Alec was in the library, searching without much hope of success, when he heard voices outside the door.
“I didn’t want to leave!” a woman was saying angrily.
A male murmur answered, though Alec couldn’t make out the words.
“He is not! And why should you accept his invitation in the first place, if you feel that way toward him?”
Another conciliatory murmur, then Alec heard the unmistakable click of the door handle turning. He dove under the nearest table, which had only a short tapestry cloth thrown over it, and made sure the black silk over his face and the rag covering his hair were in place.
A pair of breeches-clad legs passed by and a lamp was lit on the table above Alec’s head. After a moment he heard the slide of a book on a shelf and the riffling of vellum pages.
Illior help me if he sits down. Alec scarcely dared to breathe. The man left the room at last, leaving the lamp lit and the door open behind him.
Alec crouched under the table, heart pounding, as first one servant, then another came in. Now what?
Choosing his moment, he crawled out from his hiding place just long enough to blow out the lamp, then quickly retreated, like a snail into its shell.
More servants, or perhaps the same ones, bustled up and down for what felt like a very long time. Was Seregil home already, worrying about him or worse yet, regretting his decision to let Alec have this job on his own?
Things finally quieted down. Hoping the room was dark enough to hide him if he was wrong, he crept to the window and tried the sash. Of course it would be locked! After a moment’s cursing, he realized that it was only latched. Undoing the catch, he stuck his head out to appraise his situation. Just
to one side of the window there was a steep slate roof, no doubt part of a summer kitchen or well house. If he lowered himself out carefully, he might be able to get a foot over onto it, and if there were handholds…
The sound of voices in the corridor decided him. Slipping over the sill, he swung one-handed from it and found purchase on a bit of decorative stonework under the window. Pushing away from that as hard as he could, he made it onto the roof, but immediately lost his balance and slid down the slick slates. Fortunately there was a gutter and he managed to jam his heels into it in time to keep from skidding over the edge onto the flagstones below. It was a noisy fall, and a watchdog began barking somewhere out of sight. Feet firmly braced against the wooden gutter, Alec hastily fumbled out another bit of sausage and threw it out into the kitchen yard. A huge black dog appeared, but instead of eating the offering, it began to bark at him. For the second time that night, Alec managed the dog trick successfully, but not before someone came out to investigate. As soon as he heard a door thrown open below him Alec lay back on the slates as flat as he could, praying they didn’t come too far out or he’d be seen for sure.
“What the ’ell is it, Brute?” an old man’s raspy voice demanded.
Alec heard the click of the dog’s claws on the flags, footsteps with them, a muttered curse, and the sound of the door closing again. He had to get out of here before someone noticed the rope hanging tellingly down the back garden wall.
Seregil was expecting the assassins this time, and heard them coming. There were four of them. Either Laneus had engaged them before he knew Alec had been taken ill, or he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
It put him in a bit of a quandary; if Lord Seregil single-handedly took down four trained Rhiminee assassins, it would cause unwanted talk. The question was nearly decided for him when one of them grabbed for Cynril’s bridle and another tried to drag Seregil from the saddle. Seregil clung on with one hand and grappled the man with the other, going
for his eyes. He missed and caught him by the throat instead. His fingers tangled in something and he felt a tug when he managed to push the man off. Another assassin grabbed his foot and tried to pull it from the stirrup, but Seregil kicked Cynril into a gallop, rode down the man in front of him, and hurtled like fury as an arrow whined past his ear. He was halfway to Wheel Street before he realized that he was clutching something in his right hand. Reining in under a street lantern, he unclenched his fist from around a small bronze disk on the remains of a slender chain. He must have pulled it from the man’s neck during his escape. On one side he could make out the stamped outline of Sakor’s flame; on the other was the flame-and-palace emblem of the City Regiment.
Alec was quite pleased with himself when he arrived back at the Stag and Otter before Seregil did, and little worse for wear beyond a torn shirtsleeve and a bruised elbow. He hurriedly washed away the sweat of the night’s labors and just had time to settle on the couch with a book when he heard Seregil on the stairs, taking them two at a time and quickly muttering the passwords. The door swung open and Alec caught a fleeting look of relief on Seregil’s face before the other man managed to cover it. Seregil sauntered in as if he hadn’t just run up the stairs.
“You must have been having a good time,” Alec noted over the back of the couch. “I’ve been here for ages.”
“It was rather amusing, dining with people who want you dead,” Seregil said with a crooked grin as he sat down beside Alec.
He smelled a bit of horse sweat, Alec noted, and the legs of his trousers were damp around the knees, as if he’d lathered Cynril coming home. “Everything all right?”
“I met up with a few more fellows bent on doing me mischief-”
“You what?” Alec demanded in alarm, looking for wounds.
Seregil fended him off, laughing. “Lord Seregil took to his heels and made it home in one piece, as you can see. But I
did come away with this.” He flipped Alec the bronze disk. “What do you make of that?”
Alec turned it over and inspected both sides. “It’s a soldier’s charm, isn’t it? And this design looks like the crest of the City Regiment.”
“I think tonight’s assassins were General Sarien’s men.”
“You’re probably right.” Alec told him about the note to Sarien.
“That certainly sounds like they’re still recruiting. And if Sarien is turning his own troops against the queen, then this is worse than I thought. We’ll have to keep a closer eye on the man.”
“I found this, too.” Alec then handed him the note he’d copied. “Well, this is a copy.”
“Obviously, and nearly illegible.”
“I was in a hurry.” Alec snatched it back and read it aloud. “ Your Highness, I am most honored to have my humble invitation so graciously accepted. I assure you, all arrangements regarding the princess royal will be in place. I regret to say that I do not trust your friend Lord Seregil. He is far too friendly with certain factions who do not wish you- And that’s where it ends. He must have been interrupted.”
Seregil took the letter from him again and reread it. “Well, he doesn’t address Klia by name. Given the salutation, it could conceivably be to her, Korathan, or Aralain. But not Elani, since he mentions her in it. Not good news about me, though. That’s clear enough.”
“Do you think one of the royals asked about you?”
“Impossible to say from this, but we can’t discount the possibility. If so then it was most likely Aralain.”
Alec looked down at the damp spots on Seregil’s breeches again. “How many assassins were there?”
Seregil avoided his eye. “Only four.”
“Only?”
Seregil patted Alec’s knee. “They were on foot and I managed to ride away without a fight. Gave Cynril a nice little run, and I’m none the worse for it.”
“Laneus is getting a bit obvious, isn’t he?”
“Desperate is more like it.”
“The quicker we turn over what we know to Korathan, the better!”
Seregil looked down at the copied letter again. “No. If this is interpreted as meant for Klia, then it could cast further doubt on her intentions.”