Dueling was not allowed inside the city, but a blind eye was turned on whatever went on outside its walls, and killing someone in a formal duel there was not considered murder. It had been some time since Seregil had fought for his honor.

“Very well, then.” He unlaced his leather trousers and pushed them and his linen down with a graceful flourish. The crowd exploded in applause and laughter. Those closest to Alec slapped him on the back. Seregil climbed off the chair and stood grinning, hands on hips, as his trousers were inspected, then took them back and dressed as carefully as if he were in front of his looking glass at home, smoothing out every wrinkle. Money changed hands around him; it was clear that public sentiment was on his side, for whatever reason.

“Bravely done, young man!” General Sarien said, clapping Seregil on the shoulder before wandering off in the direction of the wine servers.

Taking his place again, Seregil raised his chin and grinned across the gaming table at his opponent. “Shall we continue, Your Grace?”

More applause erupted at the duke’s expense.

Caught, Foris had no choice but to finish—and lose—the game. With gritted teeth he paid off the wagers, swept his stones back into their fancy embroidered bag, and strode off with all the dignity he could muster.

Seregil looked around at his admirers. “Next?”

The woman who’d championed the wager took the chair Foris had vacated and poured her stones into the polished tray in front of her. They were made of blue opal, and she held one up, showing him Illior’s crescent inlaid in silver on the back of it. “The Lightbringer will have to decide between us, my lord, for I’ve been known to have the Immortal’s favor, as well. Or would you like to inspect my clothing for charms first?”

“A tempting offer, Marquise, but your honor is above reproach.”

“You’re very gallant, Lord Seregil, but now I’m disappointed,” she said with a teasing smile. “Well, you had your chance. Shall we play?”

They were still arranging their stones for the first round when a young page made his way through the crowd and whispered something to Alec. He, in turn, leaned down and whispered in Seregil’s ear, “Kepi’s outside.”

“Nothing too serious, I hope?” said Reltheus.

“A messenger,” Seregil told him. “Alec, be a dear and deal with him, would you?”

“I promised Palmani I’d make an early night of it, and it’s nearly midnight,” Reltheus noted after half a dozen rounds.

“Oh, I’d rather hoped we could get in a few more games together,” Seregil told him.

“Come to the house, then, you and Alec, when you’ve finished your business. I believe I might have another bakshi game or two in me.”