Atre inspected him closely. “One more, I think.”
The second phial contained a tiny bow made from faded blue ribbon; it looked a bit like a butterfly. It made Brader think of Ela, and he did shudder as he drank this one, but not because of the magic.
“That’s better. Life was easier before you grew a conscience,” Atre remarked with a smirk.
“When did you lose yours?”
Atre emptied the marble and ribbon into the rubbish basket among the fruit peelings and candle ends, then replaced
the empty phials in the case, and the case in its temporary hiding place, the one Brader knew about.
Brader watched, his face sad and devoid of the old hunger. It made Atre want to slap him. There had been a time when his cousin relished these draughts as much as Atre did. Now he pulled a sour face every time. Just as Brader’s brother Van had, before he’d given up and left them. Perhaps that was when Brader’s regrets began?
“We’re running low, my friend. Time to hunt again. Unless, of course…” Atre went back to the wardrobe and took out the special jewel casket, setting it on the bed between them. Taking the little key from his purse, he opened it and drank in the sight of all those jewels with all their shining threads of life attached. He held up a ring labeled KYLITH. There were so many threads that it looked more like a gently wavering nimbus of light, though Brader could not see it.
“Ah, dear cousin. Think how many precious little ones could be spared with just one draught made from this lovely bauble,” Atre teased.
Lady Kylith was indeed a fine prospect, now that he didn’t need her money anymore-so many years, so many connections. Where a slum child might share the threads with a few family members no more potent than the child was, the nobles were thick with them, part of the great net of life that he and Brader supped from. It was like comparing a moldy crust with a banquet. He ran his finger through the other jewels, admiring the combined glow that issued from the casket. His mouth fairly watered at the thought of all that accrued life force, all that power. And these weren’t even the best ones. Those he kept hidden away even from Brader.
They’d taken a few powerful souls in Mycena-a few too many, as it turned out-but nothing to rival the potential he was reaping here in the Skalan capital, itself a nexus of great power. Even a noblewoman of modest rank like Kylith would be a veritable feast, and so generous with her little gifts, as were so many of her kind, ready to lavish a little something on the lapdog actor.
And he’d captured one of the greatest possible prizes. He smiled as he glanced down at Elani’s ring.
Brader sighed. “Take care, Atre, for all our sakes.”
Atre and Tanni rode in a hired carriage to Duke Laneus’s villa. The house was in Ruby Lane, at the heart of the Noble Quarter. Tanni, looking older in her silken gown and upswept hair, was fidgety and excited. This was her first time entertaining at a noble’s house.
A servant ushered them in and led them to the duke’s opulent salon. Atre had half expected to see Seregil and Alec among the guests, knowing that they were the duke’s friends, but they weren’t there. Laneus, Marquise Lalia, Duke Malthus, Duke Zymir, Duchess Nerian, and a fat, bluff man introduced to him as General Sarien sat on couches set up in a wide circle, drinking wine and eating nuts and fruit. Shells and peelings littered the floor.
“Ah, here they are!” Laneus exclaimed as Atre and Tanni came in. “Master Atre, it’s good of you to come.”
Atre bowed. “We are honored, Your Grace.”
He and Tanni performed scenes from several plays, and were rewarded with small gifts and much applause.
“Wonderful!” Duchess Nerian exclaimed, giving Tanni her silk and ivory fan.
“I told you they are the best in the city,” said Duke Laneus, gifting Atre with a fine gold chain.
“You weren’t exaggerating their skills,” the general said, eyeing Tanni in a rather unpleasant way. “Pity the trials of war have kept me so busy as not to see them in the theater.”
“Are you home from the front, my lord?” asked Atre, interested to meet another powerful personage.
“Oh, no,” the general replied. “I’m the Protector General, second to Prince Korathan himself in the defense of the Palace and city. This is my front in the war.”
“Please, go and refresh yourselves in the kitchen,” Laneus told the actors, as if it were an honor rather than the treatment one would give to a mountebank or tradesman.
Atre covered his annoyance with another smile and allowed a servant to lead them to the back of the house, where
the cook, to her credit, offered them a very fine venison pie and excellent wine. Still-in the kitchen!
While they were eating the cook and her scullion took their leave for the night, leaving them alone. Atre saw a chance and took it.
“You stay here,” he told Tanni, patting her arm. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just to look in on our host and thank him for this fine repast.”
He gave her a wink and retraced his way to the salon. Finding the corridor deserted, he put his ear to the door.
“I don’t mean to offend, Malthus, but I begin to doubt your faith,” the fat general was saying.
“Just because I won’t go along with out-and-out murder?” Malthus replied. His voice was soft, but the actor could still hear the anger that edged his words. “Tell me, my friends: are we seriously contemplating that?”
Atre’s eyes widened. This was not at all the sort of conversation he’d expected. He held his breath and put his eye to the thin opening between the door and frame. Malthus was on his feet, pacing, while the others sipped their wine.
“A quick slice makes for the most successful surgery,” Duchess Nerian noted, swirling the wine in her cup. “We can’t simply ask Phoria to step aside, now can we?”
“And then there’s Elani to be dealt with, after that,” Duke Zymir said. A chill ran up Atre’s spine, thinking of the gracious young girl. If anyone was going to claim her life, it was going to be him! Anything else would be a ridiculous waste.
“Not if she were to have an unfortunate accident or illness,” Zymir replied. “Now that they’ve chosen to attack Klia herself!”
“The message said it was Plenimaran assassins,” said Malthus.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” asked Laneus. “No, I think the battle has been joined.”
“I wonder if an assassin could breach the Palace?” said Marquise Lalia.
“Perhaps that Rhiminee Cat fellow?” Sarien suggested. “By all reports the man can break in anywhere.”
“He’s no assassin, as far as I know.”
“But this is ridiculous!” Malthus objected again.
“You want Klia on the throne as badly as any of us, don’t you?” asked Laneus.
“Yes, of course, but-”
“Then don’t stand in our way.” That sounded like a threat, though the man’s cool smile never faltered. “But we do need someone close to her. Reltheus and Kyrin have Alaya in their snare. Perhaps one of the squires? Or-” He paused and turned to Malthus again. “What about that ’faie friend of yours, Lord Seregil, and his boy? Word is Elani is quite enchanted with them.”
“Seregil?” Lalia sneered. “I wouldn’t trust that wastrel with a half-sester piece. And he’s one of the greatest gossips in Rhiminee.”
“But he has excellent connections to the royal family, and Klia in particular. And you’ve always said there’s more to him than most people see, haven’t you, Malthus?”
Malthus sighed. “I don’t know. He’s on good terms with Korathan, as well, and if word ever got to the vicegerent about any of this-” He shook his head. “Let me think on it. And for the love of Sakor, leave off this talk of killing! I thought our purpose was to protect Klia from Kyrin and his lot.”
Just then Atre heard footsteps approaching from the front hall and hastily retreated to the kitchen before he was seen. Tanni was where he’d left her, bored and fashioning little shapes out of bread.