Between acts Brader’s young sons Kalin and Van sold wine and ale, and little Ela went around the boxes with a basket of flowers. Their party already had refreshments, but Seregil summoned Van over and gave him a sealed note-an

invitation for Atre and his cast to a celebratory dinner after the show. During the second intermission the boy brought back word that the older players would be honored to join them.

“You will join us, I hope, Your Graces,” said Kylith.

“Unfortunately we have a previous engagement,” Malthus told her. “But certainly next time.”

When the show was over, the dukes and their wives departed with promises of invitations to come. Alec and the others remained in their box as the cast received compliments and gifts from their admirers.

It was obvious that while all the actors had some following, Atre and Merina were by far the most popular. Flowers and small gifts were pressed upon them by women and men alike. Alec watched as one besotted young merchant’s daughter took a gold chain from around her neck and placed it around Atre’s. The way he gazed into her eyes as she did so pinked her cheeks and left her flustered. He was less warm to the men, though polite, although that didn’t seem to dampen the ardor of the more smitten.

At last Brader made their apologies and the actors disappeared backstage to change clothes and wash their faces. Atre looked up and waved to Seregil and Alec as he went, as if to make certain they were still there.

Soon bored, Seregil wandered down to the stage and jumped up into the glow of the footlights. Striking a pose for Alec’s amusement, he sang a verse from the lover’s lament Atre had sung in the second act.

“My love, why do you look so coldly upon me?

Why is your heart as distant as the moon from mine?

What have I done that you should spurn my knee

And refuse your limbs with mine to entwine?”

Kylith laughed. “That’s the first thing that came to mind, is it?”

Seregil pressed a hand to his heart. “The heroine’s death has left me a bit melancholy.”

“It suits you. My lord looks very natural on the stage.”

Atre stepped smiling from the shadows of the wings. He was richly dressed tonight-more of his patrons’ money well spent-and had rings on nearly every finger and an expensive teardrop-shaped black pearl dangling from one earlobe. “And you have a far better singing voice than mine. As good as any bard’s.”

Seregil made him a florid bow worthy of Aren Silverleaf. “As always, you are too modest, Master Atre.”

The actor had evidently removed his paint, but still looked exceptionally handsome. Alec caught himself staring and hastily looked away.

“Do nobles ever take the stage here?” asked Atre.

“Only for private entertainments.”

“Well, if you ever want to arrange something, let me know. I’ve a number of roles that would suit you very well.”

“Heroes or villains?” asked Alec from the groundling area.

“I’m sure Lord Seregil could play any role, my lord. You yourself would make the perfect young lover.”

“I’ll leave that to you two. I prefer to stay on this side of the proscenium.”

Brader, Merina, Leea, and Zell soon joined them, all dressed in new finery, though far fewer jewels. Brader wore none at all, Alec noticed.

They dined together at a nearby tavern and found the actors good company, raucous without being crude, with many entertaining stories to tell. When the fruit and nuts were gone but the wine was still flowing, Atre and Merina entertained the house with several songs. Their fellow diners were a receptive audience, and Atre wasn’t shy about promoting their upcoming productions.

Alec took stock of the actor and his friends. Or perhaps friends wasn’t quite the right word, for they clearly deferred to Atre-all except for Brader, but he was a quiet one and hard to read. Zell and Leea were journeyman actors, good at their craft but not stellar, and there were still traces of the Mycenian countryside in their accents, while the vivacious Merina had all the polish of a noblewoman. She shone brightly, flirting harmlessly with Alec, tossing her shining

dark hair as she laughed. Brader showed the most emotion when he looked at his wife or spoke to her, and Alec guessed there was genuine love between them.

But Atre was the real star and center of attention. He was at ease with his patrons, despite their rank, yet never overstepped the bounds of respect. He was careful to include all three of them in the conversation, but showed Kylith just that little extra attention that acknowledged her as the most influential of the trio. No doubt he’d done a bit of asking around. In his place that’s what Seregil would have done, Alec knew, having observed him play that game many times. Watching Atre, Alec began to feel like he was watching Seregil immersed in some role, and he wondered what was really going on behind those lively blue eyes.

He looked more closely at the earring, which Atre most assuredly hadn’t been able to afford the last time Alec had seen him. A gift, no doubt. The hole through his earlobe was an old one, well healed, so he wasn’t new to such adornments, or to such gatherings as these, either, if his manner was anything to go by.

“Who was your patron in Nanta, Master Atre?” he asked at last.

“The lord mayor and his wife, my lord,” Atre replied with obvious pride. In Mycena that was the equivalent of nobility. “Alas, I don’t know if they are alive or dead now, after the siege on the city last fall that drove my little company westward.”

“Tell the tale of how you and your players came to Rhiminee, won’t you?” Kylith urged.

“We began our escape from Mycena on foot, after several of our members were killed,” Atre replied. “It was a dreadful journey. Finally we took ship in Nysana and reached Cirna just before your Mourning Night. We earned enough there in the streets to buy passage here early this spring. We began in the marketplaces, adding to our meager savings, and managed to scrape together enough to rent the theater in Basket Street where, most fortuitously you, dear lady, found us. And you, my lords.”

Seregil raised his wine cup. “To those in whom the flame of art burns brightest!”

The rest joined him in the toast. Alec was impressed to see tears glitter in the actor’s eyes as he humbly accepted the praise.

“I must say, I am delighted with your success,” said Seregil.

“Tell me more about yourselves,” said Kylith, nodding to Brader, who had been largely silent. “How did you and your lovely wife meet?”

“Father, Mother, and I were with a company of traveling players,” Merina told her. “Atre and Brader joined us at Rudderford in Mycena. Do you know it? No? It’s in northern Mycena, almost to the freeholdings.”

“What were you doing all the way up there, Brader?” asked Alec, trying to get the taciturn man to speak for himself.

But it was Atre who answered. “We are northerners ourselves, Lord Alec. We’d established a small company in Dresher’s Ford, but a plague struck the town and carried off most of our players. Brader and I took to the road to seek our fortunes elsewhere, and ran across Zell and his company in the process. They invited us to join them.”

“And as you can imagine, Atre soon took over,” old Zell said with a laugh. “Our own principal actor took issue with that and dissolved the company. We threw in with Atre and Brader and headed south to seek better fortunes. And along the way, Brader stole my girl’s heart. No woman could ask for a better husband, either.”

Brader smiled with a warmth Alec hadn’t suspected the man capable of. “And no man could have a better wife.”

“And such talented children,” Kylith added. “I’ve enjoyed their antics in the comedies, and Van died very well tonight! We all wept, didn’t we, Alec?”