted with cheers and more laughter, and the dancing began. Alec and Seregil led the first lively 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 Rhíminee,” 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 alucrative 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,