Myrhichia laughed, cheeks flushed and strands of her dark hair escaping from the jeweled pins to frame her pretty face. “You’re in fine form tonight, my lord!”
“It must be my dancing partner’s influence,” he replied gallantly. In fact, he liked her quite a lot. She was the second-and last-woman he’d slept with, the only time he’d done so willingly. He’d been halfway up the brothel stairs with her that night before he realized that she looked a bit like Seregil with her dark hair and grey eyes. That had been the beginning of a succession of unsettling revelations, the upshot of which had kept him out of brothels and women’s beds ever since, but he still felt a certain affection and gratitude toward her, and was beginning to have a greater appreciation of how Seregil remained friends with past lovers.
Myrhichia was smart and amusing and proud of her craft, which involved a great deal more than what went on upstairs. She was a lovely singer, skilled conversationalist, played
several instruments, and had Seregil’s own skill at bakshi and cards. It was not at all uncommon for young nobles to engage the services of such women for the mere pleasure of their company, and Myrhichia had many admirers.
Illia caught him next and held on to him for three dances, teasing him through every one of them.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked, swinging her around the steps of a gallop. “You look very grown-up with your hair up like that.”
“I am getting grown-up,” she replied haughtily. “And I’m still a better dancer than you are.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Beka, then, since she’s the one who taught me.”
“I remember, that first time you came out to Watermead. You were a regular donkey, stepping all over her feet.”
“You’d better be nice to me on my name day, or I’ll tread on yours,” he warned, hoisting her into the air as the music ended.
Illia let out a most un-grown-up squeal, but hugged him soundly as soon as he put her down.
He finally managed to excuse himself and caught Selin in the dining room, where people were playing cards. Elsbet was there, and had a respectable pile of winnings in front of her. Alec gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and she went pink in the face.
“I didn’t know priestesses in training were allowed to gamble,” he teased as Elsbet laid another winning card on the table and her opponents groaned.
“They shouldn’t be,” Selin exclaimed, throwing down his cards in disgust and paying his wager as Alec took a seat beside him. “Illior favors gamblers, and she wears the Immortal’s mark.”
“Uncle Seregil taught me to play,” said Elsbet. “I don’t need any more luck than that.”
“My apologies, I was only joking,” Selin returned, blushing, and Alec realized that the young lord’s chaffing might be more than idle banter. He seemed quite entranced by Elsbet’s quiet charm. “I’m not playing with you, either!” he announced to Alec, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “My
grandmother taught me never to wager against anyone on their name day. It’s bad luck the rest of the year if you lose.”
“If I lose or you lose?”
Selin thought a moment, clearly well into his wine. “Well, I don’t recall, but it’s bad luck for one of us and I’m not going to risk it.”
“Why don’t we take a turn in the garden?” Alec suggested. “It’s much cooler out there.”
Selin, who’d lost most of his right leg in a carriage accident as a child, retrieved his ornate crutch and nimbly followed Alec outside. It was a clear, moonless night, but the stars were bright enough to cast shadows. The trailing roses on the arbors were in full bloom, scenting the night air.
“What have you been up to all summer?” asked Alec. “We haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Tending to my mother’s affairs,” Selin replied. “Since Father died, she’s gone to pieces. She stays in bed all day, sometimes.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But you do get free now and then, obviously.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve managed one hunt this summer, and I attend Archduchess Alaya’s salons whenever I can.”
Ah, there was an opening. “How do you know her?”
“Mother sends me for the latest gossip. It’s one of her few pleasures these days.”
“Isn’t Duke Reltheus a friend of the archduchess?”
“Why, yes! And a friend of mine, as well. Do you know him?”
“No, but I’ve heard he’s an interesting conversationalist.” Alec had, of course, heard no such thing. Fortunately, his guess was on target.
“A very amusing fellow!” Selin agreed. “The archduchess is very fond of the man.”
“How do they know each other?” Alec asked.
“The princess royal hunted on his estate last winter. His forests are teeming with deer! Princess Elani’s whole court accompanied her, and evidently the archduchess was quite taken with him then.” Selin lowered his voice with a wink.
“It’s rumored that the princess was rather enamored of his oldest son, Danos, too.”
Alec pretended surprise. “So Danos is courting the princess?”
“From a distance, if he is. He’s with the Queen’s Horse Guard.” Selin sounded a little wistful, absently drumming his fingers on his crutch. “To be honest, I don’t know the son as well as the father. Duke Reltheus is quite the bakshi player.”
“Perhaps you could introduce us sometime. He sounds like a fellow worth knowing.”
“I’d be happy to! Write me tomorrow and I’ll arrange something.”
This had been a good night’s work after all.
Thero was rather drunk and dancing with Elsbet Cavish when he suddenly felt a faint crawling sensation on the back of his neck again; it could have been a spider but he sensed a whiff of magic to it. Looking around the crowded room, he couldn’t find the source. It was gone as quickly as it came.
“Is something wrong, Thero?” asked Elsbet.
“No, I felt something odd, just now.”
“Magic?”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, maybe someone is wearing a strong charm.” She gave him a twinkling smile. “Or maybe it’s the wine.”
“You’re probably right.” But he spent some time wandering among the crowd afterward, without success.
Kari took the exhausted younger children upstairs around midnight, but the party lasted most of the night. Lord Seregil kept an excellent cellar and the wine, ale, and Zengati brandy flowed very freely. The younger guests-and some of the more feckless older ones-overindulged, as was to be expected. Dawn was breaking when the last of the ambulatory ones were seen off, and the ones left snoring in a stupor on benches and under tables had been made comfortable with pillows and blankets.
Seregil yawned and clapped Alec and Micum on the
shoulder as he looked around the salon with satisfaction. “I always say it’s not a successful party unless someone pukes in the garden.”
Alec gave him a wry look. “Then it was a rousing success. We should have set out buckets.”
“I don’t envy your servants who have to clean up,” said Micum as he followed them upstairs, weaving a little. He paused as they reached the landing. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Did you hear any talk of Princess Klia tonight?”
“No,” Seregil replied.
“Malthus and Duchess Nerian were talking about the truce she made with Aurenen,” said Alec. “And she was on Kyrin’s list.”
“List?” asked Micum.
“I’ll explain when we’re sober,” Seregil told him.
“Count Selin asked after Klia, knowing that Beka serves under her,” Micum told them. “I didn’t think much of it. Then I caught her name again when I was out for a stroll in the garden to clear my head. I passed Lord Areus and Lady Yrin whom I thought were doing the same.”
“Their names were on that list, too,” said Alec.
“They had their heads together and I caught Klia’s name and something about the succession,” Micum went on. “When they saw me, they started chatting with me about horses.”