Casket of Souls

get it back!” Tolin hissed. “It’s not just your head on the block if he goes to the prince with it. Have you told Kyrin?”
    “Of course I have.”
    “Any more word from the north, Reltheus?” asked Stenmir.
    “No, and nothing at the Palace. I suspect if they’d been successful in killing her, we’d have heard about it by now.”
    Killing her
, Seregil thought, shocked at the words. There was only one “her” he could think of that they would be speaking of. If there had been an attempt, how could Thero not know?
    They passed through a clearing, and Seregil lost the thread of the conversation as he had to skirt wide to avoid being seen. All he caught were bits and pieces of some argument between Reltheus and Tolin. Stenmir said little, listening more than he spoke. The men stopped again and Seregil heard Reltheus say something about “the cat.”
    Seregil’s heart skipped a beat at that, doubting the conspirators would be discussing someone’s mouser. A stop in at the Stag and Otter might be in order when he got back to the city.
    He shadowed them back to the others, but their conversation had turned to the war and Phoria.
    “I would wish no harm on her, of course, but it might simplify things,” Tolin observed, and he seemed to be still speaking of the queen.
    Simplify what for whom?
Seregil wondered. The most obvious answer was that Phoria’s untimely demise would clear the way for Elani to take the throne, and assure Reltheus’s interests if the girl wed Danos. If that were the case, and he suspected it was, then Phoria’s life might be in as much jeopardy as Klia’s.
    “Enough of that. We’re too close,” Reltheus warned. Then, raising his voice a little, “Tolin, do tell me about that new kestrel of yours. You must bring her to my next hunt.”
    Seregil faded into the trees and hurried back to his place beside Alec before Reltheus and the others appeared on the far side of the clearing.
    Alec cracked an eyelid as he sat down and murmured, “Find what you were looking for?”
    “Mmm,” Seregil replied noncommittally as he signed yes. “Just needed to stretch my legs.”
    When the heat of the day had passed, the courtiers roused themselves and there were games, more shooting, and wading at the shoreline to catch shrimps and collect periwinkles and black mussels.
    Alec won a few shatta and purposely lost a few, too, to avoid bad feelings. There was no question that the more time either he or Seregil spent in Elani’s presence, the more they were regarded as interlopers of low degree.
    As night fell, the servants built a bonfire on the beach and everyone gathered around to eat mussels boiled in wine and spices and sing under the stars. Seregil was loaned a harp again and sang a love ballad in his lilting tenor, then called on the company to join him in more love songs and warriors’ lays, finishing with a few ballads celebrating the queen’s battles.
    At last they were rowed back to the ship and sailed home across the glittering harbor. At the quay Elani bid them good night and rode off with her court.
    Collecting their horses from a public stable, Alec and Seregil started for home through the backstreets of the Lower City.
    “You wouldn’t mind staying at the Stag tonight, would you?” Seregil murmured.
    “No, why?”
    Seregil’s grin flashed pale in the starlight. “Just a bit of business, if we’re lucky.”
    As they turned into Cod Street, Alec noticed a young bawd sprawled awkwardly near the open doorway of a tavern. He first supposed she was either drunk or murdered, until he saw that her eyes were wide open and that she was still breathing. He reined in and dismounted.
    “What are you doing?” Seregil asked impatiently.
    “She’s alive.” He touched her brow with his palm. “Like that boy we found.”
    Seregil joined him and pressed two fingers against the inside of her wrist. “Her pulse is strong.”
    “You there! What are you up to?” a man demanded, and Alec turned to find a blue-coated sergeant of the City Watch regarding them with obvious suspicion.
    “We just found her like this,” he explained.
    “Oh, pardon me, my lords,” the man said, taking in their fine clothing. Then, looking down at the woman, he shook his head. “Sakor’s Flame, another one?”
    “You’ve seen this before?” asked Seregil.
    The man came a bit closer, but Alec could tell he was nervous. “Mostly back away from the merchants’ streets. It’s the sleeping death, all