Casket of Souls (43 page)

Alec heard the click of the dog’s claws on the flags, footsteps with them, a muttered curse, and the sound of the door closing again. He had to get out of here before someone noticed the rope hanging tellingly down the back garden wall.

Seregil was expecting the assassins this time, and heard them coming. There were four of them. Either Laneus had engaged them before he knew Alec had been taken ill, or he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

It put him in a bit of a quandary; if Lord Seregil single-handedly took down four trained Rhíminee assassins, it would cause unwanted talk. The question was nearly decided for him when one of them grabbed for Cynril’s bridle and another tried to drag Seregil from the saddle. Seregil clung on with one hand and grappled the man with the other, going
for his eyes. He missed and caught him by the throat instead. His fingers tangled in something and he felt a tug when he managed to push the man off. Another assassin grabbed his foot and tried to pull it from the stirrup, but Seregil kicked Cynril into a gallop, rode down the man in front of him, and hurtled like fury as an arrow whined past his ear. He was halfway to Wheel Street before he realized that he was clutching something in his right hand. Reining in under a street lantern, he unclenched his fist from around a small bronze disk on the remains of a slender chain. He must have pulled it from the man’s neck during his escape. On one side he could make out the stamped outline of Sakor’s flame; on the other was the flame-and-palace emblem of the City Regiment.

Alec was quite pleased with himself when he arrived back at the Stag and Otter before Seregil did, and little worse for wear beyond a torn shirtsleeve and a bruised elbow. He hurriedly washed away the sweat of the night’s labors and just had time to settle on the couch with a book when he heard Seregil on the stairs, taking them two at a time and quickly muttering the passwords. The door swung open and Alec caught a fleeting look of relief on Seregil’s face before the other man managed to cover it. Seregil sauntered in as if he hadn’t just run up the stairs.

“You must have been having a good time,” Alec noted over the back of the couch. “I’ve been here for ages.”

“It was rather amusing, dining with people who want you dead,” Seregil said with a crooked grin as he sat down beside Alec.

He smelled a bit of horse sweat, Alec noted, and the legs of his trousers were damp around the knees, as if he’d lathered Cynril coming home. “Everything all right?”

“I met up with a few more fellows bent on doing me mischief—”

“You what?” Alec demanded in alarm, looking for wounds.

Seregil fended him off, laughing. “Lord Seregil took to his heels and made it home in one piece, as you can see. But I
did come away with this.” He flipped Alec the bronze disk. “What do you make of that?”

Alec turned it over and inspected both sides. “It’s a soldier’s charm, isn’t it? And this design looks like the crest of the City Regiment.”

“I think tonight’s assassins were General Sarien’s men.”

“You’re probably right.” Alec told him about the note to Sarien.

“That certainly sounds like they’re still recruiting. And if Sarien is turning his own troops against the queen, then this is worse than I thought. We’ll have to keep a closer eye on the man.”

“I found this, too.” Alec then handed him the note he’d copied. “Well, this is a copy.”

“Obviously, and nearly illegible.”

“I was in a hurry.” Alec snatched it back and read it aloud. “
Your Highness, I am most honored to have my humble invitation so graciously accepted. I assure you, all arrangements regarding the princess royal will be in place. I regret to say that I do not trust your friend Lord Seregil. He is far too friendly with certain factions who do not wish you
— And that’s where it ends. He must have been interrupted.”

Seregil took the letter from him again and reread it. “Well, he doesn’t address Klia by name. Given the salutation, it could conceivably be to her, Korathan, or Aralain. But not Elani, since he mentions her in it. Not good news about me, though. That’s clear enough.”

“Do you think one of the royals asked about you?”

“Impossible to say from this, but we can’t discount the possibility. If so then it was most likely Aralain.”

Alec looked down at the damp spots on Seregil’s breeches again. “How many assassins were there?”

Seregil avoided his eye. “Only four.”

“Only?”

Seregil patted Alec’s knee. “They were on foot and I managed to ride away without a fight. Gave Cynril a nice little run, and I’m none the worse for it.”

“Laneus is getting a bit obvious, isn’t he?”

“Desperate is more like it.”

“The quicker we turn over what we know to Korathan, the better!”

Seregil looked down at the copied letter again. “No. If this is interpreted as meant for Klia, then it could cast further doubt on her intentions.”

“What do you really think?”

“You know what I think, but it’s not enough to convince the prince. Besides, this could be a jilt, something left lying around for us to find.”

“You think he was expecting to be burgled?”

“He may have thought that’s why I was inviting him out, to get him out of the way for the evening. Did you leave any sign of being there?”

“No, of course not!” Then Alec’s face fell. “The window. I had to go out a window in the library and there wasn’t any way to latch it after me. What about you? How were Laneus and Malthus?”

“Laneus is a cold fellow, and clearly in charge. Malthus may think he has some control over the man, but I doubt it. Laneus asked me to spy on Reltheus for him.” He gave Alec a smirk. “But it does seem a hollow offer, with the assassins and all.”

“Do you think he’ll keep trying to kill us?”

“I’ll drop him a tidbit or two to pique his interest. Maybe he’ll find me too useful to murder.”

Atre carefully locked the door of the dank little room, lit the candle from his shuttered lantern, and bent down to retrieve the casket from under the table. Opening it, he stirred through the jewels, enjoying the play of all those life threads caressing his fingers. So tempting, all of them, but he had one in particular in mind tonight. He found the thick golden chain and laid it out on the table in front of him. The ornate links of worked gold glimmered richly against the rough wood. This was the one Laneus had given him, after insulting him with dinner in the kitchen that night. The man had insulted Lord Seregil, as well, and it amused Atre to be his benefactor’s secret protector, at least in this instance. It was always sweet to take a strong life, and doubly so when
seasoned with revenge. Not to mention the mischief it might wreak among the various conspirators. Nothing in his mother’s teachings had forbidden having a little fun.

The actor’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile as he took a pair of jeweler’s snips from his workbox and cut off a single link. The concentrated life energy was still strong, even in a piece of the whole; Laneus was an old man, and a powerful one. The gold clinked pleasantly against glass as he dropped it into an empty phial and filled it from the waterskin he’d brought. When the bottle was corked and sealed, he inscribed the ring of symbols into the wax. The spines of light flashed brilliantly, lighting up the room for an instant as the duke’s strong soul was sucked into the water. Atre’s mouth watered with anticipation as he scratched in the final symbol in the center and whispered the words over it. The water turned a milky white as the soul was fixed. Ideally, he would have allowed it to steep for several days before fixing the soul to the elixir, as he did with those of the poor, to increase the potency, but he still had no desire for the “sleeping death” to appear among the nobles just yet. And given the power of the duke’s life force, this elixir would be rich enough even without aging. Kylith’s—made and drunk the same night, as well—certainly had been.

The duke’s life pulsed against Atre’s hand, making his whole body ache with need. No doubt it would be reported that the man had died suddenly in his bed. Given the duke’s age, it shouldn’t raise eyebrows, any more than had Kylith’s sudden death.

He wrenched away the warm wax and cork and emptied the draught down his throat. The power hit him like a blow to the belly, then spread out through his body like fire. His vision went white, and searing waves of heat and cold made him shudder with pleasure, even as the bitter flavor of the elixir coated his tongue.

Atre sprawled across the rude table, waiting for the world to stop spinning, and laughed aloud, voice muffled by the thick walls. He felt—immortal, and the pleasure was all the more sweet, knowing that Duke Laneus was dead.

Just one more
. The thought flitted across his whirling mind.
Just one …

Caught up in the euphoria of the elixir, Atre took a golden hairpin set with a small citrine from the box and twirled it between his fingers, making the stone glow like a tiny flame in the lantern light.

With a dreamy smile he set it aside. Not yet, but soon. Reaching into the box he selected a piece at random. It was a cheap brass brooch set with jade, given to him by an old merchant’s wife back in their Basket Street days. He’d only kept it because it was rich with life. Reaching for his tools, he set to work prying one of the jades loose.

He grinned to himself as he began the procedure again. After all, who’d notice the death of a nobody like that? When it was finished he gulped it down and moaned aloud at the renewed hit of sensation. The lantern light seemed to swell around him, filling the chamber with a swirling golden cloud. He could feel his pulse moving in every inch of his body, and the pounding of his heart sounded like the thunder of the surf crashing against the shore. It hadn’t been like this for a long time, too long, with Brader’s insistence on austerity and caution.

When the euphoria began to fade, he found himself clutching two more empty phials, each made from the item of a slum child. He must have pulled them from the rack and opened them while caught up in the glow of the second elixir. His skin was tingling, his muscles twitching against his long bones, hand shaking as he placed the last three phials in the rack.

Be careful!
a small, sane voice whispered to him as the elixir’s effects lingered on.
You know what can happen if you get too greedy
.

Squatting down, he buried his hands in the jewels, watching the waving glow that surrounded them, a veritable carpet of life threads. Under the elixir’s influence, he could see them even better, see how they extended to fill the room, waving like sea grass under the swells. Lifting a handful of the jewels, he pressed them to his face to cool it. Precious jewels, indeed. So precious.

Just one more … Just one more …

Shaking now, he went to the rack and pulled out a labeled elixir, one of the “special vintages” as he thought of them, made from the soul of a disgraced, very drunk soldier he’d met in the Ring. It wasn’t labeled; he hadn’t bothered to ask when he traded him a lucky “dragon’s tooth” for the tiny military charm soaking inside this phial. Such life and experience! Oh, this one would be fine. He cracked the seal and sucked down the bitter contents, then let out a cry as the concentrated, properly aged elixir struck his belly and mind. Colors wheeled around him, and snatches of beautiful music. He saw faces, felt the touch of hands upon his skin, the shuddering exultation of orgasms compounded by time, and life. So much life!

He came to lying on the floor next to the open jewel casket with no sense of how much time had passed. For all he knew, it could have been hours, or days. That was one of the dangers of overdoing things, but even now he felt the same old whisper of need.

Just one more …

No matter how many he drank, he was never quite sated, and he knew better than anyone living that drinking the powerful ones only made it worse. But he lacked Brader’s ability to deny himself the pleasure of excess.

Staggering to his feet, he pulled the parchment label from Laneus’s chain and fixed it to the empty phial with a few drops of wax. It pleased him to keep the empty bottles labeled until he needed them again, trophies to gloat over. He slid it in beside the empty one bearing Lady Kylith’s name and took off the bone necklace. Brader would be able to tell what he’d done, and he’d have to wear a little more cosmetic to keep the others from noticing, but ah, it had been worth it! He hadn’t indulged himself like this in months.

Reeling a little, he put the room back in order, avoiding looking at the racks and their still-enticing contents.

T
HE
following morning Seregil woke to an insistent knock on the bedchamber door. Sliding out from under Alec’s arm, he pulled on his dressing gown and went to answer it.

“Forgive me for waking you, my lord,” said Runcer. “Lord Thero is downstairs and is most insistent that you and Lord Alec come down.”

“I see. Tell him we’re on our way.”

“What is it?” Alec mumbled from the bed.

“Thero’s here.”

“Again?”

They found the wizard walking at the back of the garden, near Alec’s targets.