“He was always pestering his mother to take him to the theater as a boy,” Alaya put in, giving the prince a fond look.

“There wasn’t a war on then, my dears,” Korathan replied.

To Thero’s surprise, Elani leaned forward and smiled at him. “I remember you! You came to Duke Reltheus’s hunt last winter. You’re the one who made the snow catamount for the children, and the golden diadem out of pine tips. I still have it.”

“I am deeply honored, Your Highness.”

“He just made this for me!” Palmani proudly showed off her rabbit.

“Allow me, Your Highness.” Thero picked another pear from the bowl and made one for the princess, this one sitting up on its haunches. Elani and the other women exclaimed over it like delighted children as he presented it to her.

As Elani admired it, Thero cast a brief spell, looking for any tinge of magic around her or the others. There were just a few excellent protections on Elani and Korathan, cast no doubt by the court wizard, but nothing malevolent.

Presently the house lights were snuffed and the play began. There was a brief prologue delivered by a beautiful dark-haired woman, then the heavy curtains opened to reveal a cleverly painted background and set pieces that were someone’s idea of what a wizard’s workroom looked like. It was a bit overdone, but Thero refrained from saying so.

Presently the handsome Atre appeared in an approximation of Orëska robes and began declaiming his intention to capture the heart of some unwilling woman with magic. Why on earth had Alec assumed he’d like this play? It was an appalling misuse of power! He glanced over at Seregil, who was sitting to Alec’s right, and his friend gave him a maddeningly innocent grin.

Since he couldn’t very well leave, he poured himself a cup of wine and settled in to critique every error. But instead he found himself caught up in the story, which was far more complex than he’d expected, with very good costuming. He was actually enjoying himself when, at the beginning of the second act, a new actor came onstage. He was an imposing presence, very tall, with a long, stern face and red hair. It took Thero a moment to place him but he had an excellent memory for faces, even those he’d only glimpsed, and he certainly remembered that hair. This was the man from Painted Lane, the one on whom he’d thought he sensed magic.

“Who is that?” he whispered to Alec.

“Brader. He plays the second lead quite often. Good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Thero murmured, gaze fixed on the actor. “Would it be possible for me to meet him after the play?”