planned for us at his gathering. Will you two share my coach?”
Seregil rose and bent over her hand. “Thank you, but I think we’ll wait here until the crowd thins a bit, then ride back.”
“Games in the dark, eh?” She brushed his cheek with her lips, then Alec’s. “I’ll meet you at Wheel Street.” Seregil sat motionless for some moments after the others had departed, resting his elbows on the rail.
“What’s the “Eater of Death”?” asked Alec uneasily. “It sounded like a threat, or a warning.”
“I’m sure it was,” Seregil muttered, gazing down into the square. It was full dark now, and the moon and stars shed pale brilliance over the city, casting the world into sharp contrasts of silvery light and inky shadow. Lightwands bobbed here and there in the hands of those wealthy enough to afford them, and faint laughter and cries of “Praise the Flame!” echoed up to them as people jostled each other in the darkness.
Something in his friend’s face made Alec still more uneasy. “Any idea what the priest meant by it?” he asked.
Seregil pulled his hood up against the night’s chill as he rose to go. Alec couldn’t see his face as he replied, “I can’t say that I do.”
CHAPTER 7
T he Wheel Street house was already full of music by the time they returned. Alec handed his dark cloak to a servant at the entrance and followed Seregil into the hall. A number of guests were already enjoying the wine and food. Each had been presented with a brightly ribboned lightwand upon arrival and these provided a cool, shifting light as people danced or strolled about the room.
A flurry of applause greeted them as Runcer gravely announced their arrival from his station by the door.
“Welcome to my home on this dark, cold night!” Seregil called out. “For those of you who’ve not yet met my companion, allow me to present Sir Alec i Gareth of Ivywell.”
Alec made a graceful bow and quickly scanned the room for familiar faces. Kylith’s party was there, but there was no sign yet of Nysander or the Cavishes. In a far corner, however, he spotted a knot of officers in the green and white of the Queen’s Horse Guard. Klia’s friend and fellow officer, Captain Myrhini, saluted him with her lightwand from their midst and Alec waved back, wondering if Beka was with her.
He was just heading over to find out when Seregil slipped a hand under his arm and steered him off toward a group of nobles.
“Time to play the gracious hosts.”
Together, they made a circuit of the room, moving smoothly from one conversation to another, most of which centered around the omens at the ceremony.
“I thought they rather overdid the thing this year,” sniffed a young nobleman introduced as Lord Melwhit. “What doubt is there that war is coming? Preparations have been going on since summer.”
A grave, blond woman turned from a conversation with Admiral Nyreidian and greeted Seregil in Aurenfaie.
“Ysanti maril Elustri, Melessandra a Marana,” Seregil returned warmly. “Allow me to present Sir Alec. Lady Melessandra and her uncle, Lord Torsin, are the Skalan envoys to Aurenen.”
“Ysanti bek far, my lady,” Alec said with a bow. “Ysanti maril Elustri, Sir Alec,” she returned. “Lord Seregil is instructing you in his native language, I see. There are so few nowadays who speak it well.” “And fewer still who speak it so well as you, dear lady,” added Seregil.
“It’s a pretty language, if one can manage it,” Nyreidian rumbled. “I wouldn’t dare attempt it in front of you, Lord Seregil. I’m told my pronunciation is grotesque.”
“It is!” Melessandra agreed, laughing. “Forgive our interruption, Lord Seregil, but we were just debating whether the portents at the temple tonight were genuine. Would you care to venture the Aurenfaie view?”
Alec watched with interest as Seregil struck a thoughtful pose. “Well, to question the omens’ veracity would be tantamount to casting doubt on
Seregil rose and bent over her hand. “Thank you, but I think we’ll wait here until the crowd thins a bit, then ride back.”
“Games in the dark, eh?” She brushed his cheek with her lips, then Alec’s. “I’ll meet you at Wheel Street.” Seregil sat motionless for some moments after the others had departed, resting his elbows on the rail.
“What’s the “Eater of Death”?” asked Alec uneasily. “It sounded like a threat, or a warning.”
“I’m sure it was,” Seregil muttered, gazing down into the square. It was full dark now, and the moon and stars shed pale brilliance over the city, casting the world into sharp contrasts of silvery light and inky shadow. Lightwands bobbed here and there in the hands of those wealthy enough to afford them, and faint laughter and cries of “Praise the Flame!” echoed up to them as people jostled each other in the darkness.
Something in his friend’s face made Alec still more uneasy. “Any idea what the priest meant by it?” he asked.
Seregil pulled his hood up against the night’s chill as he rose to go. Alec couldn’t see his face as he replied, “I can’t say that I do.”
CHAPTER 7
T he Wheel Street house was already full of music by the time they returned. Alec handed his dark cloak to a servant at the entrance and followed Seregil into the hall. A number of guests were already enjoying the wine and food. Each had been presented with a brightly ribboned lightwand upon arrival and these provided a cool, shifting light as people danced or strolled about the room.
A flurry of applause greeted them as Runcer gravely announced their arrival from his station by the door.
“Welcome to my home on this dark, cold night!” Seregil called out. “For those of you who’ve not yet met my companion, allow me to present Sir Alec i Gareth of Ivywell.”
Alec made a graceful bow and quickly scanned the room for familiar faces. Kylith’s party was there, but there was no sign yet of Nysander or the Cavishes. In a far corner, however, he spotted a knot of officers in the green and white of the Queen’s Horse Guard. Klia’s friend and fellow officer, Captain Myrhini, saluted him with her lightwand from their midst and Alec waved back, wondering if Beka was with her.
He was just heading over to find out when Seregil slipped a hand under his arm and steered him off toward a group of nobles.
“Time to play the gracious hosts.”
Together, they made a circuit of the room, moving smoothly from one conversation to another, most of which centered around the omens at the ceremony.
“I thought they rather overdid the thing this year,” sniffed a young nobleman introduced as Lord Melwhit. “What doubt is there that war is coming? Preparations have been going on since summer.”
A grave, blond woman turned from a conversation with Admiral Nyreidian and greeted Seregil in Aurenfaie.
“Ysanti maril Elustri, Melessandra a Marana,” Seregil returned warmly. “Allow me to present Sir Alec. Lady Melessandra and her uncle, Lord Torsin, are the Skalan envoys to Aurenen.”
“Ysanti bek far, my lady,” Alec said with a bow. “Ysanti maril Elustri, Sir Alec,” she returned. “Lord Seregil is instructing you in his native language, I see. There are so few nowadays who speak it well.” “And fewer still who speak it so well as you, dear lady,” added Seregil.
“It’s a pretty language, if one can manage it,” Nyreidian rumbled. “I wouldn’t dare attempt it in front of you, Lord Seregil. I’m told my pronunciation is grotesque.”
“It is!” Melessandra agreed, laughing. “Forgive our interruption, Lord Seregil, but we were just debating whether the portents at the temple tonight were genuine. Would you care to venture the Aurenfaie view?”
Alec watched with interest as Seregil struck a thoughtful pose. “Well, to question the omens’ veracity would be tantamount to casting doubt on
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