Casket of Souls

her sweat-soaked tunic.
    When they were alone, Atre looked closely at Brader. “You’re looking weary, cousin, and I see some lines around your eyes.”
    Brader nodded, resigned. “Yes, it’s time.”
    “Tonight, then, after the show.”
    Atre was changing into fresh clothing when Brader came to his room that night. “You’re going out again?”
    Atre went to the mirror and pulled his long auburn hair back with a ribbon that matched his embroidered black coat.“Yes, Duke Laneus invited me to a drinking party he’s having tonight. Tanni is coming with me. Didn’t she tell you?”
    “No.” Brader frowned, not liking the idea of the impressionable girl in such company. “Does her father know?”
    “Zell doesn’t mind. Why should you?” Atre replied with a shrug. He appraised Brader’s reflection in the mirror. “You go too long between these days, cousin,” he scolded. “It makes things noticeable.”
    “And you do it too often,” Brader said, weary of the perpetual argument. “You’ll start to look like Teibo if you’re not careful. The night of the opening I noticed Lord Seregil and Lady Kylith staring at you all evening.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. I know what I’m doing. It’s your own choice to starve yourself.” Going to the wardrobe, he moved a few hats aside on the upper shelf and took down a battered leather case. Setting it on the dressing table, he unlocked it and took out two glass phials sealed with cork and wax incised with a circle of tiny symbols. The contents were milky and one of the phials clinked as he handled it, the child’s clay marble he’d used to make the elixir knocking against the glass.
    “There you are,” he said, giving it to Brader.
    The tall man gazed at it a moment, his expression a mix of regret and revulsion, then broke the seal and quickly downed the contents. The effect was slight, not even eliciting a shudder as some of the stronger ones did, but those were risky. And addictive. Brader had given them up years ago.
    Atre inspected him closely. “One more, I think.”
    The second phial contained a tiny bow made from faded blue ribbon; it looked a bit like a butterfly. It made Brader think of Ela, and he did shudder as he drank this one, but not because of the magic.
    “That’s better. Life was easier before you grew a conscience,” Atre remarked with a smirk.
    “When did you lose yours?”
    Atre emptied the marble and ribbon into the rubbish basket among the fruit peelings and candle ends, then replacedthe empty phials in the case, and the case in its temporary hiding place, the one Brader knew about.
    Brader watched, his face sad and devoid of the old hunger. It made Atre want to slap him. There had been a time when his cousin relished these draughts as much as Atre did. Now he pulled a sour face every time. Just as Brader’s brother Van had, before he’d given up and left them. Perhaps that was when Brader’s regrets began?
    “We’re running low, my friend. Time to hunt again. Unless, of course …” Atre went back to the wardrobe and took out the special jewel casket, setting it on the bed between them. Taking the little key from his purse, he opened it and drank in the sight of all those jewels with all their shining threads of life attached. He held up a ring labeled KYLITH. There were so many threads that it looked more like a gently wavering nimbus of light, though Brader could not see it.
    “Ah, dear cousin. Think how many precious little ones could be spared with just one draught made from this lovely bauble,” Atre teased.
    Lady Kylith was indeed a fine prospect, now that he didn’t need her money anymore—so many years, so many connections. Where a slum child might share the threads with a few family members no more potent than the child was, the nobles were thick with them, part of the great net of life that he and Brader supped from. It was like comparing a moldy crust with a banquet. He ran his finger through the other jewels, admiring the combined glow that issued from the casket. His mouth fairly watered at the thought of all that accrued life force, all that power. And these weren’t even the best ones. Those he kept hidden away even from Brader.
    They’d taken a few powerful souls in Mycena—a few too many, as it turned out—but nothing to rival the potential he was reaping here in the Skalan capital, itself a nexus of great power. Even a noblewoman of modest rank like Kylith would be a veritable feast, and so