“You’ve certainly made a favorable impression on the princess,” he said as they walked along. “Especially you, young Alec. You should be careful, or you’ll make your lover here jealous.”

“He has no reason to be,” Alec replied, coloring a little.

Reltheus chuckled at that. “Many young men would be pleased with such a conquest.”

“I’d hardly say he conquered me,” Seregil said with a smile.

Reltheus blinked, then got the joke. “I’ve heard you called the most amusing man in Rhiminee, Seregil. Since I’ve gotten to know you, I think I may just agree. Will you dine with me tonight, gentlemen?”

“Why, we’d be delighted!”

“I’ll send a carriage for you. I don’t suppose you could bring that actor fellow along?”

“I believe he’s onstage tonight, unfortunately,” said Alec.

“Let’s go and see him, then! My wife has been badgering me to take her. We can dine afterward.”

Bidding the duke farewell at the stable gate, they got their horses from the liveried stable boy and set off for home.

“Well, how did I do?” asked Alec.

“Very well, tali. But you noticed we weren’t invited inside with the others? Korathan whispered a little warning to me while you and the princess were shooting.”

“Really? What did he say?”

“Just that while Elani has taken a liking to you, Phoria will most likely put a stop to it when she comes home. We’re not the sort of company she’ll want her future queen to keep. Then again, maybe Elani will have some say in the matter. We’ll just have to wait and see. Enjoy it while it lasts!”

“Are you certain you’re all right with this?” asked Seregil as they waited for Reltheus’s coach to arrive that evening.

“Stop asking!” Alec muttered, less than happy with the night’s plan.

The duke and his wife soon arrived, and they set out for Gannet Lane.

Reltheus introduced Palmani, who was out of birthing confinement. She was very young and quite pretty. Alec felt bad for her, knowing what her husband got up to on his nights out. She was also a little shy, but Seregil soon had her laughing and talking about her baby son.

There was a large crowd gathered in front of the theater, and the playbills hung on each side of the doors promised a comedy tonight called The Wife’s Revenge. It seemed appropriate, although Alec was fairly certain from the way Palmani fawned on her husband that she knew nothing of his philandering ways.

A few people muttered as Seregil led his guests to the head of the line, but the man taking the money knew them and bowed deeply as he ushered them in.

“This is quite wonderful!” Palmani exclaimed, looking around excitedly as they settled in the finely appointed patrons’ box. “I’ve been asking my husband for weeks to bring me.”

Reltheus raised her hand to his lips. “And here we are, my love, courtesy of my good friends.”

“He speaks of you so often,” she told Alec.

Young Van soon appeared with chilled wine and a plate of sweets. “Compliments of the house, my lords,” the boy said with a deep bow.

“Thank you, Van,” said Seregil. “Tell me, do you know if Atre is free after the show tonight? We’re dining with the duke and his lady and they would very much like to meet him.”

“I’m sure he is, my lord!”

The play was, as always, excellent, with Atre playing the cuckolding husband and Merina the triumphant wife. Brader played the husband’s roistering companion with more humor than Alec had thought the man capable of.

It ended with the unfortunate husband locked in a cupboard with a malodorous servant, played by Teibo, and a flatulent hound. The crowd loved it and threw all manner of favors onto the stage when the cast came out to take their bows.

“Oh, they were wonderful!” Palmani exclaimed, wiping away tears of laughter. “I do look forward to meeting this handsome actor of yours.”

The footlights were extinguished and the crowd milled out, talking and laughing, while Seregil and the others waited in the box. Atre soon joined them, dressed in an elaborately embroidered blue coat and silk breeches.

“Your Graces.” Color flashed from the jewels of his earring and the numerous rings he wore as he bowed. These were almost always different, and Seregil very much suspected that he wore whatever jewels his host or hostess for the evening had given him, to please them and curry favor. The one constant, Seregil noted, was the amethyst ring Atre wore on the little finger of his right hand; the one Elani had given him. That had been quite a coup, and it seemed Atre was happy to remind people of it.

“What an honor to offer my humble services!” Atre was saying, not sounding particularly humble.

“You can thank your patrons, Master Atre,” Palmani said, offering her hand for him to kiss.

“They are unfailingly generous, Your Grace.”

There was little overt sign of the war deprivations in the Noble Quarter, or at least not in Reltheus’s huge Silvermoon Street villa, where a sumptuous feast awaited them. They ate in the elaborate garden, enjoying the cool night breeze as they dined on courses of venison and hare from the duke’s hunting estate, and jellied eel and lobsters from the bay. Seafood was still plentiful in Rhiminee, since it didn’t travel well. The bread, it was true, was made from coarser flour than one might expect, and there were candied fruits rather than tarts for dessert, but no one commented on such lacks.

Atre was in his element, and amused the whole table with stories of his travels and experiences with curious characters. Seregil joined in, and soon they were vying to see who could tell the most outrageous story.

The wine flowed freely, and Alec drank cup after cup. By the time they got to the dessert course, he was drunker than Seregil had seen him since last Mourning Night, laughing loudly at everything and swaying in his chair. Seregil shot him increasingly annoyed looks through the meal, trying to catch his eye, and by the end of the meal he was pretending embarrassment and poorly concealed his anger at his young lover.

“Your Grace, I really must apologize,” he said to Palmani, reaching out to steady Alec in his chair.

“Ah, temperance comes with age,” Reltheus said with a laugh.

“You serve the mos’ essecellent wine, my dear Reltheus!” Alec slurred, holding out his cup again.

Seregil snatched it away and put it out of reach. “I’m sorry to end the evening on such a note, but I fear I should take him home before he can’t walk at all.”

“I most certainly can walk!” Alec exclaimed indignantly. To prove it, he stood up, knocking his chair over in the process. He wavered a moment, then collapsed in a drunken faint.

Seregil quickly righted the chair, apologizing profusely as he and the actor tried to get Alec onto his feet. “Alec, you fool! Of all the boorish-”

“Oh, the poor thing!” Palmani cried. “He’s going to be very sorry in the morning.”

“Perhaps sooner. Really, I fear for the state of your carriage.”

“A wise concern,” said Reltheus. “Please, stay the night.”

Seregil sighed. “We’ve abused your hospitality enough already.”

“Nonsense!” said Palmani. She summoned a servant. “Have one of the bedrooms made up for them at once. And send some men to carry Lord Alec upstairs.”

“You’re far too kind,” said Seregil.

“He’s not our first guest to enjoy our wine too much, Lord Seregil. It’s no trouble at all.”

“Perhaps I should go,” said Atre, watching it all with counterfeit concern.

“Oh, do stay a little longer!” Palmani pleaded. “This will only take a few minutes.”

“Want to stay ’n’ watch Atre,” Alec mumbled, leaning unsteadily on Seregil.

“Some other time,” Seregil told him none too gently.

They were given a room overlooking the garden, and Palmani accompanied them upstairs. As Seregil followed the servants carrying Alec, he tried to take stock of the other rooms along the corridor, but most of the doors were closed.