Lord Seregil’s proposal had not been a complete surprise; Atre knew a fellow actor when he saw one, and there was a good deal more to Seregil than the man let on. For all his foppish airs and fawning over his young paramour, there was a hint of shrewdness about both of them that Atre knew better than to discount.

An odd pair, that, he thought as he rode from the noble quarter to the Street of the Sheaf. Lord Seregil had clearly been born to culture and the cutthroat world of court life. Lord Alec’s manners, on the other hand, were a thin veneer that couldn’t quite mask his country roots. Given what Atre had learned about the pair in the short time he’d been moving in noble circles, he wasn’t alone in wondering how a young bumpkin from a place so obscure no one seemed to know where it was held the attention of a rake like Seregil. Atre allowed himself a thin smile; nobles did indeed gossip about them, and it was generally assumed that Lord Seregil didn’t keep the boy around for his conversational skills. Atre believed that was an underestimation of both men; the affection between them seemed quite genuine, and Alec was no fool.

Unlike the area around the old theater in Basket Street, Atre’s new haunt was an unlikely place to meet with footpads, but he still kept a sharp eye out as he passed under the swaying street lanterns.

Thanks to the largesse of their several patrons and the success of the plays, he and his company had been able to rent a large house in Gannet Lane quite near the theater. For the first time since the near disaster in Mycena, they had a proper roof over their heads and enough rooms for the various members of their little household to spread out in. It had been below Atre’s dignity to share space with the boys of the company in that Basket Street attic, but there had been little choice.

Here he’d already begun to surround himself with fine things again—rich furnishings, luxurious linens and hangings for his carved bedstead, a few tapestries and carpets. He’d filled two wardrobes with excellent clothes and had caskets overflowing with jewelry, most of that gifts from his ever-growing circle of admirers.

The house was quiet when he arrived, flushed with turab and success. His aspirations among Skalan nobility reached far beyond Lady Kylith and Lord Seregil; meeting the princess royal and her mother had been an unexpected turn of luck. He could tell that his performance had pleased Elani far more than that poet woman’s drivel. Another potential connection.