Stalking Darkness

incense. The walls were painted in Skalan fashion with superb murals and, while erotic themes were not uncommon, these were unlike any Alec had encountered before.
    Green
, he thought numbly, heart tripping a beat as he gazed around.
    The murals were divided into panels, and each presented handsome male nudes intertwined in passionately carnal acts. The sheer variety was astonishing. Many of the feats depicted appeared to require considerable athletic ability and several, thought Alec, must have been pure fantasy on the part of the artist.
    Dragging his gaze from the paintings, he swiftly took in the occupants of the astonishing chamber. Men of all ages reclined on couches arranged around the room, some embracing casually as they gave their attention to a young lute player by the hearth, others laughing and talking over gaming tables scattered here and there. Couples and small groups came and went up a sweeping staircase at the back of the room. There was no unseemly behavior, but many of them wore little more than long dressing gowns.
    The patrons seemed to be mostly noblemen of various degrees, but Alec also recognized uniforms of the Queen’s Archers, the City Watch, several naval tunics, and a red tabard of the Orëska Guard. He even recognized a few faces, including the poet Rhytien, who was currently holding forth to a rapt audience from the embrasure of a window.
    The courtesans, if that was what one would call them, were not at all what he’d expected; some were slight and pretty, but most of them looked more like athletes or soldiers, and not all of them were young.
    He hadn’t heard Seregil’s voice again since he’d entered, but he saw him now lounging on a couch near the hearth. He had one arm around a handsome, golden-haired young man and they were laughing together over something. As the courtesan turned his head, Alec recognized him—it was the same face Seregil had sketched on the margin of the song. Even from this distance, Alec could see the fellow had green eyes.
    His heart did another slow, painful roll as he finally allowed himself to focus on Seregil.
    His friend wore only breeches beneath his open robe and his dark hair hung disheveled over his shoulders. Slender, lithe, and completely at ease, he could easily have been mistaken for one of the men of the house. In fact, Alec silently admitted, he outshone them all.
    He was beautiful.
    Still rooted where he stood, Alec suddenly felt a strange division within himself. The old Alec, northern-bred and callow, wanted to bolt from this strange, exotic place and the sight of his friend stroking that golden head as absently as he’d petted the cat a few hours earlier.
    But the new Alec, Alec of Rhíminee, stood fast, caught by the elegant decadence of the place as his ever-present curiosity slowly rekindled. Seregil hadn’t noticed him yet; to see him like this in such a place made Alec feel as if he were spying on a stranger.
    Seregil’s strange, virile beauty, at first unappreciated, then taken for granted as their familiarity grew through months of close living, seemed to leap out at him now against the muted backdrop of the crowd: the large grey eyes beneath the expressive brows, the fine bones of his face, the mouth, so often tilted in a caustic grin, was relaxed now in sensuous repose. As Alec watched, Seregil leaned his head back and his robe fell open to expose the smooth column of his throat and the lean planes of his chest and belly. Fascinated and confused, Alec felt the first hesitant stirring of feelings he was not prepared to associate with his friend and teacher.
    Still hovering at his elbow, Azarin somewhat misinterpreted his bedazzled expression. “If I may be so bold, perhaps you lack experience in such matters?” he asked. “Don’t let that trouble you. There are many hours in the night, take your time.” He swept a graceful hand at the murals. “Perhaps you’ll find inspiration there. Or have you a particular sort of companion in mind?”
    “No!” Startled out of his daze, Alec took a step backward. “No, I didn’t really—I mean, I thought I saw a friend come in here. I was just looking for him.”
    Azarin nodded and said, ever gracious, “I understand. But now that you are here, why not join us for a while? The musician is new, just in from Cirna. I’ll send for wine.”
    At Azarin’s discreet summons, a young man detached himself from a knot of conversation nearby and came up to join them.
    “Tirien will