Alec road to Brass Alley at a gallop and found the actor alive and groaning on a couch in a poorly lit back room of the gambling den. He was dressed uncharacteristically plainly without a jewel on him—an apparent attempt to fit in with his surroundings. Or perhaps he’d been robbed.

A small crowd of ne’er-do-wells and doxies were peering in from the doorway, but parted for Alec at the sight of his fine clothes and sword.

A drysian was with Atre, tending to a wound on his belly. The actor was white-faced and looked frightened, but at least he was conscious.

“What happened?” Alec asked, kneeling down beside him and taking the man’s hand.

“Oh, my lord!” Atre gasped, clinging to Alec’s hand with both of his, which were sticky with blood. “How did you know?”

“Never mind that. What in Bilairy’s name happened to you?” A few patches of stage cosmetics near his hairline stood out against his milk-pale skin, Alec noted absently. He must have been in a hurry to come here.

“It didn’t happen in my establishment, my lord,” a round-faced man in dusty velvet told him. “This is an honest house.”

Alec doubted that.

“It was a girl, on the street,” Atre told him. “She said she was hurt, and when I tried to help her—look what she did!”

“It’s not as bad as all that,” the drysian scoffed as he bandaged the wound.

“And took your purse, I suppose,” said Alec. It was a common ploy among the girl cutpurses. “What are you doing alone in a place like this?”

“Oh, you know—” Atre was too pale to blush but he looked rather ashamed of himself.

“Got tired of the pampered nobles and came back here, looking for a bit of rougher fun?” Brader growled as he strode into the room and stood over Atre. Apparently he’d gotten word, as well.

The actor looked away, saying nothing.

“This is no place for the likes of you,” the drysian scolded. “Stay with your fashionable friends and find your fun there. I have better things to do than patch up you silly thrill seekers.”

“I will, Brother. By the Maker, I will!” Atre mumbled, then looked up imploringly at Alec. “Please, my lord, don’t leave me here.”

“Of course not,” Alec assured him, then turned to the master of the house. “Is it possible to hire a carriage at this hour?”

“No need,” said Brader. “I brought the cart.”

The drysian finished with the bandage and straightened up. “There, that should hold your guts in well enough. See that you keep the wound clean and it should be healed in a week or so, if a bit sore.”

“I have to be onstage tomorrow!”

“That’s why you have an understudy,” Brader muttered, handing the healer some silver.

The drysian nodded to them and took his leave.