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breeze he could. Seregil lit several lamps with the candle and carried the bucket into the bedchamber across the room.
    They’d used the place sporadically since the spring. A layer of dust had settled over the workbench under the east window, the old sheets covering the couch and dining table, and the clutter of letters, locks, jewel caskets, and oddities on the marble mantelpiece, including three Plenimaran slave collars propped up there, one sized for a child.
    Pain closed around Alec’s heart again. Two reminders in one day, and this one his own doing. He had no doubt that the little
rhekaro
was better off among the Hâzadriëlfaie—safe from harm and from causing it—but the loss was still a raw, throbbing wound in Alec’s heart. The sight of the collar, and the tiny braid of silver-white hair with it, kept the wound bloody, but he couldn’t bring himself to part with either.
    “Alec?” Bare to the waist already, Seregil leaned out the bedroom doorway, framed in golden lamplight. Alec’s expression must have given away his thoughts. “
Talí
, shouldn’t we at least pack them away?”
    “No.” Forcing a smile, he went to the bedroom, pulling his sweat-soaked shirt over his head as he went, then sat on the wide, velvet-hung bed to pull off his shoes and rank socks.
    Seregil filled the washbasin from the bucket and gave himself a quick but thorough scrub.
    As he waited, Alec absently counted Seregil’s various scars; he knew them by heart. The imprint of the cursed disk just over his breastbone—an object that had nearly cost them both their lives—was obscured by magic. Alec carried the mark of that same disk, burned into the palm of his left hand.Of the wounds that had killed him and nearly taken Seregil’s life as well, there were no traces—thanks to Sebrahn.
    Seregil turned and caught his eye. “What’s wrong, talí?”
    Alec just shook his head.
    Seregil rinsed the flannel and wrung it out, then gently washed the day’s grime from Alec’s face and neck. “Come on now,” he said, kissing him on the top of the head and draping the wet cloth over Alec’s shoulder.
    When they were both reasonably presentable, they set off for the Orëska House.
    The stars were out and it was cool enough now that light cloaks and drawn hoods didn’t attract much notice as they made their way through the Harvest Market and on into the Noble Quarter to the Orëska House.
    “My lords!” Thero’s man, Wethis, waved to them from one of the mezzanines and hurried down the stairs to greet them as they crossed the atrium. “He’s upstairs.” He halted at a respectful distance and Seregil saw the man’s nostrils quiver just a bit, though he was far too polite to say anything.
    Seregil gave him a knowing grin. “The baths first, I think.”
    “I’ll inform Master Thero that you are here.” Wethis bowed and returned the way he’d come, knowing Seregil needed no guide.
    Bath chamber
would be an understatement. The vaulted room was larger than the entire Stag and Otter. A broad octagonal pool lined with red and gold tiles lay at the center of the room, with four gilded marble griffins spitting arching streams of water into it. This was surrounded by individual tubs sunk into the floor, each with its own accoutrements and servant. Nymphs and sea creatures glowed in rich colors on the frescoed walls.
    They made use of the individual tubs first, Alec with a flannel cinched modestly around his waist, then went to the griffin pool to swim. Seregil was floating happily on his back, hair spread around his head like a dark halo, when he opened his eyes and found Thero looking down at him with a wry smile. “I half expect to find you taking up residence here.”
    “I’m considering it.”
    “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
    “But I know you’re glad to see us,” Seregil said.
    “Especially since we brought you a present,” said Alec, swimming over to join them.
    “Really? How nice. Will you join me