Stalking Darkness

the feel of the cold night air.
    Skirting the Harvest Market, he strolled through Knife Maker’s Lane to Golden Helm and followed it, watching the evening traffic bustle past. As he reached the Astellus Circle, he was suddenly struck by a new and unexpected inspiration.
    Across the busy circle, beyond the pale, templelike fountain colonnade, stood the gracious arch that marked the entrance to the Street of Lights. He’d been down this street many times on the way to the theater and gambling houses there, and Seregil had often jested about stopping in at a brothel afterward, but somehow it had never happened. He’d never imagined it would.
    Until now.
    The colored lanterns—rose, amber, green, and white—glowed softly through the mist, each color signifying what sort of companionship was available within. Rose meant women for men, he knew, and white was women for women; amber meant a house for women, too, but the prostitutes there were male. Most enigmatic of all, however, was the green lantern, signifying male companions for male patrons. Worse yet, some houses showed several colors at once.
    There’s no reason to be nervous
, he thought as he crossed to the arch. After all, his clothes were presentable, his purse was heavy, and thanks to Ylinestra, he wasn’t completely inexperienced. As his friends never seemed to tire of pointing out, he
was
of age for such diversions. There was no harm in just having a look around, anyway. Nothing wrong with being curious.
    As usual, the street was busy. Riders on glossy horses and carriages displaying the blazons of noble houses and wealthy merchants clattered past as he strolled along, looking with new eyes at the establishments showing the pink lantern. Groups of rich young revelers seemed to be everywhere, their boisterous laughter echoing in the darkness.
    A woman wearing the uniform of the Queen’s Household Guard was bidding a lingering good-bye to a half-dressed man in a doorway beneath an amber lamp as he passed. Next door, a well-heeled sea captain and several of his men burst from one house showing the rose light and, after a moment’s consultation, stormedoff across the street to one with a green. Lights glowed in nearly every window; muffled laughter and strains of music drifted everywhere, adding to the festive feel of the place.
    It occurred to him as he walked along that the color of a lantern was not a lot to go on for such a decision. No doubt Seregil could have suggested a few likely places, but that wasn’t much good to him now. At last, he settled on a house near the middle of the street for no better reason than that he liked the carvings on the door. Just as he was about to go in, however, a door swung open across the street and a group of young men spilled out in a flood of light and music. A man was singing inside, and the voice stopped Alec in his tracks. The clear, lilting tenor was unmistakably Seregil’s.
    “Yellow as gold, the hair on your pillow
,
Green as cold emeralds, your eyes
.
Dear as the moon, the cost of your favors
,
But priceless, the sound of your sighs.”
    Well, well! So here you are
, thought Alec.
And you figured out that last line, too
.
    Wondering what role his friend was playing tonight, he crossed the street and hurried up the stairs and into the spacious vestibule beyond. In his haste, he collided with a tall, handsomely dressed man just inside the door.
    “Good evening,” he exclaimed, catching Alec lightly by the shoulders to steady himself. His hair was streaked with silver, but his long, handsome face was youthful as he smiled down on Alec.
    “Excuse me, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Alec apologized.
    “No harm done. I’m always glad to meet anyone so anxious to enter my house. You’ve not been my guest before, I think. I’m Azarin.”
    The man’s blue eyes swept over him in what Alec sensed was well-practiced appraisal. He’d given no patronymics and Alec’s name was not asked for.
    Evidently he’d passed muster, for Azarin slipped his arm through Alec’s and drew him with gentle insistence toward a curtained archway nearby.
    “Come, my young friend,” he said warmly, drawing aside the curtain. “I believe you’ll find the company most congenial.”
    “Actually, I was just—”
    Taking the room in at a glance, Alec froze, all thought of Seregil momentarily forgotten.
    Beyond the curtain, a broad staircase led down into an opulent salon. The air in the softly lit room was heavy with