Stalking Darkness

hoped-for lack of interest. Leaving him to stumble charmingly along through Kylith’s courtly flirtations, Seregil turned his attention to the other guests, where more interesting game was afoot.
    “I expect war will be a relief for Phoria,” Lady Tytiana was saying. As Mistress of the Queen’s Wardrobe, she was a valuable and generally reliable gossip. “She’s still under a bit of a cloud, you know, after that horrible business with the Vicegerent’s suicide—Oh, Lord Seregil, forgive me. I didn’t mean to be indelicate.”
    “Not at all, dear lady.” Seregil flicked a crease from his black mantle. “My name
was
cleared, so my honor is no more blemished than usual.”
    A ripple of laughter went round the little circle. He’d cultivated his reputation as a charmingly dissipated exile carefully over the years. While his distant relation to the royal family granted him access to most of the more fashionable salons, it was generally supposed that his foreign birth and dilettante ways kept him safelyoutside the complex intrigues of the city. As a result, he was taken lightly but told a great deal.
    “As I was saying,” Tytiana went on, “I shouldn’t wonder that she’d be relieved to go off to war. Nothing like a few victories to improve one’s popularity. And just between ourselves, Phoria could use some goodwill among the people, even without that other unpleasantness. An heir apparent with no offspring is always—awkward.”
    “She’s a fine cavalry commander, though,” said Captain Julena.
    Admiral Nyreidian leaned back and laced his fingers over his considerable paunch, “True, but she’ll be at a disadvantage unless the Plenimarans are foolish enough to attempt overrunning Mycena. Plenimar is a naval power, always has been. I’ve advised the Queen so and she agrees. The lower city defenses are being built up as we speak.”
    “Only yesterday I overheard Queen Idrilain ordering two hundred wagonloads of fine red clay from Piorus to slake the slopes below the citadel,” Lady Breena chimed in. “That’s not been done since her great-grandmother’s day.”
    “Surely they wouldn’t be so bold as to attack Rhíminee directly?” Seregil ventured over his wine.
    Nyreidian cast a rather patronizing look his way. “They’ve done it before.”
    “So you are preparing to meet them on their own terms. It must be an enormous undertaking.”
    “I believe I’ve seen every sailor, fisherman, and pirate that ever sailed between here and the Strait of Bal!” the admiral replied. “The harbor’s alive with them. And investors, too. Privateering is a lucrative venture. Have you considered backing a vessel, Lord Seregil?”
    “Sounds like an interesting mix of patriotism and profit. Perhaps I should look into it.”
    “Vessels are getting scarce already, I must warn you. Every shipbuilder in Skala has all the work he can handle, refitting old ships and building new. But the real trick is to find a decent captain.”
    “And yet war has not been officially declared. How can the Queen send out privateers without giving provocation? Surely she doesn’t mean to precipitate a conflict?”
    Nyreidian stiffened perceptibly. “I’m sure our Queen does nothing without the best interests of Skala in mind.”
    “But of course,” murmured Seregil. “The fact that the Queen has entrusted you with this undertaking is ample proof of the gravity of such measures.”
    Alec breathed a sigh of relief when Kylith turned her attention to her other guests. His repertoire of invented history was slim and he was out of his depth for small talk. Luckily, no one else seemed particularly interested in him.
    Seregil was still busy with the fat admiral, so he leaned his elbows on the rail to watch the spectacle unfolding before him.
    The tiers of viewing boxes where he sat stood at an angle on the south side of the square, just in front of the Dalnan temple grove. Across the square another set of tiers partially obscured the fountain courts and delicate, brightly colored archways of the Temple of Astellus. The Temple of Illior was hidden by the back wall of the box to the east.
    Cordoned-off pathways between the four temples quartered the broad square. Black-robed festival goers were already packing the open areas and crowding into the courtyards and porticoes of the other temples. Gulls wheeled overhead, mingling with flights of brown doves from the Dalnan grove.
    Before him, the black Temple of Sakor stood