Casket of Souls

introduced Palmani, who was out of birthing confinement. She was very young and quite pretty. Alec felt bad for her, knowing what her husband got up to on his nights out. She was also a little shy, but Seregil soon had her laughing and talking about her baby son.
    There was a large crowd gathered in front of the theater, and the playbills hung on each side of the doors promised a comedy tonight called
The Wife’s Revenge
. It seemed appropriate, although Alec was fairly certain from the way Palmani fawned on her husband that she knew nothing of his philandering ways.
    A few people muttered as Seregil led his guests to the head of the line, but the man taking the money knew them and bowed deeply as he ushered them in.
    “This is quite wonderful!” Palmani exclaimed, looking around excitedly as they settled in the finely appointed patrons’ box. “I’ve been asking my husband for weeks to bring me.”
    Reltheus raised her hand to his lips. “And here we are, my love, courtesy of my good friends.”
    “He speaks of you so often,” she told Alec.
    Young Van soon appeared with chilled wine and a plate of sweets. “Compliments of the house, my lords,” the boy said with a deep bow.
    “Thank you, Van,” said Seregil. “Tell me, do you know if Atre is free after the show tonight? We’re dining with the duke and his lady and they would very much like to meet him.”
    “I’m sure he is, my lord!”
    The play was, as always, excellent, with Atre playing the cuckolding husband and Merina the triumphant wife. Brader played the husband’s roistering companion with more humor than Alec had thought the man capable of.
    It ended with the unfortunate husband locked in a cupboard with a malodorous servant, played by Teibo, and a flatulent hound. The crowd loved it and threw all manner of favors onto the stage when the cast came out to take their bows.
    “Oh, they were wonderful!” Palmani exclaimed, wiping away tears of laughter. “I do look forward to meeting this handsome actor of yours.”
    The footlights were extinguished and the crowd milled out, talking and laughing, while Seregil and the others waited in the box. Atre soon joined them, dressed in an elaborately embroidered blue coat and silk breeches.
    “Your Graces.” Color flashed from the jewels of his earring and the numerous rings he wore as he bowed. These were almost always different, and Seregil very much suspected that he wore whatever jewels his host or hostess for the evening had given him, to please them and curry favor. The one constant, Seregil noted, was the amethyst ring Atre wore on the little finger of his right hand; the one Elani had given him. That had been quite a coup, and it seemed Atre was happy to remind people of it.
    “What an honor to offer my humble services!” Atre was saying, not sounding particularly humble.
    “You can thank your patrons, Master Atre,” Palmani said, offering her hand for him to kiss.
    “They are unfailingly generous, Your Grace.”
* * *
    There was little overt sign of the war deprivations in the Noble Quarter, or at least not in Reltheus’s huge Silvermoon Street villa, where a sumptuous feast awaited them. They ate in the elaborate garden, enjoying the cool night breeze as they dined on courses of venison and hare from the duke’s hunting estate, and jellied eel and lobsters from the bay. Seafood was still plentiful in Rhíminee, since it didn’t travel well. The bread, it was true, was made from coarser flour than one might expect, and there were candied fruits rather than tarts for dessert, but no one commented on such lacks.
    Atre was in his element, and amused the whole table with stories of his travels and experiences with curious characters. Seregil joined in, and soon they were vying to see who could tell the most outrageous story.
    The wine flowed freely, and Alec drank cup after cup. By the time they got to the dessert course, he was drunker than Seregil had seen him since last Mourning Night, laughing loudly at everything and swaying in his chair. Seregil shot him increasingly annoyed looks through the meal, trying to catch his eye, and by the end of the meal he was pretending embarrassment and poorly concealed his anger at his young lover.
    “Your Grace, I really must apologize,” he said to Palmani, reaching out to steady Alec in his chair.
    “Ah, temperance comes with age,” Reltheus said with a laugh.
    “You serve the mos’ essecellent wine, my dear Reltheus!” Alec slurred,