"Shall I light a lamp?" she whispered as he took her hungrily in his arms.

He shook his head, pressing his body against the yielding roundness of breasts, belly, and thighs, letting the feel of her envelop him. "The fire's enough."

Still holding her, he sank down onto the cushions by the hearth. The warring sensations of the long, confusing evening seemed to coalesce and clarify as he at last abandoned himself to the powerful simplicity of desire.

Eirual was half Zengati, Aurenen's traditional enemy. It was that, together with the dark beauty of her race, that had first attracted Seregil.

Though hardly more than a girl at the time of their first meeting, she'd been a fiery lover and he'd entertained notions of taking her away for himself.

She'd been the one who'd dashed that plan; she liked her work, she'd told him firmly.

What's more, she planned to own a brothel of her own one day, just as her mother and grandmother had before her. Although his pride had been somewhat jarred, Seregil had respected her wishes and over the years they'd become friends.

She'd achieved her dreams. She was now the owner of one of the city's finest and most nobly patronized pleasure houses. This often brought interesting bits of information her way and, though she was no gossiping whore, she was aware of Seregil's supposed connections to Rhiminee's mysterious «Cat» and had often found it lucrative to pass on certain facts and rumors.

Their reunion this night had been spirited in spite of Seregil's earlier activities. Afterward, they lay tangled together in the damp, disheveled sheets and laughed together over little things.

Presently she sighed, then said, "You know, I saw something rather odd a few weeks ago."

"And what was that?" he murmured, contentedly admiring the contrast of his skin against hers as he stroked her thigh.

"I entertained a new visitor last week, a stranger. He was well turned out and behaved himself, but I could tell from his way of speaking and the state of his hands he wasn't upper class, just a common fellow who'd come into gold and meant to treat himself. You know the sort."

"But he was handsome and broad-shouldered and smelled of honest labor," Seregil teased. "Sounds delightful. Let's have him in."

"As if I'd share you! But I admit I was intrigued at first, though he turned out very ordinary in the end. No, I think you'd be more interested in what fell out of his coat than what fell out of his breeches."

"Oh?" Seregil raised a questioning eyebrow, knowing better than to hurry her. She always enjoyed spinning out a tale.

"He'd thrown his clothes every which way, so when he was snoring afterward—which was all too soon, I might add—I decided to tidy up a bit. A letter fell from his coat when I picked it up. The ribbon had come loose and I took a quick peek. He stirred a moment later and I had to put it away, but I had time to recognize the handwriting, and the seal at the bottom."

"Did you, you clever girl? Whose was it?"

"Lord General Zymanis."

"Really?" Zymanis had recently been appointed to oversee the defenses of the lower city. "How do you know it wasn't a forgery?"

Eirual traced a playful finger around his navel.

"Zymanis is a very dear friend of mine, as you well know. Two months ago he knocked his ring against that bedpost there behind you and chipped the stone seal. It was a tiny piece, really, but he made such a fuss over it! Quite spoiled the mood. This chip makes a tiny flaw in the impression, so tiny that most people wouldn't even notice it. But I knew what to look for and it was his, all right. What do you think of that?"

Seregil cupped her full breast in his hand like a goblet and kissed it reverently. "I think, in your place, I'd have found some way of inquiring where this lover of yours could be found again."

Eirual pressed closer with a luxuriant sigh.

"Sailmaker Street in the lower city. A tenement with a red and white lintel. His name is Rythel, a big, blond fellow with a lovely soft beard, very handsome."

"And you don't think this visitor of yours ought to have such a letter?"

Eirual shook her head. "For starters, it was addressed to Lord Admiral Nyreidian. I've never met the admiral, but I'd bet a month's gold he doesn't have fresh calluses on his hands and stained fingernails."

"Or a yellow beard," mused Seregil, thinking of the man he'd met at the Mourning Night ceremony. Nyreidian had spoken of his own commission from the Queen, too, overseeing privateering ships.

"Zymanis wouldn't let a fellow like this step on his shadow, much less write letters to him." She gave him a sly sidelong glance. "I thought maybe your friend the Cat might be interested?"

"He just might."

"I could tell him myself," she wheedled, not for the first time. Over the years the unseen Rhiminee Cat had taken on a glow of romance for many, who envied Seregil his apparently favored status.

Seregil kissed his way slowly across her chest.

"I've told you before, love, he's not what you think. He's a nasty, weedy little man who spends half his time wading through the sewers."

"Last time you said he was a hunchback," she corrected, stroking his head.

"That, too. That's why he keeps out of sight, you see, because he's so hideous. Why, his boils alone are enough—"

"No more!" Eirual laughed, admitting defeat.

"Sometimes I think you're the Cat, and you just make all the rest up to hide it."

"Me? Wading through sewers and running errands for bored nobles?" He pinned her down, feigning outrage. "Fancy me mincing across the roof slates!"

"Oh, yes," Eirual gasped, giggling helplessly at the thought. "You're the terror of the town."

"You've pegged me wrong, my girl. There's only one thing I put that kind of effort into."

"And what's that, may I ask?"

Seregil leered down at her. "I'll show you."

The candle had burned to a stub when he slipped from her bed.

Eirual stirred drowsily. "Stay, love. I'll be cold without you."

He drew the comforter up under her chin and kissed her.

"I can't tonight. I'll send a nice present tomorrow."

"All right, then." She smiled, already half asleep again. "Something with rubies and I might forgive you."

"Rubies it is."

He dressed quickly and blew out the candle. Closing her door quietly behind him, he headed for Myrhichia's room down the corridor.

He had to knock several times to get a response.

She opened the door a few inches at last, peering out with a resentful pout.

"He's sleeping," she informed him, pulling her dressing gown closed.

"How inconsiderate." Pushing past her, Seregil strode into the bedchamber. Alec lay sprawled on his back in the bed, his sleeping face the picture of weary bliss.

Looks like he managed to enjoy himself after all, he thought with a mix of pride and wistfulness, glancing around at the disordered room.

Ignoring the courtesan's simmering displeasure, Seregil leaned down and shook him by the shoulder.

Alec stirred drowsily, murmuring something amorous as he reached to pull Seregil into bed.

When his fingers encountered wool rather than whatever he'd been dreaming of, however, he snapped fully awake.

"What are you doing here?" he gasped, sitting up.

"Sorry." Seregil crossed his arms, grinning.

"Terrible timing, I know, but something's come up and I may need your help."

Alec glanced quickly from him to the girl. "A job? Now?"

"I'll wait for you downstairs. Don't be long."

Alec let out an exasperated sigh. Before he could get up, however, Myrhichia dropped her robe and slipped back into bed beside him. "Does he always barge in like that?"

"I hope not," muttered Alec.

"Are you going to leave me now?" She nibbled teasingly down the side of his neck as her hand slipped up his thigh to more sensitive regions.