Tears of blood streamed down from the unnatural eye but his face—Thero’s now—smiled calmly. Still smiling, Thero leapt at him, arms outstretched as if to embrace him. With a strangled cry, Seregil fell backward through the red butterflies—
He sat up with a gasp. Pulling free of the tangled sheets, he went to the hearth and poked up a fire bright enough to light the room. His clothes were soaked through with cold, sour sweat. Stripping them off, he looked down at the pale, angular body he inhabited. Little wonder he was dreaming of his own! The details of the nightmare were already skittering away, but he recalled the image of the eye with a shudder.
Tossing a few more logs on the fire, he climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up to his nose. As he drifted back to sleep it occurred to him that this was the first time in weeks that he’d dreamed at all.
• • •
Late-morning light was streaming in at the open window when he opened his eyes again. Lying quietly for a moment, he discovered that he’d forgotten most of the nightmare. His second sleep had been filled with dreams of a lascivious nature quite unlike his usual fare and he’d awakened to find Thero’s body in an uncomfortable state of arousal. Cold water soon put a stop to that. He pulled on a clean robe and went up the tower stairs two at a time.
“Good morning!” Nysander smiled at him over a cup of morning tea, a familiar, reassuring sight. “Are you feeling more at—dear me, you appear to have slept badly.”
“I did,” Seregil admitted. “I had some nightmare about going after my body. It had that eye in the chest, where the scar is. It was all sort of familiar, in a way, like I’d dreamed it before.”
“How unpleasant. Do you recall any more of it than that?”
“Not really. Something about flying, I think, and fire—? I don’t know. Later on there were other, different images. Is it possible for me to have Thero’s dreams?”
“A mental link through his body? I should not think so. Why?”
Seregil rubbed his eyelids and yawned. “Oh, nothing. First night in a new body and all that. Just between you and me, though, a few days in the Street of Lights wouldn’t do Thero any harm.”
“He seems to be celibate by nature.”
Seregil chuckled cryptically. “By practice, perhaps, but not by nature!”
They kept to Nysander’s tower all day, avoiding anyone perceptive enough to detect a change in “Thero”—not an easy task in a house full of wizards.
Wethis appeared to notice nothing amiss, and Seregil noted with amusement the guarded dislike that lurked behind the young servant’s deferential mask as he went about his daily duties in Thero’s room.
At midday Nysander went out to attend to some business elsewhere in the House. Seregil was poking restlessly around the workroom when a sharp rap sounded at the tower door. It was House etiquette to open the door to all callers, so Seregil had no choice but to answer. Peering out, he found Ylinestra waiting impatiently in the corridor.
Her green silk gown was gathered tightly beneath the breasts, setting off her ravishing loveliness in a fashion that Seregil could not help but note.
He did not know her well, and her behavior toward him had always been civil to the point of coolness. It was quickly apparent now, however, that this reserve did not extend to Nysander’s assistant.
“Ah, Thero! Is Nysander in?” She flashed a radiant, violet-eyed smile.
“Not just now, my lady,” Seregil replied, wondering how Thero comported himself around such beautiful women. He soon had an inkling.
“So formal today!” Ylinestra chided playfully, sweeping past him. The crowded confines of the entrance might have explained the generous brush of silk-clad breast and thigh against his side; something in the lilt of her voice warned otherwise. Following her back to the workroom, Seregil felt a pleasant tug of anticipation. Both of them, he suspected, were about to put on excellent performances.
“Out chasing around on behalf of his pretty Aurënfaie friend, is he?” she sighed, turning back to him with a conspiratorial pout.
“Not at the moment.” Seregil gave a credible rendering of Thero’s customary disdain at any mention of himself. “He’s gone to see Mosrin í Argavan. Something about the library.”
“And left you here to solitary toil, eh? How lonely for you. And me, as it turns out.” Ylinestra drifted closer, and Seregil was suddenly aware of the light, spicy scent she wore. With it came a sudden mental image of the perfume rising invisibly from the warm cleft between her breasts. That put him on his guard. It wasn’t his usual sort of thought at all, and smacked of magical machination.
“I hardly see Nysander anymore,” she sulked, just inches away now. “You tell him for me that if he doesn’t mend his ways, I’ll look elsewhere for inspiration. I daresay he neglects you as well when that Seregil fellow is around. It makes one wonder—”
Arching a perfect eyebrow, she let the thought hang unfinished between them, then surprised him with a brisk, almost maternal pat on the arm. “If you find yourself at loose ends, my offer still stands.”
“Offer?”
“Oh, shame on you!” she twinkled, coy again. “Those Ylani levitation chants I promised you? You still haven’t come to learn them and you seemed so eager when we spoke last. I’ve a few other bits of magic that I think you’ll enjoy, too, things Nysander can’t teach you. I’d show you one now, only I need my own things. You must come to my rooms. You wouldn’t want me to lose patience with you, would you?”
“No, not at all,” Seregil assured her. “I’ll come as soon as I can. I promise.”
“There’s a good boy.” Brushing his cheek chastely with her own, she swept out leaving a light drift of scent in her wake.
Illior’s Fingers! Seregil thought, impressed. What she hoped to gain by seducing Thero was beyond comprehension, but the sooner Nysander knew what was going on, the better.
To his disappointment, Nysander was more amused than outraged.
“What are you so upset about?” he asked. “Only this morning you were advocating just such a course of action yourself.”
“Well, yes, but not with his master’s lover!” sputtered Seregil.
“It is not like you to be such a prig,” countered Nysander. “I appreciate your concern, but it is quite unwarranted. The lovely Ylinestra and I claim no more hold on one another than we do on the wind. Though I flatter myself that she does take some genuine pleasure in my company, it is my magic that interests her most. She has shown me a few interesting aspects of her own art, too, but it must be apparent to you of all people where my real interest in her lies.”
“A good lay?”
“Beyond description, dear boy! And as neither she nor I have asked more than the other is prepared to give, we are quite satisfied with the arrangement. At heart, Ylinestra is a vain creature whose sexual tastes run more commonly to the conquest of virginal young men.”
“She’s a man-eater, all right. She’s always very cool with me though.”
Nysander let out a dry chuckle “I would hardly describe you as virginal. I suspect she also prefers her lovers to be more singular in their tastes than your reputation suggests. It is Alec I would keep an eye on, if I were you. She would have him—what is that colorful phrase of Micum’s?”
“ ‘On a platter with boiled leeks’?” Seregil snorted. “Thanks for the warning.”
30
DOWN TO BUSINESS AT LAST
By nightfall, suitable explanations regarding the previous night’s disturbances had been carefully spread among Alben’s Hind Street neighbors. The forger, chastened and anxious to be of service, was temporarily reinstalled in his shop under strict but indiscernible supervision.
An icy drizzle misted down, making for a clammy vigil. Seregil stationed Micum on watch in the alley beneath Alben’s window, while Alec monitored the street fronting the building. Seregil took up his own position in the shadows of the courtyard.
As the hours dragged by, he noted grudgingly that he seem
ed to mind the cold less in Thero’s body. The man’s night vision was rather poor, however, and his sense of taste was hopeless. Overall, Seregil reflected, the habitation of another person’s body was nothing to be taken lightly. in fact, there was something rather obscene about it; he couldn’t scratch without feeling like he was taking liberties, and trips to the privy were decidedly disquieting. It was, he concluded, rather like being forced into bed with a lover you didn’t fancy. And it was certainly closer contact with Thero than he ever hoped to experience again.
What Thero might be experiencing in his body he didn’t care to speculate.
He was just wondering if he dared risk a stretch when he caught the sound of rapid footsteps from the street. Striding into the courtyard, a cloaked figure rapped softly at Alben’s door. The apothecary answered at once, lighting the visitor into the darkened shop with a candle. In the instant both men were framed in the doorway, Seregil got a clear look at the newcomer—a well-dressed man of middle years. In spite of his clothing, however, the unconscious bob of the head he gave Alben in greeting betrayed him; this was a servant out of livery for the purpose of the evening’s assignment.
Alben hung back for an instant, giving the candle a slight sideways jerk before he closed the door. This was the signal. Creeping silently to the courtyard gate, Seregil passed it on to Alec.
He was about to resume his hidden position when he heard the rattle of Alben’s latch. Caught in the open, Seregil made a show of heading up one of the tenement stairways. The emissary seemed unconcerned at being observed, even nodding to him as they passed in the yard.
Seregil waited a slow count of five after the man left the courtyard, then slipped out to see which way he’d gone. Alec motioned to the left. Micum had already been signaled, and together the three set off in pursuit.
Their man sauntered along at his ease for a few streets, then went into a tavern.
“You’d better go in. He’s already had a glimpse of me,” Seregil whispered to Micum. Nodding, Micum sized the place up, then sauntered in.
Micum Cavish had a particular aptitude for blending into tavern crowds. Settling near the door, he ordered a pint and kept a surreptitious eye on their quarry.
The fellow sat alone near the hearth, slowly nursing a mug of ale as if waiting for someone. Presently a young servant woman joined him. Sitting down with her back to Micum, she greeted her companion with a heartfelt kiss. Though Micum saw nothing amiss, it was certainly the perfect opportunity for a parcel of some sort to change hands. A moment later the pair left together.
Strolling out behind them, Micum loitered a moment under a street lantern and made a show of adjusting his cloak as he noted the direction the couple took. Alec and Seregil ghosted off in silent pursuit, and he followed.
The couple walked along arm in arm, heads together, to a small fountain circle where they suddenly disappeared down a dark side way. Hurrying to catch up, Micum nearly fell over his friends crouched at the mouth of an alley. From beyond came the muffled but unmistakable sounds of a hasty coupling in progress.
Leaving Alec on guard, Seregil and Micum went back to the fountain for a whispered conference.
“What do you think? Did he pass anything to her?” asked Seregil.
“He could have, but I didn’t see it happen.” Micum jerked a thumb in the direction of the alley. “Given this business, we can’t be sure the girl’s in on anything, or if they’re just lovers.”
“Damn! We’d better watch both of them. They’re certain to part ways sooner or later.”
“You take her,” said Micum. “Alec and I will stay on him. I’ll meet you back at Nysander’s.”
A few moments later the sighing lovers reappeared and continued on in the direction of the Noble Quarter. There were more lanterns as they went on, and a good deal more traffic; Seregil and the others spread out so as to be less conspicuous.
They nearly came to grief at the Astellus Circle. The Street of Lights was alive with activity, and the Circle was crowded with patrons coming and going from the various establishments. Slipping through the crowd, Seregil suddenly lost sight of the lovers. A few yards away, he saw Alec casting around in alarm. A sharp whistle brought them both around. Standing on steps of the colonnade, Micum gestured in two directions at once.
Seregil caught a quick glimpse of the girl heading off down Eagle Street by herself. Trusting the man to Alec and Micum, Seregil hurried after her.
He had no problem keeping her in sight. There was enough activity in the street to cover his pursuit and she seemed to have no qualms about her own safety as she strode past the walled gardens of the villas. Eagle Street ended in Silvermoon and she turned left toward the Palace. As he reached the Queen’s Park, Seregil began formulating a plan for following her onto the grounds. Instead, however, she ducked down a side lane to the servants’ entrance of a grand house across the broad avenue from the Park.
Seregil waited until he was certain she wasn’t coming out again, then returned to the street. With a growing sense of foreboding, he scowled up at the gilded bulls rearing protectively over the gates of the eminent and all-too-familiar residence.
Alec and Micum dogged their man through a succession of fashionable avenues to a house in the Street of Three Fountains, which was not far from Wheel Street. Unlocking a side gate, he disappeared into a fashionable villa.
“One of us should go in,” Alec whispered. “The other can stand watch in case anything goes wrong.”
“I guess we both know who’s better at that sort of thing. Go on.”
Scaling the wall, Alec dropped down into the garden. The layout of the place was similar to Seregil’s house, but on a larger scale. The garden surrounded the house on three sides, and there were an encouraging number of windows overlooking it. Keeping an eye out for dogs and watchmen, he crept forward.
Starting at the right side of the building, he worked his way from window to window, pulling himself up by the sills to peek in. Most of the rooms were dark or unoccupied, except for a salon toward the front where two pretty young women sat before a blazing hearth. One was working at an embroidery frame while her companion plucked listlessly at a lyre.
Leaving off, he gave the kitchen door a wide berth and set to work on the left side of the house, though with no more success than before. He was about to give up when he noticed a faint glow of light from a balcony just overhead. The ornate stonework surrounding a first-floor window afforded ample fingerholds. Climbing up, he eased himself over the balustrade. There was a small table on the balcony. Two wine cups stood there, and a warm pipe.
The balcony door had been left ajar; peering in, Alec discovered an elegantly appointed bedchamber lit by a single lamp. Another door stood open across the room, and through it came the sounds of a heated argument. There were two male voices involved, one strident with anger, the other shrill in its protestations of innocence.
“How can you accuse me of such a thing?” the higher voice demanded.
“How can you look me in the face and deny it?” boomed the other. “You greedy, bungling idiot. You’ve destroyed me! You have destroyed this family!”
“Uncle, please.”
“Never let me hear that word in your throat again, you viper!” shouted the other. “From this day forth you are no kin of mine.”
A door slammed forcibly, and Alec shrank back as a young man entered the bedchamber and collapsed into a chair. His elaborate surcoat showed him to be the master of the house. He was fair-skinned, with a small blond chin tuft that he fingered nervously as he sat.
A nagging tingle of recognition stirred in the back of Alec’s mind as he studied the haggard profile. He couldn’t immediately place the man, but he felt certain he’d seen him before.
The man was clearly agitated. Gnawing at a thumbnail, he lurched to his feet again, then beat a fist against one thigh as he paced up and down the room.
The significance of the balcony table occurred to Alec almost too late. The man swerved s
uddenly, heading out to settle his nerves with wine and tobacco. Clambering back over the railing, Alec caught hold of two carved balusters and hung by his fingers. The evening drizzle had thickened to sleet and the polished marble felt slick as lard in his hands as he clung doggedly on, feet dangling twenty feet above the ground. Glancing sideways, he saw that he could probably reach the cornice of the downstairs window with his left foot but he didn’t dare chance the noise. To make matters worse, his side of the balcony overlooked the street; it would be the most natural thing in the world for the man to lean on the railing just there, glance down—
Looking up, Alec could see the side of the man’s silken slipper less than a foot from his rapidly whitening knuckles. Cold fire ached down through his wrists and arms, weakening his grip, numbing his fingers. Melting sleet trickled down over his face and ran down his sleeves into his armpits. Biting his lip, he gripped the posts harder, scarcely daring to breathe.
Just when it seemed he’d have to chance dropping and running, a knock came at the chamber door. Tappng his pipe out on the railing above Alec, the man disappeared back into the room.
Alec shook the hot ashes from his hair and found a foothold on the window cornice. Bracing his shoulder in the angle of the balcony, he flexed his stiffened fingers. The balcony door had been left open again and he could hear the conversation inside quite clearly.
“Any difficulty with Alben?” This was the nobleman, calmer now and speaking with authority.
“Not exactly, my lord,” replied the newcomer. “Though he didn’t seem quite himself, somehow. But I did get the documents and these, as well, while I was out.”
“Well done, Marsin, well done!”
Alec heard the metallic clink of coins changing hands.
“Thank you, sir. Shall I deliver it now?”
“No, I’ll go. My horse is already saddled. See to it that the house is locked up for the night and inform Lady Althia that I’ll be returning tomorrow.”