“Lord Seregil the Aurënfaie? I’m pleased to meet you at last, cousin. Aunt Klia holds you both as great friends.”

“It’s been a long time, Seregil,” Princess Aralain said a bit less warmly.

“Your Highnesses greatly honor us,” Seregil said. “And Your Grace,” he added, bowing now to Alaya as Alec did the same.

Alaya smiled as she waved them to the last empty couch. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Alec. And look at you, Seregil! You have grown up from that sad little thing you were at court.”

A servant immediately came forward with a gilded wine table, golden cups, and plates of tiny sweetmeats for them. Alaya eyed Atre approvingly. “Tell me about this other handsome young fellow you have brought with you.”

“This is the great actor, Master Atre, lately of Nanta,” Seregil explained. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him and his company?”

“I have indeed. How clever of you to bring him. Princess Elani has been so curious to see his players.”

“A pity they are in such a poor venue,” added Princess Aralain, as if Atre weren’t there to hear.

“Ah, but that’s changed, Highness,” Seregil informed her. “Lady Kylith, Alec, and I have set them up properly in Gannet Lane.”

“Very good!” said Alaya. “Master Atre, I am so glad we will be able to sample your talent tonight. I’m sorry you missed Jenaria’s first offerings, but I’m sure she has another prepared for us.”

The poetess rose again and bowed to the guests. “It would be my honor, Your Grace,” she replied. “I offer to you ‘The Hour of Blue Leaves.’

“I’ve met my love in the shadowed bower,

and we embraced as the sun’s last rays

bled over the horizon. Leave-taking

burned behind the eyes, promises kindled

skin to skin. As the evening wind

turned the leaves, pale blue against the night,

I let my love drift out of the garden

with only a fading musk on my palms

where once we touched. How was I to know

my love would become only a reflection,

a shadow beneath the current,

a blue leaf adrift on the stream of memory?”

“How lovely!” Princess Aralain exclaimed. “Do give us one more.”

“As you like, Highness.” The poetess pressed a hand to her heart. “ ‘Leave-Taking at Dawn.’ ”

This one was much longer, a lover’s lament. Seregil lounged against his end of their couch, sipping his wine and nodding appreciatively at particularly well-turned lines. Alec sat beside him, cup raised halfway to his lips, his expression one of rapt attention. It was only partly an act on both their parts; the woman was talented. Even so, Seregil was acutely aware of the curious glances Princess Elani was stealing in their direction.