Seregil pulled the edge of the cloak up under his chin. “That sounds promising.”
“‘My dear boys, if you return before I get back, I have a small matter that might be of interest to you. Please visit Lady Amalia as your lordly selves as soon as you can. Tell her you are in my confidence, and know of someone trustworthy who can help her. It’s a small political matter. I do hope you had a pleasant adventure.’”
Seregil grimaced. “‘Pleasant’ is not the word I’d use to describe it. What about you?”
Alec pushed Seregil’s feet off his lap. Going to his discarded saddlebag, he took out the false slave collars they’d worn and propped them up on the cluttered mantelpiece between a box of loose gems and a broken lock.
“Are you sure you want to save those?” Seregil asked. How could Alec look at them and not think of Sebrahn?
“It’s all right,” Alec assured him as he sat down beside him again.
He didn’t say more, and Seregil didn’t ask. Instead, he made a show of weighing a letter in each hand. “What do you say, talí? The lady or the whore?”
“Magyana first, then the whore, and then the lady,” said Alec. “On one condition, though.”
“You’re leveling conditions now? All right, what is it?”
The flickering firelight made Alec look a bit menacing as he grinned and said, “That I don’t hear you complain about being bored for at least two months.”
Seregil gave him a mocking seated bow. “You have my word. I’m sure this old whore of a city can keep me entertained for a bit. Besides, it’s nearly spring, and people do all sorts of foolish things in the spring. Ah, Alec—a good honest brawl and jobs waiting.” He yawned and stretched, then uttered the words he had not said since the Cockerel Inn burned.
“It’s good to be home.”