Casket of Souls

to his continual surprise, seemed tomake him all the more alluring—and let the older ones fuss over him or regale him, as the case might be. When he’d had enough, he escaped to the dancing, which he’d come to enjoy very much since those first awkward lessons at Watermead.
    He’d just finished a reel with Illia, and was about to make his way through the press to seek out Selin when a bit of conversation caught his attention.
    “I’m as fond of Seregil as anyone,” Duchess Nerian was saying to Duke Malthus as they stood with heads together near the servants’ passage, “but this is different. The Aurënfaie know they have us over a barrel and they’re taking full advantage.”
    Alec lingered inconspicuously, listening carefully as Nerian harangued Malthus about the price of Aurënfaie steel. Her name had been on Marquis Kyrin’s list, together with Malthus’s.
    “They are abiding by the terms arranged by Princess Klia,” Malthus reminded her. “It’s hardly their fault that the war continues to drag on. Like it or not, we need foreign horses, steel, and grain. Mycena’s decimated. There are reports of starvation in the midlands and along the river. The northern trade routes are unreliable at best this summer. There hasn’t been a gold shipment to the Royal Treasury since early spring. The ’faie are already granting us credit. Really, my friend, I think you’re being unfair.”
    Nerian paused a moment, then turned away, muttering, “Well, I suppose
you’d
see it that way. Sometimes I wonder if you’re really—” Just then she caught sight of Alec and smiled. “Happy name day, Alec. So nice of you to invite me.”
    The abrupt change was not lost on Alec, nor Malthus’s look of discomfort. “I’m delighted to see you again, my lady,” he replied. “I hope you didn’t find the fare too paltry.”
    “Hardly! Your Sara is amazing.”
    Alec lingered for a bit of small talk until he spied Selin talking to a poet at the bottom of the staircase. Before Alec could reach him, however, he was waylaid by Eirual and Myrhichia.
    “I think you owe us both a dance, Lord Alec, to make upfor your absence from our house,” Eirual declared, her violet eyes bright with amusement and wine.
    “Both at once?” asked Alec.
    Eirual laughed, making the jeweled netting over her breasts twinkle in the candlelight. “You know I charge more for that, my lord.” If she’d meant to make Alec blush, it worked. It was an affliction he seemed not to be growing out of. “No, you take my lovely girl here. I’ll go find that lover of yours, if I can pry him away from those young men.”
    Indeed, Seregil was presently hemmed in by the poets and their set across the room near the front entrance. Thero was with him, and appeared to be enjoying some spirited debate with Donaeus. Eirual strode through the press and claimed Seregil for her own, pulling him by the hand from their midst and out to dance.
    The musicians struck up another reel and Alec took the young courtesan in his arms and whirled her across the floor. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Illia beaming and chattering away as she danced with Atre, who appeared to be charming her the way he did every other female in the room.
    Myrhichia laughed, cheeks flushed and strands of her dark hair escaping from the jeweled pins to frame her pretty face. “You’re in fine form tonight, my lord!”
    “It must be my dancing partner’s influence,” he replied gallantly. In fact, he liked her quite a lot. She was the second—and last—woman he’d slept with, the only time he’d done so willingly. He’d been halfway up the brothel stairs with her that night before he realized that she looked a bit like Seregil with her dark hair and grey eyes. That had been the beginning of a succession of unsettling revelations, the upshot of which had kept him out of brothels and women’s beds ever since, but he still felt a certain affection and gratitude toward her, and was beginning to have a greater appreciation of how Seregil remained friends with past lovers.
    Myrhichia was smart and amusing and proud of her craft, which involved a great deal more than what went on upstairs. She was a lovely singer, skilled conversationalist, playedseveral instruments, and had Seregil’s own skill at bakshi and cards. It was not at all uncommon for young nobles to engage the services of such women for the mere pleasure of their company, and Myrhichia had many