Thero bowed low. “Of course, Highness. I will say nothing.”
“Good. She can tell the story herself when she comes home. And Thero?”
“Highness?”
“How did you happen to be talking to my sister?”
“She gave me a talisman, Highness, so that I could contact her. And I gave her message wands so she could contact me. That’s what happened last night; she called for me and I opened a window spell so we could see and speak to each other.”
Korathan raised a pale eyebrow. “Really? And how did this unique system come about?”
Thero couldn’t tell if the prince was displeased or not, but
he forged ahead with the truth. “When I had to leave her behind in Aurenen, we exchanged talismans. So I could help her if she needed it.”
“You consider yourself her protector, then.”
Thero met the prince’s gaze steadily. “I do.”
The prince looked at him for a long moment, then, with a hint of a smile, said, “Good.”
CHAPTER 13. The Golden Crane
ONCE Atre had Seregil’s and Kylith’s money in hand, the actor wasted no time in moving his company to their new theater, now named the Golden Crane.
Two weeks after they’d first seen the place, Alec attended the opening performance with Seregil and Kylith. Tonight Atre was launching a new play-a lovers’ tragedy-and it was the best production so far, now that the players had the money for proper costumes, cosmetics, and scenery.
As promised, Seregil and Alec sat with Lady Kylith in the lavishly appointed patrons’ box reserved for them. A wine jar and fine cups stood waiting on a small table, with a basket of pears.
“Patronage has its pleasures,” Seregil said, selecting a piece of fruit. “We certainly have the best seats in the house.”
“And room for more,” Alec noted.
“I do hope you don’t mind, but I invited a few friends,” Kylith told them.
“Not at all. Who will be joining us?”
“Malthus and Ania, and Duke Laneus and his lovely wife, Eona. I don’t believe you know them.”
Seregil squeezed her hand. “We’re always happy to make new acquaintances, my dear.” He knew Laneus by sight; he was one of the queen’s ministers.
“I’m sure you’ll like them. Eona is such a dark beauty! Her grandmother was a Zengati princess, you know.” Kylith paused and gave Seregil a concerned look. “I’m sure she’s from one of the tribes friendly to Aurenen.”
“I’ll assume that to be the case,” Seregil replied with a smile. “Besides, you can’t blame anyone for their grandparents, now can you?”
Word of the company had certainly spread, and the seats were soon full, from the boxes crowded with nobles down to the crowded groundling area.
The rest of their party soon arrived in satin, silks, and jewels. Alec rose with Seregil and bowed to the newcomers.
“You honor us with your presence,” Seregil said, shaking hands with the two men and kissing the duchesses’ hands.
Though fair-skinned, Eona had the dark shining curls and deep violet eyes of her Zengati forebears. As Kylith had noted, she was a stunning beauty, and Alec did his best not to stare.
“Oh, I am looking forward to this!” she exclaimed, settling next to Kylith. “And I’m so glad to meet you, my lords. One hears such wicked things about you.”
“Don’t embarrass the gentlemen,” her husband, a tall, grizzled man, scolded mildly, though the look he gave her was indulgent.
Seregil gave her his most charming and foppish smile. “I’m sure most of it’s true, but I promise we’ll behave ourselves tonight.” He raised Alec’s hand to his lips. “Won’t we, my love?”
“I’ll try,” Alec assured her, managing to blush a little, which clearly amused and charmed their guests.
The play was very fine, one of the best they’d seen so far.
“Doesn’t Atre look especially dazzling tonight?” Kylith whispered.
“The wonders of expensive cosmetics,” Seregil said with a soft chuckle. All of the actors were professionally made up, but Atre did stand out among them, looking younger and more vibrant than ever. Alec supposed they must be eating better these days.
Between acts Brader’s young sons Kalin and Van sold wine and ale, and little Ela went around the boxes with a basket of flowers. Their party already had refreshments, but Seregil summoned Van over and gave him a sealed note-an
invitation for Atre and his cast to a celebratory dinner after the show. During the second intermission the boy brought back word that the older players would be honored to join them.
“You will join us, I hope, Your Graces,” said Kylith.
“Unfortunately we have a previous engagement,” Malthus told her. “But certainly next time.”
When the show was over, the dukes and their wives departed with promises of invitations to come. Alec and the others remained in their box as the cast received compliments and gifts from their admirers.
It was obvious that while all the actors had some following, Atre and Merina were by far the most popular. Flowers and small gifts were pressed upon them by women and men alike. Alec watched as one besotted young merchant’s daughter took a gold chain from around her neck and placed it around Atre’s. The way he gazed into her eyes as she did so pinked her cheeks and left her flustered. He was less warm to the men, though polite, although that didn’t seem to dampen the ardor of the more smitten.
At last Brader made their apologies and the actors disappeared backstage to change clothes and wash their faces. Atre looked up and waved to Seregil and Alec as he went, as if to make certain they were still there.
Soon bored, Seregil wandered down to the stage and jumped up into the glow of the footlights. Striking a pose for Alec’s amusement, he sang a verse from the lover’s lament Atre had sung in the second act.
“My love, why do you look so coldly upon me?
Why is your heart as distant as the moon from mine?
What have I done that you should spurn my knee
And refuse your limbs with mine to entwine?”
Kylith laughed. “That’s the first thing that came to mind, is it?”
Seregil pressed a hand to his heart. “The heroine’s death has left me a bit melancholy.”
“It suits you. My lord looks very natural on the stage.”
Atre stepped smiling from the shadows of the wings. He was richly dressed tonight-more of his patrons’ money well spent-and had rings on nearly every finger and an expensive teardrop-shaped black pearl dangling from one earlobe. “And you have a far better singing voice than mine. As good as any bard’s.”
Seregil made him a florid bow worthy of Aren Silverleaf. “As always, you are too modest, Master Atre.”
The actor had evidently removed his paint, but still looked exceptionally handsome. Alec caught himself staring and hastily looked away.
“Do nobles ever take the stage here?” asked Atre.
“Only for private entertainments.”
“Well, if you ever want to arrange something, let me know. I’ve a number of roles that would suit you very well.”
“Heroes or villains?” asked Alec from the groundling area.
“I’m sure Lord Seregil could play any role, my lord. You yourself would make the perfect young lover.”
“I’ll leave that to you two. I prefer to stay on this side of the proscenium.”
Brader, Merina, Leea, and Zell soon joined them, all dressed in new finery, though far fewer jewels. Brader wore none at all, Alec noticed.
They dined together at a nearby tavern and found the actors good company, raucous without being crude, with many entertaining stories to tell. When the fruit and nuts were gone but the wine was still flowing, Atre and Merina entertained the house with several songs. Their fellow diners were a receptive audience, and Atre wasn’t shy about promoting their upcoming productions.
Alec took stock of the actor and his friends. Or perhaps friends wasn’t quite the right word, for they clearly deferred to Atre-all except for Brader, but he was a quiet one and hard to read. Zell and Leea were journeyman actors, good at their craft but not stellar, and there were still traces of the Mycenian countryside in their accents, while the vivacious Merina had all the polish of a noblewoman. She shone brightly, flirting harmlessly with Alec, tossing her shining