Seregil ruffled Alec’s hair with playful impunity. “Runcer will be a couple of days clearing up the wreckage. Between that, and the complaints from the neighbors, we figured it might be a good time for Lord Seregil and Sir Alec to lay low for a few days. We thought we’d put up here, if that’s agreeable.”
“Yes, of course,” Micum replied distractedly, fingering the packet of letters. “Where were they headed?”
“The western border of Mycena,” Seregil told him. “Word is Idrilain wanted them in place before the Klesin thaws muck up the roads next month. The Queen’s Horse was the first to go, but the city was swarming with soldiers by the time we rode out. Idrilain isn’t taking any chances.”
Micum shook his head, wondering how Kari was going to take this news. “Ranil, see to their horses. If you two will excuse me a minute, I want a look at these.”
Seregil laid a hand on his arm as he turned to go. Casting a quick glance toward the door, he said in a low voice, “There’s something else. Rhal tracked us down in Rhíminee about a month ago.”
Micum tensed. “That river trader?”
Seregil nodded. “Some foreign-sounding swordsmen showed up looking for the three of us after Alec and I had gotten off. Rhal covered our tracks, and soon after the Darter went down under questionable circumstances. We’ve been careful since, and there’s been no sign of trouble so far, but with spring coming on—you never know. That’s another reason we want to move back to the inn.”
“What’s Nysander say to all this?”
Seregil shrugged. “He’s keeping a wizard eye out for trouble. So far he hasn’t spotted anything.”
“They must have lost us in Mycena,” Alec put in, sounding as if he and Seregil had had this discussion before. “Otherwise, we’d have been approached or attacked.”
“So you’d think,” Micum allowed. “Still, you’re smart to be careful. Go see to your gear. I’ll break the news to Kari.”
“We won’t hurry, then, eh?” Seregil said, giving him an understanding look.
• • •
Kari took the news of Beka’s departure more calmly than Micum had feared. Reading over Beka’s letter, and those from Elsbet, she merely nodded and then folded them carefully back into the wrapper.
Old Arna and the other household servants joined them by the central fire in the hall as Seregil described Beka’s departure in glowing detail.
“They looked grand, riding out of the city by torchlight,” he said. “Klia and the high officers rode at the fore in full uniform, helmets and all. And there was our Beka at the head of her turma with a steel lieutenant’s gorget at her throat. The horses had bronze chest plates and cheek pieces that jingled like bells as they rode.”
“She wrote that she’s in Captain Myrhini’s troop,” noted Kari, stroking Illia’s dark head as the little girl leaned against her knee.
“Myrhini’s as good a captain as there is,” Micum said, pulling her close. “The frontier will be quiet for a while yet, too. The Plenimarans couldn’t get that far west much before mid-Lithion at the earliest and probably not until early summer. She’ll have time to find her feet before any trouble starts.”
“I hope so,” murmured Kari. “Will there be more letters?”
“Dispatch riders go back and forth as often as possible,” Seregil assured her.
“That’s good, then.”
Micum exchanged uneasy glances with the others, but after a moment she simply tucked the letters away and rose with her usual briskness.
“Well, Arna, you and I had better go see to the supper. Micum, tell the men to set up the tables. You two chose a good night to come, Seregil; we’ve got venison pie and apples baked in cream.”
The meal was the usual noisy communal affair and the guests were summoned to give news of the absent daughters between mouthfuls. Watermead was a country household, close-knit and loyal. The servants wouldn’t be satisfied until they’d had descriptions of Beka’s regiment twice over and a detailed account of Elsbet’s studies at the temple school.
Later, when a loudly protesting Illia had been put to bed and the servants had spread their pallets in the warmth of the hall, Micum and Kari joined Seregil and Alec in the guest chamber.
“Tell me about your reunion with this fellow Rhal,” Micum said when he’d poured hot spiced cider for everyone.
Sprawled crossways on the bed, Seregil launched into what sounded like a highly colored tale of their ambush of Rhal and the subsequent battle with a mob of alley toughs. Alec’s prowess was featured in such flattering detail that the boy, who was sitting close beside Kari, flushed with surprise.
“Well done, Alec,” Kari laughed, hugging him.
“This Captain Rhal of yours sounds like a man worth knowing,” Micum said. “I’ve thought so ever since you told how he let you go that night.”
“Micum told me something of your trip, but I’d like to hear your version of it,” said Kari. “Did he really fancy Seregil, Alec?”
Alec grinned. “I half fancied him myself, when he was all prettied up. As it was, I had all I could do to keep the two of them at arm’s length.”
With frequent interruptions from Seregil, he went on to describe Rhal’s attempts at seduction, and Micum noticed that both of them skillfully omitted any mention of the wooden disk, or the influence it had exerted over Seregil. In this account, Rhal had simply walked in on Seregil in an unfortunate state of undress. It all came out sounding a great deal more humorous than the original version Micum had heard in Nysander’s tower.
“Ah, Seregil,” Kari exclaimed, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron. “I’ve never known anyone who could get himself into such messes, and then right back out again!”
“It would have been considerably more difficult if Alec hadn’t been such a faithful defender of my virtue.” Seregil gave Alec a courtly nod.
“My lady,” Alec murmured, rising to give him a bow of such elaborate solemnity that they all burst out laughing again.
“I was watching Seregil’s face tonight,” Kari said as they lay together in the darkness that night. “He’s in love with Alec, you know. He wasn’t last time they were here, or even at the Festival, but he is now.”
“Are you surprised?” Micum yawned, resting a hand lazily on the roundness of her belly, hoping to feel the new life fluttering there.
“Only that it took so long. I doubt he knows it yet himself. But what about Alec?”
“I don’t think such a thing would occur to him, with his upbringing and all.”
Kari let out a long sigh. “Poor Seregil. He has such rotten luck when it comes to love. Just once, I’d like to see him happy.”
“Seems to me you had your chance about twenty years back,” Micum teased, nuzzling her bare shoulder.
“When it was you he fancied, you mean?” She rolled quickly on top of him, pinning him playfully as she straddled his thighs. “And if I had relinquished my claim to you, sir?” she challenged. “What would you have done then, eh?”
“I can’t say,” he replied, pulling her mouth to his with one hand, finding the generous curve of her hip with the other. “Perhaps it would’ve been handy, having a bed mate who’s good with a sword.”
“It’s true I don’t bring anything sharp into bed with me.”
“Mmmmm—I can feel that,” Micum rumbled contentedly. “Perhaps it’s just as well things worked out the way they did.”
Kari moved over him like a blessing, her lips hot against his brow. “I like to think so.”
Seregil hadn’t shared a bed with Alec since their last visit to Watermead. He’d thought nothing of it then; such arrangements were common, especially in old country houses.
But this time was different.
He wasn’t certain just when his feelings had gotten away from him, or why. Months of close living and shared dangers, perhaps, together with the genuine affection Seregil knew had existed between them almost from the start.
It figures, he thought do
urly as they undressed for bed. He never could seem to love anyone who could return the favor.
Not that Alec didn’t care for him in his own honest, Dalnan way—Seregil had no doubt of that. But he did doubt that Alec’s heart skipped a dizzy beat at the mere thought of sliding in between shared sheets.
Out of deference to Alec’s modesty—or so he told himself—he kept his long shirt on and pulled up the coverlet.
The old bedstead, built for company, was a wide one and Alec kept to his side of it as he climbed in. “You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he remarked, oblivious to Seregil’s inner turmoil.
“All that wine last night left me tired.” Seregil mustered a yawn. He could go sleep in the hall, he supposed, but that would take some explaining later on. Better to stay here and hope he didn’t talk in his sleep.
Alec settled against the bolsters with a sigh of contentment. “Me, too. At least we can get some rest while we’re out here. So quiet. No jobs or midnight summons. No worries—” His eyes drifted shut and his voice trailed off into deep, even breathing.
No worries.
Seregil sat up to extinguish the lamp, but paused, caught by the sight of Alec’s thick, honey-gold hair fanned out across the pillow. His expression was peaceful, guileless. His lips curved in a faint smile as if good dreams had already come to him.
For an instant Seregil wondered what it would feel like to have that golden head against his shoulder, the warmth of Alec’s body against his own.
If it had been simple lust Seregil felt, he could easily have driven it off. But what he felt for Alec at that moment went far beyond that.
Seregil loved him.
Little more than the length of a tailor’s yard separated them, but it might just as well have been the breadth of the Osiat Sea. Allowing himself nothing more than a deep, silent sigh, he blew out the lamp and lay back, praying for sleep.
Rising early the next morning, Micum found Alec stacking wood in the kitchen. The boy had changed his city clothes for plain garb and was sharing some joke with Arna and young Jalis. Watching a moment from the doorway, Micum was struck again by how easily Alec seemed to fit into the rhythm of the household.
Or anywhere else, come to that, he amended, thinking of all the roles and identities Alec had played in the time he’d been with Seregil. They were like water, those two, always shifting shape.
“It’s a fine day for hunting,” he announced. “The deer have been thick up on the ridge this year. His lordship up yet?”
Alec brushed dirt and bark fragments from his tunic. “He was still buried somewhere under the covers last time I looked. I don’t think he slept well last night.”
“Is that so?” Micum went to the kitchen door and reached outside for a handful of loose snow. “Well then, he wants waking up, doesn’t he? I’m sure he’d hate to miss such a beautiful morning.”
Mirroring his grin, Alec got himself a handful and followed Micum to the bedroom.
The shutters were still closed, but there was enough light for them to make out the long form beneath the quilts on Seregil’s side of the bed.
Together, Micum signed to Alec.
Stalking in silently, they threw back the quilts and launched their assault, only to find they’d ambushed a bolster.
The shutters banged open behind them and two familiar voices shouted, “Good morning!”
Startled, Micum and Alec looked up just in time to catch a faceful of snow from Seregil and Illia, laughing victoriously outside.
“Sneak up on me, will you?” Seregil jeered as he and the girl fled.
“After them!” cried Micum, scrambling out through the window.
An ungainly chase ensued. Illia wisely dodged into the kitchen and was granted asylum by Arna, who brandished a copper ladle at all would-be abductors.
Seregil wasn’t so lucky. Never at his best in a daylight fight, he stumbled over one of the excited dogs who’d joined in the hunt and was tackled by Alec. Micum caught up and together they heaved Seregil into a drift and sat on him.
“Traitor!” he sputtered as Alec thrust a handful of snow down the back of his shirt.
Micum cut him short with another handful in the face. “I believe I owed you that,” he chortled, “and here’s another with interest.”
By the time they let him up, Seregil looked like a poorly carved sculpture done in white sugar.
“What do you say to a hunt?” Micum asked, attempting to brush him off a bit.
“Actually, I had more of a quiet day by the fire in mind,” Seregil gasped, shaking snow from his hair.
Grabbing him, Micum tossed him easily over one broad shoulder. “Find me a fresh drift, Alec.”
“There’s a good one right there.”
“I’ll go, I’ll go, damn you!” howled Seregil, struggling like a cat.
“What did I tell you?” laughed Micum, setting him on his feet. “I knew he’d want to.”
With dry clothes and a quick breakfast, the three of them set off into the hills above Watermead with bows and hounds.
The dogs struck the trail of a boar first, but Micum called them off that, since they hadn’t brought spears.
For the rest of the morning they found nothing but birds and rabbits. At Alec’s insistence, Seregil had brought a bow and no one was more surprised than he when he managed to hit a roosting grouse.
They were just thinking of stopping for a midday meal when the dogs flushed a bull elk from a stand of fir. They chased it for nearly half an hour before Alec put a broadhead shaft into the great beast’s heart, dropping it in midleap.
“One shot, by the Maker!” Micum exclaimed, swinging out of the saddle to inspect the kill.
“Quick and clean,” said Alec, kneeling to inspect the shot. “That way they don’t suffer.”
Alec had dropped armed men with the same merciful economy, thought Micum, inspecting the red-fletched shaft protruding from the animal’s side.
They built a fire and began dressing out the carcass. It was messy work; the snow around them was soon stained a steaming scarlet. Opening the belly, Micum tossed the entrails to the dogs and presented the heart and liver to Alec, his due for the killing shot.
“We’ll need more water before we’re done,” Micum remarked as they set about the skinning.
Alec wiped his bloodied hands in the snow. “We passed a stream a ways back. I’ll go refill the water skins.”
Seregil paused in his work, following Alec with his eyes until the boy had ridden out of sight between the trees. Beside him, Micum smiled to himself, thinking of what Kari had said.
“He’s grown up a lot, hasn’t he?” he ventured presently.
Seregil shrugged, going back to his skinning. “He’s had to, ramming around with the likes of us.”
“You’ve come to think quite a lot of him, I’d say.”
Seregil saw through his flimsy words in an instant and his smile faded to hard, flat denial. “If you think I—”
“I’d never think ill of you for the world. I just think that heart of yours leads you down some hard trails, that’s all. You haven’t said anything to him, have you?”
Seregil’s face was a careful mask of indifference, but his shoulders sagged visibly. “No, and I’m not going to. It wouldn’t be—honorable. I have too much influence over him.”
“Well, he loves you well in his own fashion,” Micum said, unable to think of anything more optimistic.
The silence spun out between them again, less comfortable this time. Loosening the last bit of hide, Micum set his knife aside.
“Do you have any idea what Nysander is up to? I haven’t heard a thing from him since the Festival.”
This time there was no mistaking the troubled look in his friend’s eyes.
“Secrets, Micum. Still secrets. He’s driven me half-mad with them,” Seregil admitted, warming himself at the fire.
“Have you found anything out on your own?”
Seregil stirred the embers with a branch, sending up
a little flock of sparks. “Not much. And I’m oath-bound not to talk about it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. We both know how the game works. How’s Alec handling it, though? He’s smart enough to put things together and I’d say he’s about as easy to put off a scent as you are.”
“True.” Seregil gave a humorless laugh. “I’m worried, Micum. Something really bad is coming down the road and I can’t tell who’s in the way.”
Micum hunkered down beside him. “If anyone can look out for him, it’s you. But there are some other things you could be telling him. He has a right to know.”
Seregil shot to his feet and waved at Alec as he rode out of the trees toward them.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice too soft for Micum to tell if the words were a command or a plea.
14
THE STREET OF LIGHTS
After three days at Watermead, Alec and Seregil returned to the city under cover of night and made their way quietly back to the Cockerel. Runcer would keep up appearances at Wheel Street; Lord Seregil was in town, but not always available.
Thryis and the others had gone to bed when they arrived, but the aromas still lingering in the darkened kitchen—new bread, dried fruit, garlic, wine, and ashy coals banked on the hearth—were enough welcome for Alec.
Ruetha appeared from somewhere and followed them up to the second floor. Alec scooped her up and held her until Seregil had disarmed the succession of warding glyphs that protected the hidden stairway leading to their rooms. Alec grinned to himself as Seregil whispered the passwords that had once sounded so exotically magical.
The command for the glyph at the base of the stairs was Etuis miära koriatüan cyris. “Your grandmother insults the chickens.”
Halfway up: Clarin magril. “Raspberries, saddle.”
For the hidden door at the top of the stairs the word was Nodense: “Almost.”
The nonsense was intentional, making it virtually impossible for anyone to guess the secret words. Only the final command, the one for the door into the sitting room, had any meaning. Bôkthersa was the name of Seregil’s birthplace.
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