Casket of Souls Read online

  Alec tapped his chin with the goose-feather quill, picturing the list in his mind, then began to write.

  Princess Klia

  Duke Malthus

  Duchess Nerian

  Marquis Areus

  Lord Thero

  Lord Seregil the Aurënfaie

  Lord Alec of Ivywell

  Marquise Yrin

  Prince Korathan?

  “Good,” said Seregil. “And the scroll?”

  “The scroll was just a love poem.”

  “Didn’t it strike you as strange that Kyrin would be showing his friends a love poem in the midst of that other conversation?”

  “Uh—not at the time.”

  Seregil sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That may have been the most important thing there. If only you’d held it up to a lamp.”

  Alec smacked his forehead. “Bilairy’s Balls! It didn’t even occur to me.” Some hidden messages were done in pinpricks over the letters of a seemingly innocent document. All one had to do was hold it in front of the light and copy down the letters to reveal the message.

  Seregil made a noncommittal noise as he turned his attention to the list. “Korathan. Our friend Duke Malthus, one of the queen’s exchequers. Marquis Areus, Duchess Nerian. Thero. Us. What do all of these have in common?”

  “Except for us and Thero, they’re all high-ranking nobles.” Alec frowned down at the list. “And at least some of them are friends of Klia.”

  “Very good. But you missed one important correlation. With the exception of us and Thero, they all hold high positions in the Palace. You had a good start on the night’s work.”

  “We’re going back?” Alec reached for a clean pair of breeches.

  “Yes, but not until the household settles down.” Seregil grinned and snatched the breeches away. “In the meantime, I think you deserve a reward to pass the time.”

  Alec let Seregil pull him down onto the bed. “Don’t I still stink?”

  Seregil nuzzled Alec’s neck and one armpit, sending a dizzying tingle down that entire side of his body, then rumbled “Not in a bad way” against one bare nipple.

  Alec gasped at the sensation. Ruetha tried to butt in between them, but Seregil nudged the cat aside and pressed Alec back on the bed, pulling the tie from the end of the disheveled braid and combing Alec’s long hair out over his shoulder.

  Alec shivered at the light tickle of fingertips over his scalp, but still had the presence of mind to ask, “Shouldn’t we tell Thero?”

  Seregil slid his hand in slow, determined circles down Alec’s flat belly. “At this hour? Hardly civilized. And there may be more to tell after our second visit.”

  Alec groaned softly and arched his back, surrendering—mostly. “At least we know that there’s—some—there’s some—connection. Thero—”

  Seregil leaned in very close, warm breath tickling Alec’s ear, and whispered, “We’ll see him tomorrow, talí.”

  Alec was surprised to feel a flash of need and worry cut through his own haze of arousal along the invisible connection of their talímenios bond. Only then did it occur to him that this was the first time he’d done a job on his own since they’d returned to the city. He caught Seregil’s roaming hand. “You do know I can take care of myself?”

  Seregil regarded him seriously. “Would you have been worried about me if I’d disappeared for hours on a job?”

  “You used to do that all the time! You still do.”

  “And you worry.”

  Alec sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “And you do what you need to and come home safe.”

  Seregil was quiet for a moment, then Alec felt the mattress shift as Seregil knelt behind him and put his arms around Alec’s shoulders. “I know. I’m not questioning your skills, Alec. I swear to you that’s the truth and you know I don’t lie to you. But after what happened to you in Plenimar?” His arms tightened. “I suppose I’m still trying to get over that. If you …”

  Alec covered Seregil’s hands with his own. “Are we going to quit the nightrunning business, then?”

  Seregil laughed softly. “No. Just … Give me time.”

  “I’ll try. But sometimes I wonder if maybe I have more faith in your skills than you do in mine, even after all this time.”

  “Oh, Alec! I know that you can take care of yourself. I do, really. Now …” Seregil gently cradled the back of Alec’s head and kissed him. “Are we going to make love or have a fight? Personally, I don’t want to fight.”

  Alec’s lips quirked in a half smile as he turned in Seregil’s arms and kissed him back. “Then that only leaves one other choice.”

  Their lovemaking that night was fierce and full of need. Surging and tumbling, each got as good as he gave, leaving a few fingertip-shaped bruises and teeth marks in their wake. Afterward, they fell away from each other, sweaty and winded. A rare night breeze wafted in through the open window; cooled, Seregil rolled over and lay with his head pillowed on Alec’s smooth chest as Alec lazily stroked his hair the way that made him feel especially content. Seregil kissed the warm skin over his lover’s heart, savoring the salty taste and strong pulse beneath his lips.

  If you die, I won’t be far behind.

  Some emotions and thoughts traveled over the talímenios bond more clearly than others, or perhaps Alec knew him too well. Gently tugging a strand of Seregil’s hair, he murmured, “I’d wait for you at Bilairy’s Gate. Now stop worrying. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, talí.”

  They waited well past midnight, then stole back to Kyrin’s house in dark clothing. Retracing Alec’s previous route, they made it to the library window without trouble. Seregil opened the inside latch with a thin lime-wood shim.

  Alec retrieved all the documents he’d found and they laid them out on the carpet, then held them one by one in front of the lightstones and one by one discarded them until they came to the scroll. Alec unrolled it and held it up for Seregil, who had the stone. Tiny points of light shone through the parchment like miniature constellations.

  “What does it say?” Alec whispered.

  Seregil squinted at the letters for a moment, then his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “It’s in Aurënfaie.” Seregil scanned the page, muttering under his breath. “Dark moon with the tide. Twenty-five. More?”

  “More what?”

  “Who knows? But ‘dark moon’—perhaps the traitor’s moon—and ‘tide’ suggest smuggling to me.”

  Alec nodded excitedly. “That and the manifests!”

  “Sounds like our marquis is stockpiling valuables. The question is, why?”

  “It must have something to do with that list of names.”

  “Very likely.”

  Putting the room back in order, they went out the way they came in and headed back to the inn.

  Early the following morning they carried the news to Thero, who was at breakfast with several other wizards. A spread of fresh currant buns, ham, pears, boiled eggs, white cheese, puffed berry pastries—an Orëska House specialty—and pots of strong tea were laid out on one of the worktables. Nysander’s breakfasts had been famous, and to everyone’s surprise, Thero had continued the tradition.

  The other wizards greeted them warmly, believing, as intended, that Lord Seregil and Lord Alec had just arrived back from their travels.

  “Ah, you’re just in time for another free meal,” Thero noted dryly as they came in.

  “Cranky this morning, are we?” Seregil grabbed him in a hug and kissed his bearded cheek, much to the wizard’s dismay.

  “Do that again and you’ll find yourself at the top of Mount Apos,” Thero warned, slopping his tea on the table as he shook Seregil off.

  “At least it would be an escape from this heat,” Alec said as he filled a plate.

  There was no choice in front of the other wizards but to make small talk and pretend they’d come for nothing more than breakfast. But when the wizards were gone Seregil and Alec detailed the findings of their
night’s work.

  Thero nodded as he listened, then considered it for a long moment. “There’s no way of knowing if the list of names and the apparent smuggling are related. You did find the suspicious documents in different places.”

  “There could be any number of reasons for that,” said Seregil.

  “Maybe Kyrin was waiting until nobody was there to move the scroll to the hidden cupboard behind the tapestry,” Alec pointed out.

  Seregil nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “And don’t forget Elani’s stolen letter,” Alec reminded them. “If Kyrin is sharing secrets with Reltheus and the others, maybe they know about the letter, too.”

  “Korathan’s secretary, and someone stealing the princess royal’s letters.” Thero frowned. “This could strike at the heart of the court.”

  “More work to be done,” said Seregil. “I think Lords Seregil and Alec will be out of the city again for a bit while the Cat attends to this Watcher business.”

  “But I’ll be able to reach you at the inn if need be?”

  “Of course. We’ll work out of there until Alec’s name day, then reappear from our ‘travels.’ ”

  “Keep me informed of your progress. I fear you may have stumbled onto something quite serious.”

  Seregil nodded. “So do I, and I don’t much like our names on that list.”

  KLIA and her force took the Plenimarans by surprise just before sunrise in a carefully coordinated attack, striking at one corner of the encampment. Beka and her troop successfully overwhelmed the pickets before they could raise the alarm, then Lieutenant Kallas and the Urghazi riders went after the enemy’s horses. Klia rode through the gap with Danos, Anri, and their troops, thundering into the camp as the first startled soldiers emerged from their tents.

  Even taken by surprise, the Plenimarans were quick to mass against them, and it was a hard-fought battle that surged back and forth between the wood and the river. But as Klia had hoped, the Plenimaran line did begin to thin as they were pushed back.

  Within a few hours the broad meadow was littered with the dead and dying, Skalan side by side with Plenimaran.

  Bloody to the elbows and half blinded by sweat, Beka and her riders were fighting beside Klia when she heard Danos shout, “Commander, look there!”

  Beka couldn’t see Danos, but she did spy a Plenimaran standard wavering above the melee no more than a hundred feet away. Summoning her flagging strength, throat already raw with shouting, Beka yelled, “Riders, to the commander! Blood and Steel!”

  Fighting like the demons the Plenimarans had named them, they hacked their way through what felt like a wall of flesh and armor, scattering the enemy commander’s bodyguard and clearing the way for Klia.

  Beka was in the lead when they broke through at last and there was the Plenimaran officer, wearing the insignia of a cavalry commander.

  Klia must have been as exhausted as any of them, but she gave no quarter as she shouted “For Skala and the queen!” and lunged past Beka to attack the commander with Beka and Captain Danos at her back. The others had their hands full holding off the Plenimaran soldiers.

  Suddenly a cry went up from the enemy. Beka dispatched the man she’d been fighting with a blow to the neck, then looked over her shoulder quickly to see the Plenimaran commander on the ground, with Klia’s blade at his throat.

  “Bretza!” Klia shouted, loud enough to carry around to the men still fighting. It was the Plenimaran command to yield.

  The fallen officer glared up at her for a moment, then dropped his hands to his sides, relinquishing his sword. The day was theirs.

  It took well over an hour for word to spread around the field that the Plenimarans had lost. Meanwhile, Klia had the captured officer and his bodyguard disarmed and escorted to the edge of the river, where Beka and several of her riders stood guard over them.

  The sun had passed noon when the fighting finally stopped and the last of the enemy were disarmed. Klia had the Plenimaran provision wagons emptied, then gave them to the vanquished commander so he could gather and transport his dead. The wagons were nearly empty to begin with, just a few barrels of salt fish and hard biscuit; the Plenimarans were as badly supplied as they were, if not worse.

  Leaving Klia with a sizable guard, Beka, Captain Anri, and Danos went to gather the remaining squadron.

  “That was a bloody day.” Anri sighed, looking around. She was as filthy as the others, and there were dark circles under her darker eyes. She was a good friend, too. Years of bitter war had forged a solid bond between them.

  “Do we see anything else?” asked Danos, yawning.

  They continued on in silence, taking in the carnage. As the battle fever drained away, Beka felt exhaustion creeping into its place, but there was still much to do.

  One by one, they found their lieutenants and listened to their reports. Urghazi Turma, which had already taken losses that summer, had lost eleven riders more and Braknil, who’d been lieutenant since Beka’s promotion, was mortally wounded. Sergeant Zir had only three riders left. Most of the others had wounds of some degree.

  Klia allowed her exhausted forces to eat what they had, then gave orders to recover the Skalan dead for burning. What was left of Beka’s Red Horse Turma were ordered to guard the ford, sparing them the grim task of dispatching the enemy wounded and speeding on those of their own who were too badly hurt to survive. There was no time to grieve for the fallen.

  The field was lit with funeral pyres and rank with the stench of death and burning flesh. The battle had cost Klia nearly half her remaining force, and the Plenimarans far more, but they had the crucial ford.

  Klia’s tent stood just upstream near the burned farmhouse, so Beka set off on foot to make her own report. The waxing moon turned the rising mist to a gently roiling silver blanket spreading up from the river.

  She used the funeral fires to guide her over the churned ground. The bodies had been cleared in this area, but the smell of death still hung on the damp night air. She was between fires when she heard low voices nearby.

  “You see how the queen throws us into the dragon’s maw?” a man was saying. She couldn’t make out who the dark forms were, or recognize the voice. “Sending her own sister out with less than a full squadron!”

  “Half sister,” said another.

  “And for what?” a third voice scoffed. “Phoria could have rolled in here with her entire force and swept the whoreson bastards out like spiders out of a drain!”

  It was the usual soldiers’ talk, and nothing Beka hadn’t thought herself. She was about to walk on when another said, “What about the officers, Restus? Whose side would they take?”

  “Can’t say about Anri, but from what I’ve heard that redheaded one is Klia’s friend,” another man replied. “I expect she’d take her side of things.”

  Beka paused, frowning. Take Klia’s side in what?

  “It’d be different if Commander Klia was general, wouldn’t it?” a young-sounding rider asked. “Then maybe she could talk sense to the queen.”

  “Mind your tongue, Callin, and keep your damn voice down!”

  “And about time, though,” one of the others muttered.

  “To better days,” one of the others said, and she heard a murmur of agreement.

  This was not the first time Beka had heard the sentiment. There’d been growing discontent since Phoria had refused the Overlord’s offer of a truce. Most of the officers, Klia included, shared Phoria’s belief that they would finally see victory before the summer was over; the state of the enemy’s captured provisions was a good sign. But it was hard to convince the ranks of that, even after a day like this.

  Cursing the darkness, she listened for more, but the talk turned to the day’s fighting and no more was said of Klia or herself. After a few minutes they set off in her direction. Beka moved away, then trailed them to see who they were.

  There were five of them, and as they stepped into the glow of a nearby watch fire, she recognized Sergeant Werne
us of Captain Anri’s Fourth Troop; he’d saved her life that morning. She owed him something.

  “Sergeant,” she called out.

  Startled, the man turned and squinted through the darkness, then saluted. “Evenin’, Captain. Good to see you’re still in one piece and breathing.”

  “And I have you to thank for it,” she replied, coming closer and lowering her voice. “Listen, I overheard you just now and I should report you to your captain.”

  Werneus’s men exchanged nervous glances, but the sergeant saluted and went down on one knee. “We meant no harm.”

  Beka held up her hand. “Given the good turn you did me, I’m not going to—this time. But don’t ever forget, we’re the Queen’s Horse Guard, the best and bravest regiment in the army. Leave the running of the war to the generals and the queen and keep your mouths shut. Is that clear?”

  “As springwater, Captain.”

  “Good. Blood and Steel, men.”

  “Blood and Steel, Captain!” the others replied, fists to hearts.

  ULIA squatted in the weeds above the breakwater, poking at the dead gull’s shiny gold eye with a twig. It was pretty, and she wished it were a bead she could wear on a string around her neck. But it also meant that the bird was freshly dead.

  The child’s bare arms and legs were like knobby twigs themselves, sticking out of the shapeless grey folds of her sister’s cast-off dress. She picked the bird up by one still-supple orange foot and carefully held it at arm’s length so the blood dripping from its gaping bone-colored beak wouldn’t get on her clothing or bare feet. The bird was nearly as big as she was. Even when she held her hand up high, the head dragged on the ground and the broad grey-backed wings flapped clumsily, as if it didn’t want to go in her mama’s stewpot. Ulia looked around quickly, judging the distance across the barren shorefront to the row of sagging tenements where she and her large family lived, and measuring who else was around to see. An older child, or even a grown-up, would take it from her for sure, and then her family would go hungry another night. But there was no one at the moment, except for the bent old woman sitting on one of the granite anchor stones nearby, leaning on a gnarled stick.