Casket of Souls

world of court life.Lord Alec’s manners, on the other hand, were a thin veneer that couldn’t quite mask his country roots. Given what Atre had learned about the pair in the short time he’d been moving in noble circles, he wasn’t alone in wondering how a young bumpkin from a place so obscure no one seemed to know where it was held the attention of a rake like Seregil. Atre allowed himself a thin smile; nobles did indeed gossip about them, and it was generally assumed that Lord Seregil didn’t keep the boy around for his conversational skills. Atre believed that was an underestimation of both men; the affection between them seemed quite genuine, and Alec was no fool.
    Unlike the area around the old theater in Basket Street, Atre’s new haunt was an unlikely place to meet with footpads, but he still kept a sharp eye out as he passed under the swaying street lanterns.
    Thanks to the largesse of their several patrons and the success of the plays, he and his company had been able to rent a large house in Gannet Lane quite near the theater. For the first time since the near disaster in Mycena, they had a proper roof over their heads and enough rooms for the various members of their little household to spread out in. It had been below Atre’s dignity to share space with the boys of the company in that Basket Street attic, but there had been little choice.
    Here he’d already begun to surround himself with fine things again—rich furnishings, luxurious linens and hangings for his carved bedstead, a few tapestries and carpets. He’d filled two wardrobes with excellent clothes and had caskets overflowing with jewelry, most of that gifts from his ever-growing circle of admirers.
    The house was quiet when he arrived, flushed with turab and success. His aspirations among Skalan nobility reached far beyond Lady Kylith and Lord Seregil; meeting the princess royal and her mother had been an unexpected turn of luck. He could tell that his performance had pleased Elani far more than that poet woman’s drivel. Another potential connection.
    The large, sparsely furnished front room was dark except for a candle someone had left burning for him in a clayholder. Taking it with him, he climbed the creaking stairs and unlocked the door at the far end of the hallway. Entering his room, he set the candle on the dressing table and studied his handsome face in the gilt-framed glass on the wall, looking for flaws and finding none.
    He thought again of the fascinating Lord Seregil. It was a shame, really, that title. The man was wasted on nobility. What an actor Atre could have made of him! Not that he’d share a stage with such competition, but with another handsome principal actor to build a second cast around, Atre could expand the repertoire still further, perhaps even acquire another theater. Yes, it was a pity, but having the man’s patronage was something, and his interest. He’d seen the way Seregil’s gaze had fixed on him now and then, and the way the princess royal had been looking at Seregil’s young lover. Indeed, such a pair could prove useful. And there was the matter of Seregil asking him to spy for him; it seemed he’d gained the man’s trust.
    Sitting down at the dressing table, he began sorting the night’s jewels. For each one he wrote out a label with the name of the previous owner and tied it on with a bit of blue silk thread. Some went into a jewel casket on the dressing table. A few others were set aside for special safekeeping.
    Brader came in without knocking.
    “Look!” Atre showed him the amethyst ring on his little finger. “A gift from the princess royal herself.”
    Brader raised a disapproving eyebrow.
    Atre closed the jewel box with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t help it if people give me things. The rest of you have your own little collections, too.”
    “We don’t flaunt them. And we don’t label them.”
    “How else can I be sure to wear the right ones when I’m with the person who gave them to me? They want to see them on me, as you very well know.” The frown tilted into a fond smile as he fingered the jewel hanging from his ear. “It makes them feel special.”
    There was a touch of malice in Brader’s answering smile. “Yet not all of them give you gifts. Or do you have a new bauble or two in there from our lesser patrons?”
    “Lord Seregil and his boy give me money, and they have some useful connections. The higher-ups seem to find them amusing.”
    “And did they find