dark hair as she laughed. Brader showed the most emotion when he looked at his wife or spoke to her, and Alec guessed there was genuine love between them.
But Atre was the real star and center of attention. He was at ease with his patrons, despite their rank, yet never overstepped the bounds of respect. He was careful to include all three of them in the conversation, but showed Kylith just that little extra attention that acknowledged her as the most influential of the trio. No doubt he’d done a bit of asking around. In his place that’s what Seregil would have done, Alec knew, having observed him play that game many times. Watching Atre, Alec began to feel like he was watching Seregil immersed in some role, and he wondered what was really going on behind those lively blue eyes.
He looked more closely at the earring, which Atre most assuredly hadn’t been able to afford the last time Alec had seen him. A gift, no doubt. The hole through his earlobe was an old one, well healed, so he wasn’t new to such adornments, or to such gatherings as these, either, if his manner was anything to go by.
“Who was your patron in Nanta, Master Atre?” he asked at last.
“The lord mayor and his wife, my lord,” Atre replied with obvious pride. In Mycena that was the equivalent of nobility. “Alas, I don’t know if they are alive or dead now, after the siege on the city last fall that drove my little company westward.”
“Tell the tale of how you and your players came to Rhiminee, won’t you?” Kylith urged.
“We began our escape from Mycena on foot, after several of our members were killed,” Atre replied. “It was a dreadful journey. Finally we took ship in Nysana and reached Cirna just before your Mourning Night. We earned enough there in the streets to buy passage here early this spring. We began in the marketplaces, adding to our meager savings, and managed to scrape together enough to rent the theater in Basket Street where, most fortuitously you, dear lady, found us. And you, my lords.”
Seregil raised his wine cup. “To those in whom the flame of art burns brightest!”
The rest joined him in the toast. Alec was impressed to see tears glitter in the actor’s eyes as he humbly accepted the praise.
“I must say, I am delighted with your success,” said Seregil.
“Tell me more about yourselves,” said Kylith, nodding to Brader, who had been largely silent. “How did you and your lovely wife meet?”
“Father, Mother, and I were with a company of traveling players,” Merina told her. “Atre and Brader joined us at Rudderford in Mycena. Do you know it? No? It’s in northern Mycena, almost to the freeholdings.”
“What were you doing all the way up there, Brader?” asked Alec, trying to get the taciturn man to speak for himself.
But it was Atre who answered. “We are northerners ourselves, Lord Alec. We’d established a small company in Dresher’s Ford, but a plague struck the town and carried off most of our players. Brader and I took to the road to seek our fortunes elsewhere, and ran across Zell and his company in the process. They invited us to join them.”
“And as you can imagine, Atre soon took over,” old Zell said with a laugh. “Our own principal actor took issue with that and dissolved the company. We threw in with Atre and Brader and headed south to seek better fortunes. And along the way, Brader stole my girl’s heart. No woman could ask for a better husband, either.”
Brader smiled with a warmth Alec hadn’t suspected the man capable of. “And no man could have a better wife.”
“And such talented children,” Kylith added. “I’ve enjoyed their antics in the comedies, and Van died very well tonight! We all wept, didn’t we, Alec?”
“No higher praise than that,” Brader said, warming more at the mention of his children. “They’ve been onstage all their lives. They don’t know any other life.”
“But you’ve been unlucky in finding a home, it seems,” Seregil noted. “First plague, then the attack on Nanta.”
“And a few troubles in between,” said Leea.
“But our luck has changed for the better in Rhiminee,” said Atre, saluting his patrons with his wine cup. “I hope to stay here for a very long time.”
“I’ll drink to that!” said Seregil.
CHAPTER 14. Making an Imperssion
SEREGIL and Alec’s fortunes continued to improve when they received an invitation in the archduchess’s own hand, asking them to join her salon the following evening. Seregil, in turn, sent a message to Atre. The actor appeared at their door the next day, dressed nearly as splendidly as they were.
“Sorry to pull you away from your work,” said Seregil as they set off on horseback, but only out of politeness. “I suppose you had to cancel the show?”
“Oh, no,” Atre assured him blithely. The man had hired a glossy black gelding for the evening and rode well. “We have a few plays in our repertoire that don’t include me. My understudy, Calieus, and young Teibo have center stage tonight. But of course, I would have come, even if it meant canceling a performance. I’m delighted to repay your generosity in such a small way.”
“And I’m delighted that you are a man of your word,” Seregil replied.
A damp, salt-laden breeze blew up from the harbor as they rode through the well-lit streets of the Noble Quarter to the grandest part bordering Silvermoon Street.
Alaya’s villa was four times the size of the house in Wheel Street. When they arrived, Seregil was surprised to find not only two servants in white livery ready to greet them and take charge of their horses, but half a dozen of the Palace Guard on duty as well.
The captain politely asked their names and gave them a slight bow. “Her Grace is expecting you.”
Servants ushered them inside and led them through a lavishly appointed receiving room into a grand salon, the walls of which were painted, Skalan-style, with colorful murals depicting ocean scenes. The archduchess’s main holdings were on the southeastern coast, though she was seldom there now that she served at court.
A large set of double doors at the far side of the room stood open, and through these they stepped into a garden courtyard ringed with fragrant flowers and trees and lit by crystal lanterns on tall gilt stands. The center was paved with pink marble slabs with compact lines of aromatic creeping thyme between them, bright with tiny purple flowers. Alaya and her guests reclined at ease on silk-draped couches set up beside a moss-crusted fountain. Carved sea serpents rose up out of the broad marble basin to spit tinkling streams of water.
Reltheus was already there, sharing a couch with a middle-aged woman Seregil recognized at once as Princess Aralain, mother of Elani. The princess royal sat with Alaya, slender as a boy in her sea-green silk. Elani had her aunt and mother’s fair hair and pale eyes, but must have taken after her father more than the royal side, for she was rather pretty, though Seregil noted a small scar just to the left of her chin, and another across the back of her right hand; swordsman’s scars. Her hands were not coarse-no doubt she wore gloves-but her nails were trimmed short.
Archduchess Alaya was dressed in purple silk, her white hair a mass of jeweled braids and ringlets. Marquise Evesia and her husband occupied another couch, and Marquis Kyrin completed the party, Seregil was surprised but pleased to see.
A young woman with red-blond hair stood in the circle of couches, the celebrated poetess Jenaria. She was reciting lyric verse at the moment. Seregil, Alec, and the actor remained respectfully in the doorway, waiting for her to finish.
When the poetess finished and sat down amid a flurry of applause, Seregil and his companions stepped forward and bowed deeply to the princesses and their hostess. Atre remained behind them.
Reltheus stood and joined them. “Your Highnesses, Your Grace, allow me to present Lord Seregil of Rhiminee, and his companion, Lord Alec of Ivywell.”