“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 Rhíminee, 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—”