White Road

at all.”
    Mounting again, they continued on, alert for reprisals.
    The Stag and Otter was dark. Bypassing the front door, they led their horses to the back courtyard and left them with the sleepy stable lad, then went in by the kitchen door.
    Seregil went to the mantelpiece above the broad hearth and took down the large painted pitcher that stood at the center of it.
    “Well, well.” He felt inside and held up three folded vellum packets and a small scroll tube, no doubt delivered by Magyana or Thero. “We’ve been missed.”
    Alec lit a candle from the banked coals and they made their way up to the second floor, where Seregil unlocked the door of an empty storeroom and locked it again carefully behind them. Crossing to the opposite wall, he spoke the ward that opened the hidden panel there.
    “Do you remember the passwords?” he asked Alec with a grin. “It has been a while.”
    “I certainly hope so. It would be a shame to be killed on our own doorstep.” Alec took the lead, whispering the current passwords—
Aurathra. Morinth. Selethrir. Tilentha
, theAurënfaie words for the four moon phases—for each of the four wards Magyana had placed here to deal with unwanted visitors, should anyone stumble onto their secret.
    Seregil’s cat, who had her own way in, stood up and stretched as they reached the door at the top of the stairs.
    “There’s my girl!” Seregil exclaimed, reaching down to scratch her behind the ears as Alec spoke the final password. Ruetha broke into a loud purr and rubbed around Seregil’s ankles as he opened the sitting room door.
    The room was dark and cold and smelled of dust, but they’d left a good supply of wood by the hearth. Seregil tossed his saddlebag into a corner and kicked off his muddy boots by the door. Alec did the same, then used a fire chip from the dish on the marble mantelpiece to light the fire. Seregil went around the room, lighting candles and lamps, then—sweeping the dust cover off the couch—he stretched out there and inspected the seals on the letters.
    Two of them were simply drops of melted sealing wax; it was more prudent not to advertise who was sending certain letters in case they were intercepted. The third was from a duchess he knew slightly, and the scroll was from Magyana.
    Alec pushed Seregil’s feet aside to sit down and covered them both with his cloak as they waited for the room to warm.
    “Let’s see,” said Seregil, breaking the first blank seal. “This is from old Lord Erneus. Seems his daughter has gotten herself—No, look at the date. She’s given birth by now.” That one was relegated to the fire. The second had been left for them just a week before. The scent of a lady’s perfume still clung to it. Seregil held it to his nose, giving Alec a wink, then looked it over. “This one is from Duchess Myrian, Duke Norin’s wife. It seems she’s unwisely given a token to her lover—Bilairy’s Balls, why do they always do that?”
    “We’d be out of work if they didn’t.”
    The third missive was from Tyrien, a Street of Lights courtesan Alec had met the first time he’d blundered under agreen lantern. The young man wanted someone to rob the house of a patron who’d wronged him.
    “I wonder what he’d think if he knew it was you he was writing to?” Seregil said with a grin.
    Alec ignored him and picked up the scroll tube. Breaking the seal, he shook out the rolled letter. “Let’s hope Magyana has something more challenging for us. This is dated just four days ago. She must have left it as she went out of town.”
    Seregil pulled the edge of the cloak up under his chin. “That sounds promising.”
    “‘My dear boys, if you return before I get back, I have a small matter that might be of interest to you. Please visit Lady Amalia as your lordly selves as soon as you can. Tell her you are in my confidence, and know of someone trustworthy who can help her. It’s a small political matter. I do hope you had a pleasant adventure.’”
    Seregil grimaced. “‘Pleasant’ is not the word I’d use to describe it. What about you?”
    Alec pushed Seregil’s feet off his lap. Going to his discarded saddlebag, he took out the false slave collars they’d worn and propped them up on the cluttered mantelpiece between a box of loose gems and a broken lock.
    “Are you sure you want to save those?” Seregil asked. How could Alec look at them and not think of Sebrahn?
    “It’s all right,” Alec assured him as he sat down