This time Seregil couldn't deny the hot flash of jealousy that shot through him. Thoroughly annoyed with himself, he began disentangling himself from Wythrin.

"Do you want to go back up now?" the young man asked hopefully, sliding a warm hand up his thigh.

This gave him pause. Seregil touched the back of one hand to Wythrin's cheek, savoring the faint roughness of it. This one, a favorite for some time now, had charms of his own, and talents that spared Seregil's heart even as they satisfied his need.

Wythrin, and others like him, offered safe, guiltless passion, free of obligation.

"In a moment. There's someone I need to talk to first."

He'd get Alec out of whatever jam he'd stumbled into, whether that sent him upstairs with Tirien or not, Seregil told himself sternly, then lose himself once more in Wythrin's deep bed. It was as simple as that.

Alec quickly realized that Tirien had no intention of being put off. His own increasingly embarrassed protestations that he had no experience in such matters only seemed to whet the courtesan's interest. It wasn't the first time Alec had run into this attitude; country virgins seemed to be a rare and much sought-after novelty in Rhiminee.

For a fleeting instant it occurred to him that Tirien was attractive, but he dismissed the treacherous thought at once; that sort of thinking was not going to get him out of this mess.

To his relief, he saw Seregil coming his way.

Clearly amused, he gave Alec a discreet need help? sign. Alec answered with a quick nod.

At that, Seregil strode up to them and slipped an arm around Alec's waist. "There you are at last! Forgive me for intruding, Tirien. My friend and I have some business. Will you excuse us for a moment?"

"Of course." The young courtesan withdrew with a graceful bow, betraying only the faintest hint of disappointment.

Alec braced for the inevitable ragging as they withdrew to the vestibule, but Seregil simply said, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I heard you singing. I mean, I thought it sounded like you and—well, I just came in." Aside from the fact that he was stammering like an idiot, Alec was suddenly all too aware of the fact that Seregil's arm was still around him. Strange, enticing scents clung to his friend's skin and hair, unlike his usual clean smell. The troublesome new feelings stirred again, closer to the surface this time, but just as confusing. "I didn't think to check the lantern. I just came in."

Seregil chuckled softly. "Curious as usual, eh? Well, now that you're in, are you going to stay? Tirien's an excellent choice. Azarin knows his business."

"No." Alec glanced at the young prostitute, still waiting hopefully nearby, then hastily back to Seregil. There was no hint of challenge in his friend's face, just bemusement. Why then, held in the calm gaze of those grey eyes, did his own agitation increase? The situation was well past his ability to explain.

"No, I was just looking for you. I'd better go. This place makes me feel strange."

"There's more than incense burning in those bowls. But I assume if you were just passing by, then you're here on business of your own? Let's see now, how long has it been?"

"I was thinking of it," Alec admitted. He could feel the warmth of Seregil's skin through the thick silk of the robe now. "I don't know—I might just go on home."

"Don't be silly," Seregil said, releasing him at last. "I was planning to go back upstairs, but that can wait." The grin flashed again, and Alec abandoned all hope of escape. "There's a place just down the street that's probably more to your liking. And long overdue, too. I'll be right back."

Returning to the main room, he said something to Tirien. The man gave Alec a last wistful look, then drifted away.

Leaning in the shadow of the arch, Alec watched Seregil take leave of his companion, who was clearly dismayed by his departure. After a brief, animated exchange, Seregil pressed him back on the couch with a deep, lingering kiss, then disappeared up the stairs.

He came down again a few moments later fully dressed, sword belt slung over one shoulder.

"Come along," he said jauntily, leading the way to a villa down the block.

Well, at least there's a pink lantern here, Alec thought, nervous again as Seregil urged him up the stairs.

Seregil appeared to be well known here. A number of women greeted him enthusiastically as he led Alec into the salon. This establishment was quite similar to Azarin's. Erotic tapestries and statuary adorned this room and lovely women in various states of dishabille entertained their patrons, brilliant and lovely as rare birds.

As they handed their cloaks and swords to a page, a richly dressed woman left a knot of conversation and rushed to embrace Seregil. Her skin, generously exposed by the blue silk gown she wore, had a golden olive tone Alec had never seen before. Thick black ringlets hung in a shining cascade to her waist.

"Where have you been keeping yourself, you rogue," she cried with obvious delight.

"A million places, Eirual, my love, but none so pleasant as here," Seregil replied, kissing her throat lasciviously.

She laughed, then pushed him away, dark eyes widening in mock reproach. "I know that scent. You've been to Azarin's already. How cruel you are, coming to me with your fires already spent."

"Spent? My fires?" Seregil caught her close again. "And when, my lovely one, have you ever known that to be the case?"

"I'd like to put you to the test—upstairs."

"I accept your challenge gladly, madame, but first we have to find companionship for my young friend."

Alec had been gazing around the room during this exchange, his heart pounding in a manner even his old, Dalnan-bred self could find no argument with.

"I think he's found someone already," Eirual said with an amused smile.

Alec nodded shyly at a slender, blue-eyed brunette in burgundy silk. "She's very pretty."

"Myrhichia?" Eirual shot Seregil an arch look as she summoned the woman. "He has excellent taste, this friend of yours."

"He hasn't disappointed me yet," Seregil replied, giving Alec a wink.

Myrhichia glided over, wrapped in perfume and mystery. She was older than Alec had supposed, older than he, but that didn't matter—there was something familiar about her, something that made him wave aside the offer of wine and let her lead him up the stairs to her room.

It wasn't until she turned to speak to him over her shoulder that he realized how much she resembled Seregil, or rather Seregil as he'd looked playing Lady Gwethelyn aboard the Darter.

It was an unsettling revelation and he did his best to put it out of his mind as they entered her chamber.

Looking around, Alec felt the last of his trepidation giving way to sensuous anticipation.

A fire cracked invitingly on the hearth, its flames softly illuminating the small, elegant room. The bed was high and draped with patterned hangings. Huge cushions were piled near the hearth, together with a few oddly shaped stools. An elaborate washstand was half-visible behind a painted screen in a shadowy corner.

Myrhichia stood demurely at the center of the room, offering him the choice of where to begin. "Does it please you?" she asked, cocking her head prettily.

"Yes," he whispered. Closing the door, he went to her and loosened the jeweled pin holding her hair.

It tumbled free over her shoulders in dark, sandalwood-scented waves.

Where his experience with Ylinestra had been out of his control from the first, this woman seemed content to let him direct things. He touched her face, her hair, then hesitantly brought his lips to hers.

Her hands found his face, his shoulders, then slid slowly lower.

The fastenings of her gown were no challenge for Alec's expertly trained fingers; her clothes and his were soon in a pile at their feet.