Casket of Souls

“Quite good, actually. You should come with us next time.”
    “I’m far too busy.”
    “We’ve hardly seen you in weeks,” Seregil noted. “What have you been up to in this heat?”
    “Among other things, I’ve been trying to make sense of this.” Thero picked up the
oo’lu
horn leaning against the table, one of the two they’d brought him from their battle with the Retha’noi. Nearly five feet long, it was decorated with a black mark in the shape of a hand and bands of designs cut in with a hot knife. One end was fitted with a ring of beeswax that acted as a mouthpiece. Placing his lips inside it, Thero puffed out his cheeks and blew a few throbbing, buzzing notes.
    “You’re getting the hang of it,” said Alec. “But isn’t it dangerous, using it without knowing what the sounds can do?”
    “I thought of that, of course, and sealed myself in the casting room for the first few tries. So far, all I’ve managed to do is annoy the servants. As far as I can tell, the magic must come from the witch who plays it. The oo’lu only channels it. I donated the other one to the Orëska museum.”
    “How are you coming along with the alchemist’s books?”
    “Ah, yes. Those. If you’d been able to get me more than half of each volume, I’d be doing better. Some of the details of the making of
rhekaros
were lost, but there are a number of other interesting concoctions. Alchemy is really quite fascinating— Oh, sorry, Alec.”
    “It’s all right, Thero. I’m past it.”
    The wizard shot Seregil a quick, questioning look, but he just shook his head slightly.
    Changing the subject, Thero asked, “Did you pick up any interesting gossip while you were there?” The young wizardwas the head of the secret spy organization known as the Watchers, which included Seregil, Alec, Seregil’s friend Micum Cavish, and now Micum’s oldest daughter, Beka, a captain in the Queen’s Horse Guard. It was a responsibility passed down from mentor to chosen pupil for centuries.
    “It seems Queen Phoria turned down a parlay for peace and means to drive the Plenimarans all the way home,” Seregil replied.
    Thero raised an eyebrow at that. “Doesn’t she know what a tinderbox Rhíminee is becoming, with all the shortages and death? This news won’t set well with the populace.”
    “No, it won’t. But Phoria’s always been stubborn.”
    “And eager to outdo her mother’s accomplishments,” Thero mused. “So, what are you two up to now?”
    “We’re off to visit Duke Reltheus’s summer villa south of Cirna,” Alec replied.
    “And by ‘visit’ I assume you mean burgle? Or do you know the man socially?”
    Seregil chuckled. “Hardly. He moves in far more august circles than we do. Do you know him?”
    “Slightly,” Thero replied. “Some fifty years old, a very wealthy, influential man with the huge summer estate you’re going to, a hunting lodge in the mountains, and a villa in Silvermoon Street. He was a favorite of Queen Idrilain. His great-aunt on his father’s side married one of the lesser sons of Idrilain’s grandmother, so there’s a tenuous blood connection. He was a friend of the old queen, and rumored to have been one of Phoria’s suitors, years back.”
    Alec raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t know him.”
    “He hosted half the court last winter for a hunt at his lodge, and several of us wizards were brought along, as well.”
    “At Klia’s request?” asked Seregil with a knowing grin.
    Thero colored a little but didn’t rise to the bait. Seregil and Alec were probably the only people in Rhíminee who knew that Thero had fallen in love with Princess Klia while he’d been her personal wizard during their time in Aurënen. It was a hopeless match, to be sure, but Thero had gone so far as to offer to go with her to war as her field wizard. Queen Phoria had instead assigned her half sister one of her ownchoosing. Seregil suspected that Thero’s feelings were reciprocated, but the wizard wasn’t telling.
    “It was a grand affair,” Thero went on. “The queen was there, with Korathan and Princess Elani.”
    “And Klia.”
    “Yes, and Princess Klia!” Thero snapped as his ears went red. “So, this job of yours?”
    Seregil relented. “This Reltheus is a bit of a rascal. There are certain letters a former mistress wants back before her wedding day that the duke is loath to return. Naturally, the unfortunate lady called on the Rhíminee Cat.”
    This summer had been a