Atre’s smile faltered. “My lord, if you think I am taking more than my share—”

“Nothing of the sort. I was simply complimenting your wardrobe. I’m sure your accounts are all in order. But let’s not spoil the evening talking of such things.”

The boy returned with a tray of colorfully glazed clay mugs topped with golden foam, and a platter of fine cheeses, grapes, and sliced apples.

Lifting his flagon, Seregil said, “To the queen, may the Four protect her.”

Alec and Atre joined the toast and took their first drink.

Atre licked his lips appreciatively. “That’s very good!”

“And they serve it properly here. Metal cups dull the flavor.”

“I should like to hear more of your homeland sometime, my lord.”

“A beautiful place!” Seregil sighed, staring pensively down into his mug. “So much more civilized than here. Your company would do very well in Virésse.”

“Is that a city there?”

Seregil smiled. “Yes, and a grand one. Virésse rivals Rhíminee itself, a thriving seaport and city. The folk there have more of a taste for things foreign than most of the clans.”

Atre sipped his turab. “Perhaps I’ll see it one day for myself. Tell me, my lord, if it’s not too personal, but is it true that Aurënfaie can live to be five hundred years old?”

“Many do.”

The actor shook his head, smiling. “So much life. So much time! How many people you must know. You must be able to accomplish a great deal.”

“It depends on the person, I suppose, though time seems to move more slowly there. I remember—” Seregil paused, dabbing at his eyes as he pretended to be overcome by memories.

“It pains him to speak of home,” Alec explained, putting a consoling hand on Seregil’s shoulder.

“Forgive me, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Seregil shook his head as he laid a hand over Alec’s. “No, it’s quite all right. But you know well how it is to lose your home, don’t you? Were you happy in Nanta?”

“Oh, yes. For a lad from Dresher’s Ford, it was quite an exotic place. Or so I thought before I came here.”

“Where did you say Dresher’s Ford is?” asked Alec. “Somewhere in the northlands, isn’t it?”

“Nowhere you’d know of, I’m sure,” Atre said with a laugh. “It’s a tiny place in the hills north of the Folcwine Forest.”

“From there to performing before the future queen of Skala!” Alec raised his mug to Atre. “You have come a long way in every sense.”

“If there’s one thing I admire in a man, it’s ambition,” said Seregil. “And I think you are not lacking in that, Master Atre.”

The actor smiled modestly but did not deny it.

“Mistress Merina spoke of you and Master Brader meeting her family in Rudderford,” said Alec. “Is he kin of yours?”