Casket of Souls

villa was four times the size of the house in Wheel Street. When they arrived, Seregil was surprised to find not only two servants in white livery ready to greet them and take charge of their horses, but half a dozen of the Palace Guard on duty as well.
    The captain politely asked their names and gave them a slight bow. “Her Grace is expecting you.”
    Servants ushered them inside and led them through a lavishly appointed receiving room into a grand salon, the walls of which were painted, Skalan-style, with colorful murals depicting ocean scenes. The archduchess’s main holdings were on the southeastern coast, though she was seldom there now that she served at court.
    A large set of double doors at the far side of the room stood open, and through these they stepped into a garden courtyard ringed with fragrant flowers and trees and lit by crystal lanterns on tall gilt stands. The center was paved with pink marble slabs with compact lines of aromatic creeping thyme between them, bright with tiny purple flowers. Alaya and her guests reclined at ease on silk-draped couches set up beside a moss-crusted fountain. Carved sea serpents rose up out of the broad marble basin to spit tinkling streams of water.
    Reltheus was already there, sharing a couch with a middle-aged woman Seregil recognized at once as Princess Aralain, mother of Elani. The princess royal sat with Alaya, slender as a boy in her sea-green silk. Elani had her aunt and mother’s fair hair and pale eyes, but must have taken after her father more than the royal side, for she was rather pretty, though Seregil noted a small scar just to the left of her chin, and another across the back of her right hand; swordsman’s scars. Her hands were not coarse—no doubt she wore gloves—but her nails were trimmed short.
    Archduchess Alaya was dressed in purple silk, her white hair a mass of jeweled braids and ringlets. Marquise Evesia and her husband occupied another couch, and Marquis Kyrin completed the party, Seregil was surprised but pleased to see.
    A young woman with red-blond hair stood in the circle of couches, the celebrated poetess Jenaria. She was reciting lyric verse at the moment. Seregil, Alec, and the actor remained respectfully in the doorway, waiting for her to finish.
    When the poetess finished and sat down amid a flurry of applause, Seregil and his companions stepped forward and bowed deeply to the princesses and their hostess. Atre remained behind them.
    Reltheus stood and joined them. “Your Highnesses, Your Grace, allow me to present Lord Seregil of Rhíminee, and his companion, Lord Alec of Ivywell.”
    Princess Elani inclined her head, accustomed to deference, but Seregil was almost certain her gaze lingered a moment on Alec, though it was to him that she spoke.
    “Lord Seregil the Aurënfaie? I’m pleased to meet you at last, cousin. Aunt Klia holds you both as great friends.”
    “It’s been a long time, Seregil,” Princess Aralain said a bit less warmly.
    “Your Highnesses greatly honor us,” Seregil said. “And Your Grace,” he added, bowing now to Alaya as Alec did the same.
    Alaya smiled as she waved them to the last empty couch. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Alec. And look at you, Seregil! You have grown up from that sad little thing you were at court.”
    A servant immediately came forward with a gilded wine table, golden cups, and plates of tiny sweetmeats for them. Alaya eyed Atre approvingly. “Tell me about this other handsome young fellow you have brought with you.”
    “This is the great actor, Master Atre, lately of Nanta,” Seregil explained. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him and his company?”
    “I have indeed. How clever of you to bring him. Princess Elani has been so curious to see his players.”
    “A pity they are in such a poor venue,” added Princess Aralain, as if Atre weren’t there to hear.
    “Ah, but that’s changed, Highness,” Seregil informed her. “Lady Kylith, Alec, and I have set them up properly in Gannet Lane.”
    “Very good!” said Alaya. “Master Atre, I am so glad we will be able to sample your talent tonight. I’m sorry you missed Jenaria’s first offerings, but I’m sure she has another prepared for us.”
    The poetess rose again and bowed to the guests. “It would be my honor, Your Grace,” she replied. “I offer to you‘The Hour of Blue Leaves.’
    “I’ve met my love in the shadowed bower
,
    and we embraced as the sun’s last rays
    bled over the horizon.