Casket of Souls

know. You must be able to accomplish a great deal.”
    “It depends on the person, I suppose, though time seems to move more slowly there. I remember—” Seregil paused, dabbing at his eyes as he pretended to be overcome by memories.
    “It pains him to speak of home,” Alec explained, putting a consoling hand on Seregil’s shoulder.
    “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
    Seregil shook his head as he laid a hand over Alec’s. “No,it’s quite all right. But you know well how it is to lose your home, don’t you? Were you happy in Nanta?”
    “Oh, yes. For a lad from Dresher’s Ford, it was quite an exotic place. Or so I thought before I came here.”
    “Where did you say Dresher’s Ford is?” asked Alec. “Somewhere in the northlands, isn’t it?”
    “Nowhere you’d know of, I’m sure,” Atre said with a laugh. “It’s a tiny place in the hills north of the Folcwine Forest.”
    “From there to performing before the future queen of Skala!” Alec raised his mug to Atre. “You have come a long way in every sense.”
    “If there’s one thing I admire in a man, it’s ambition,” said Seregil. “And I think you are not lacking in that, Master Atre.”
    The actor smiled modestly but did not deny it.
    “Mistress Merina spoke of you and Master Brader meeting her family in Rudderford,” said Alec. “Is he kin of yours?”
    “He’s my cousin on my father’s side, but he’s been more like a brother to me. We vowed as children to seek our fortunes together, and so we have. I must confess, I’d be lost without him. He’s far more practical than I am and sees to the business of actually running the theater. We’d still be street players in the northlands if not for him.”
    Seregil chuckled. “I very much doubt that. But since you’ve brought up the subject of business, tell me, have you ever done more for your patrons than make money for them?”
    Atre looked up sharply at that, blue eyes suddenly wary with the first honest emotion Seregil had seen all evening. “What are we speaking of, my lord?”
    “Your virtue is quite safe, my friend, if that’s what you’re thinking of with that dark look,” Seregil assured him.
    Color crept into Atre’s cheeks as he quickly tried to cover up his misstep. “Pardon, my lord, I shouldn’t have presumed—”
    “But I wouldn’t have been the first to ask, I think?”
    Atre’s silence was answer enough, and Seregil wasreminded of how much cooler Atre was with his male admirers. “No, what I meant to propose was that I have a taste for gossip, and would be most appreciative if you could pass on any bits and pieces you might pick up among your various admirers. You’re moving in very good circles these days.”
    “What sort of gossip, my lord?” asked Atre, looking not at all opposed to the idea.
    “Well, about Alec and myself, of course. One does like to know who one’s real friends are.”
    “And anything to do with the royal family is always welcome,” added Alec, as if an afterthought. “We happen to be good friends with Princess Klia and are rather protective of her. The nobility can be so fickle, even cruel.”
    “But of course!” Atre assured them with a knowing wink. “And who knows what people might say in front of the mere entertainment, that they wouldn’t say to your face, eh?”
    “I think we understand each other,” Seregil replied, reaching for the purse on his discarded belt.
    “No need for that, my lord. You’re far too generous as it is. You and Lady Kylith were the making of our little company, such good connections.” He gave them a seated bow. “Having the honor of your trust is worth far more to me than gold. I am eternally in your debt, my lords.”
    “As you wish. More turab?”
    Atre bid his patrons good night and headed home, very well pleased with his evening’s work on all accounts. Holding up his hand, he admired the rings he’d been given tonight. The oval amethyst from Princess Elani looked good enough to eat.
    Lord Seregil’s proposal had not been a complete surprise; Atre knew a fellow actor when he saw one, and there was a good deal more to Seregil than the man let on. For all his foppish airs and fawning over his young paramour, there was a hint of shrewdness about both of them that Atre knew better than to discount.
    An odd pair, that, he thought as he rode from the noble quarter to the Street of the Sheaf. Lord Seregil had clearly been born to culture and the cutthroat