Traitor's Moon

13 GUIDES

Alec woke the following morning to find Seregil standing over him, dressed from head to foot in black: black leather breeches, black boots, long black velvet coat slashed with black silk. Above his gold badge of office, Corruth's ruby ring glowed on its silver chain. The overall effect was rather sinister. Seregil looked grim and tired.

"You were restless last night," Alec complained, yawning.

"I had that dream again, the one I had in the mountains."

"About going home?"

"If that's what it is." He sat down on the edge of the bed and laced his fingers together around one up-drawn knee.

Alec reached up to touch the Akhendi charm still braided into Seregil's hair. "It must be a true one, with this to guard your dreams."

Seregil gave a noncommittal shrug. "I think you'll be of more use behind the scenes today."

Changing the subject again, are you? Alec thought resignedly. Giving up for now, he settled back against the bolsters. "Where should I start?"

"You should learn your way around the city. I've asked Kheeta to guide you until you

get used to the place. It's too easy to get lost when it's empty like this."

"How very tactful of you, Lord Seregil." Alec's sense of direction had a disconcerting way of deserting him in cities.

"Familiarize yourself with the area, make friends, keep your ears open." Leaning over, he ruffled Alec's already disheveled hair. "Look as simple and harmless as you can, even around our supporters. Sooner or later someone will let slip some interesting bit of information."

Alec affected a look of wide-eyed innocence and Seregil laughed.

"Perfect! And to think you used to say I'd never make an actor of you."

"What about that?" Alec said, pointing at the ring.

Glancing down in surprise, Seregil dropped it inside the neck of his coat, then headed for the door.

"Idrilain wouldn't have given it to you if she didn't think you were worthy of wearing it," Alec called after him.

Seregil gave him a last, thoughtful look and shook his head. "Good hunting, tali. Kheeta's waiting."

Alec lay back, thinking about the ring and wondering whose approval Seregil awaited. The Iia'sidra's? Adzriel's? The Haman's?

"Oh, well," he muttered, rolling out of bed. "At least I've got something to do today."

He washed with cold water from the pitcher and dressed for riding. He left his sword belt hanging with Seregil's over the bedpost. Most of the Aurenfaie he'd seen went unarmed except for belt knives. In the event of trouble, he always had the slender dagger in his boot. Their tool rolls were still hidden away for now, as well. According to Seregil, there were few locks in Sarikali, and most of those were magical in nature. That fact aside, it certainly wouldn't do for erstwhile diplomats to be caught carrying such a fine collection of lock picks.

Instead, he slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder and headed down in search of breakfast.

A cook gave him a pocket breakfast and news that Klia and the others had already left for the Iia'sidra. In the stable yard, he found Windrunner saddled next to another Aurenfaie mount. "Feels like rain today, I'd say," Rhylin observed, on duty there.

Alec studied the hazy sky and nodded. The breeze had dropped and the clouds were already darkening ominously. "Have you seen Kheeta?"

"He went back to his room for something. He asked that you wait here."

The sound of voices drew Alec into the stable, where he found one of Mercalle's dispatch riders and her Akhendi guides trying to argue about liniments in two broken languages.

"Heading north?" he asked Ileah.

She patted the large pouch slung over her shoulder. "Maybe I can come by a few fancy dragon marks like yours along the way. Any letters you want carried to Rhiminee?"

"Not today. How long do you reckon it takes to get a message back through?"

"Less time than it took us to get here. We'll push harder over the unguarded sections of the pass, and we'll have fresh horses all along the way, compliments of our Akhendi friends."

"Good morning, Alec i Amasa!" said Kheeta, the fringed ends of his green sen'gai flying about his shoulders as he hurried in. "I'm to show you around, I'm told."

"Let us know if you find any decent taverns in this ghost city," Ileah implored.

"I wouldn't mind finding something like that myself," Alec admitted. "Where do we start, Kheeta?"

The Bokthersan grinned. "Why, at the Vhadasoori, of course."

Cloud shadows scudded across their path as they set off along the turf-muted avenue leading back to the center of the city.

It felt less deserted today. Riders galloped past, and there were people in the streets. Marketplaces had been set up at crossroads, with goods being sold on blankets or out of the backs of carts. Most of the people Alec saw looked like servants and attendants. Clearly, it took a sizable population behind the scenes to maintain the banquets and bathhouses that helped court alliances.

"It's difficult to believe a city like this just stands empty most of the time," Alec remarked.

"Not quite empty," said Kheeta. "There are the Bash'wai, and the rhui'auros. But as you say, Sarikali belongs mostly to itself and its ghosts. We are merely occasional lodgers, coming here for festivals, or to settle clan disputes on neutral ground."

He pointed to a stag's skull set on a post beside the street. It was painted red, with silvered horns. "See that. It's a boundary marker for Bokthersa tupa. And that white hand with the black symbol on the palm painted on the wall across the street marks the tupa of Akhendi."

"Are people very territorial here?" Given the chances that he'd be nightrunning here sooner or later, it was a good idea to know the local customs.

"It depends on who is involved, I suppose. Violence is forbidden, but trespassers can be made to feel quite unwelcome. I stay clear of Haman tupa and you and your companions will do well to do the same, especially when you're alone. The Khatme aren't much for visitors, either."

At the Vhadasoori they left their horses outside the circle of stones and entered on foot. Alec paused beside one of the monolithic figures, pressing a palm to its rough surface. He half expected to feel some magical vibration, but the stone was silent beneath the cool morning dew.

"You did not have a proper welcome the other day," Kheeta said, going to the moon-shaped chalice that still stood on its pillar. "All who come to Sarikali drink from the Cup of Aura."

"Is it left here all the time?" Alec asked, surprised.

"Of course." Kheeta dipped up water from the pool and presented it to him.

Alec took it in both hands. The narrow alabaster bowl was perfectly smooth, its silver base untarnished.

"Is it magical?" he asked.

The Bokthersan shrugged. "Everything is magical in some way, even if we cannot perceive it."

He drank deeply, then handed it back to Kheeta. "Don't you have any thieves here in Aurenen?»

"In Aurenen? Of course. But not here."

A city without locks and without footpads and thieves? Alec thought skeptically. That would be magic indeed.

They spent the rest of the morning exploring. There were hundreds of tupas, counting those of the lesser clans, so Alec concentrated on those of the Eleven for the moment. Kheeta was a talkative guide, pointing out clan marker and points of interest. One hulking dark structure looked very much like another until he named it as a temple or meeting place.

Alec found himself studying his companion as well. "Does Seregil seem much changed to you?" he asked at last.

Kheeta sighed. "Yes, especially when he's dealing with the Iia'sidra or your princess. Then again, when he looks at you, or makes a joke, I see the same old haba."

"I heard Adzriel call him that," Alec said, pouncing on the unfamiliar word. "Is it like 'tali'?"

Kheeta chuckled. "No, haba are small black—" He paused, searching for the Skalan word. "Squirrels? Yes, squirrels, that live in the western forests. They're everywhere in Bokthersa, feisty little creatures that can chew their way into the tightest bale, or will steal the bread from your hand when you're not looking. Seregil could climb like a haba, and fight like one when pushed to it. He was always trying to prove himself, that one."

"To his father?"

"You've heard about that, have you?"

"A bit." Alec tried not to sound too eager. This wasn't the sort of information he'd been sent to gather, but he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass.

"Well, you've met Mydri, so you can see the difference. Seregil and Adzriel were the only ones of the four who took after their mother. Perhaps things might have been different for Seregil if she'd lived." Kheeta paused, frowning at some unpleasant memory. "There are those in the family who say it was Korit's guilt that kept father and son at odds."

"Guilt? For what?"

"For Illia's death in childbirth. Most Aurenfaie women bear only one or two children, but Korit i Solun wanted a son to carry his name. Illia obliged him out of love, having daughter after daughter until she was past her prime. The last birthing was too much for her, or at least that's how I've heard it.

"The raising of Seregil fell to Adzriel, and a good thing, too. What finally happened with that bastard Ilar—" Kheeta spat vehemently over his horse's flank. "Well, there are those who laid the blame as much on his father as on Seregil. I tried to tell Seregil as much last night, but he won't listen."

"I know what you mean. It's best to leave certain subjects alone."

"And yet he became a great hero in Skala." Kheeta's admiration and affection for Seregil was evident. "And you, as well, from what I hear?"

"We got through some bad times with whole skins," Alec replied vaguely, not in the mood to extol their exploits like some bard's tale.

He was spared the trouble. As they came around a corner, they saw a woman dressed in a red robe and bulbous black hat standing in the shadowed doorway of a temple, apparently in the midst of an animated conversation with someone inside. As they drew closer, Alec could make out complicated patterns of black lines covering the woman's hands.

"What clan is she?"

"No clan. That's a rhui'auros. They give up their clan when they enter the Nha'mahat" Kheeta told him, making a sign of some sort in her direction.

Before Alec could ask what a nha'mahat was he came abreast of the rhui'auros and saw that she was talking to empty air.

"Bash'wai," Kheeta said, noting Alec's surprise.

A chill ran up Alec's spine as he looked back at the empty doorway. "The rhui'auros can see them?"

"Some do. Or claim to. They have some strange ways, and what they say is not always what they mean."

"They lie?"

"No, but they are often—obscure."

"I'll keep that in mind when we visit them. Seregil hasn't had a free moment since we—"

Kheeta stared at him. "Seregil spoke of going there?"

Alec thought back to that odd, tense conversation back in Ardinlee. Seregil hadn't spoken of the rhui'auros since.

"You mustn't ever ask him to go there," Kheeta warned.

"Why?"

"If he's not told you, then it's not for me to say."

"Kheeta, please," Alec urged. "Most of what I know about Seregil I've learned from other people. He gives away so little about himself, even now."

"I shouldn't have spoken. It's for him to tell you that tale, or not."

Being close-mouthed and stubborn must be a Bokthersan trait, Alec thought, as they rode on in silence.

"Come," Kheeta said at last, relenting a bit. "I can show you where to find them for yourself."

Leaving the more populated tupas behind, they rode to a quarter at the southern edge of the city. The buildings here were overgrown and crumbling, the streets choked in places with tall grass and wild-

flowers. Weeds had claimed the courtyards. For all its strangeness, however, it appeared to be a popular destination; people strolled the ruined streets in pairs and small groups. Dragonlings, the first Alec had seen since they'd left the mountains, were as plentiful as grasshoppers, basking on the tops of walls like lizards or fluttering among the flowering vines with the sparrows and hummingbirds.

This place felt different, as well, the magic stronger and more unsettling.

"This is called the Haunted City," Kheeta explained. "It's believed that the veil between ourselves and the Bash'wai is thinnest here. The Nha'mahat lies just outside the city."

They rode past the last of the crumbling houses and out into the open. On a rise just ahead stood the most bizarre-looking structure Alec had seen here yet. It was a huge tower of sorts, built in a series of square tiers that diminished in size as they went up. It was topped with a large colos and Alec could see people moving in the archways there. Although different in design from anything he had seen in Sarikali, it was made of the same dark stone and had the same grown-from-the-earth look. Behind it, the white vapor of a hot spring billowed up, roiling on the slight breeze.

"The Nha'mahat," Kheeta said, dismounting well away from the building. "We'll go on foot. Be careful not to step on the little dragons. They're thick here."

Alec kept a nervous eye on the ground as he followed.

The ground level was bordered by a covered arcade. Prayer kites hung from the pillars, some new, some faded and tattered.

Entering, Alec saw that the walkways were lined with trays of food: fruit, boiled grains dyed yellow and red, and milk. Fingerlings seemed to be the main beneficiary of this bounty; masses of the little creatures vied for a meal under the watchful eye of several robed rhui'auros.

Strolling around to the back of the building, Alec saw that the ground fell away sharply. The vapor he'd seen issued from the dark mouth of a grotto beneath the tower. Steam belched from it like smoke from a forge. More rose in wisps from the stream that flowed down among the stones below.

Something happened to him here, Alec thought, suddenly picturing a much younger Seregil being dragged into the darkness below.

"Would you like to go in?" asked Kheeta, leading him back toward a doorway.

A gust of cold wind whipped across the open plain, carrying the first spattering of rain. Alec shivered. "No. Not yet."

If Kheeta sensed his sudden discomfort, he choose not to pry. "Suit yourself," he said amiably. "Since we have to go back through the Haunted City, how do you like ghost stories?"

The gash Beka had gotten during the sea battle was healing, but she still suffered from sudden headaches. The brewing storm had brought on another, and by midmorning its effects must have shown, for Klia sent her home with strict orders to rest.

Returning to the barracks alone, she retreated to her room and exchanged her uniform for a light shirt and tunic. Stretched out on the bed, she settled one arm over her eyes and lay listening to the soft clatter of gaming stones in the next room. She was drifting on the edge of sleep when she caught Nyal's voice outside. She hadn't exactly been avoiding him these past few days, she just hadn't had time to deal with the silly flux of emotions he provoked in her. The approach of booted feet warned that there was no avoiding it now except to plead illness. Not wanting to be caught at a disadvantage, she sat up quickly on the narrow bed, then choked down the wave of nausea the sudden move cost her.

"It's Nyal," Urien announced, peeking in around the door. "He's brought you something for your head."

"Did he?" How in Bilairy's name had he known she was ill?

To her horror, he entered carrying a little nosegay of flowers. What were the others going to make of that?

"I heard you were feeling unwell," he said. Instead of the flowers, however, he held out a flask. "I've picked up a fair bit of herb lore in my travels. This decoction works well for pains in the head."

"And those? " Beka asked with a wry grin, pointing to the flowers.

He passed her those as well, as if they'd been an afterthought. "I don't know all their names in Skalan. I thought you might wish to know what was in it."

Beka bent over the flowers, hoping he wouldn't notice her guilty blush. Bringing you flowers, was he? And why are you so damned disappointed? "I recognize a few of them. The little white ones are feverfew, and these branch tips are from a willow." She pinched a thick, dark green leaf, then took a nibble. "And this is mountain cress. I haven't seen these others before."

Nyal knelt in front of her and pushed her hair back to inspect the scabbed cut on her brow. "This is healing well."

"The Cavishes are a hardheaded bunch," Beka told him, pulling back from the light brush of his fingers against her face. Opening the

flask, she took a swig and grimaced. There was honey in the mix, but not enough to mask the underlying bitterness.

"I didn't see any wormwood in that bouquet of yours," she sputtered.

He laughed. "That's the little pink blossom we call 'mouse ears. " He poured a cup of water and handed it to her. "My mother used to hold my nose when she dosed me. I'll sit with you a moment until we see if it's going to do its work."

An awkward silence ensued. Beka wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, but not with him sitting there. The little room was stuffy; she could feel sweat trickling down her chest and back and regretted putting on the tunic.

After a few moments, however, she realized that the throbbing behind her eyes was nearly gone.

"That's quite a brew!" she said, sniffing the flask again. "I wouldn't mind keeping some of this on hand for the others. Sergeant Braknil does most of our healing for us in the field when there isn't a drysian handy."

"I'll see he gets the recipe." Nyal rose to go, then paused, eyeing her critically. "The air is so still today, perhaps a walk would do you good. I could show you some more of the city before the rain comes. There's so much you haven't seen yet."

It would have been a simple matter to plead illness. Instead, she smoothed her hair back and followed him out, telling herself that as the head of Klia's bodyguard, it was her duty to learn the lay of the land. In case of trouble.

They set off on foot as thunder wandered ever closer across the valley. Nyal headed south, pointing out tupas of various lesser clans as they went. He seemed to know a bit about all of them and shared a few amusing stories along the way. As they passed the outskirts of Akhendi tupa, she was tempted to ask more about the khirnari's wife but resisted the urge.

Most of the city was uninhabited, and the further they got from the center of it, the more overgrown the streets became. The grass grew longer here, and mud swallows had built nests in the corners of open windows.

One place looked very much like another to Beka, but Nyal seemed to have a particular destination in mind. This turned out to be a deserted neighborhood in the southern part of the city, one more silent and peculiar than any she'd seen so far.

"Here's a place I think you'll enjoy," he announced at last, leading her into a broad thoroughfare where scrubby bushes were taking back the open spaces.

She glanced around nervously. "I thought I'd gotten used to the feel of Sarikali, but this is different. Stronger."

"We call it the Haunted City," Nyal replied. "The magic works differently here. Can you feel it?"

"I feel something." Whether it was the magic of the place, the impending storm, or the way his arm occasionally brushed hers as they walked, she suddenly felt hot and restless. Pausing, she pulled the tunic off over her head, caring little that the loose linen shirt underneath was stained with sweat and metal tarnish. Tugging it free of her breeches, she undid the neck lacings to let the quickening breeze cool her skin. Like most of her female riders, she didn't bother with binding her breasts when not in the field. Glancing his way, she saw an enigmatic smile on his lips and knew that she had his attention. Alone with him here, she had to admit at last that she liked it.

"This is a very special place," he continued. "The Bash'wai who lived here simply walked away one day, leaving everything they owned behind."

They entered one of the houses and passed through an empty gallery to a fountain court. A stone table near the leaf-choked basin was set for six, complete with cups and cracked plates of fine red porcelain. A tarnished silver pitcher stood in the center, its interior still stained with the wine that had dried away countless years before. Beyond the courtyard lay a bedchamber. The furnishings were rotted with age, but a carved wooden tray on a chest still held a collection of gold jewelry, as if the woman who'd owned them had just taken them off before her bath.

"Why haven't thieves carried all this away?" Beka asked, picking up a brooch.

"No one dares rob the dead. One of my aunts loves to tell the story of a woman who found a ring here that was so beautiful she couldn't resist taking it. Her clan went home soon after and almost immediately she began to suffer nightmares. They became so powerful and terrifying that at last she threw the ring into a river. When she returned to Sarikali the following year, that ring was lying exactly where she'd found it."

Returning the brooch to the tray, Beka gave him a look of mock disapproval. "I think you brought me here to scare me, Ra'basi."

Nyal took her hand in his, stroking it with long fingers. "And why should I attempt such a thing with a brave Skalan captain?"

His touch sent a sensuous tingle up her arm, stronger than before.

"To test my bravery, perhaps?" she teased. "Or to create the opportunity to offer comfort?"

Looking into those clear hazel eyes, she felt another jolt of sensual anticipation; there was no mistaking the passion kindling there, or the open affection. It would be so easy to close the distance between her lips and his, she thought, as if gauging an arrow's flight. Without further thought, she kissed him.

She'd wanted this—wanted him—from the instant she'd laid eyes on him at Gedre. Now she let her hands roam, greedily exploring the hard, responsive body pressed to hers. His mouth was as sweet as she'd imagined, and when he pulled her close she buried her fingers in his hair, nipping his lower lip.

His hands slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, encircling her bare waist above her sword belt, working their way slowly higher.

"Lovely one, beautiful Tir," he murmured against her ear.

"Don't." She tensed and took a step back. Other lovers had used such blandishments and she'd let them pass; from Nyal they were unbearable.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned by the sudden shift. "Are you a virgin, or do you distrust me?"

Beka laughed in spite of the hot, resentful ache in her belly—or perhaps because of it. "I'm no virgin. But I'm not beautiful either, and don't need to fancy myself so. I'd rather we just be honest with each other, if it's all the same to you."

He stared at her in amazement. "Anyone who claims you are not beautiful is a fool. The first time I looked into your eyes I saw it, yet you have been denying it since we met."

He took her hand again. "I apologize for the clumsiness of my persistence, but I swear I will continue to say so until you believe me. You're unlike any woman I've ever met."

Trapped between doubt and arousal, Beka froze, unable to reply.

Misreading her hesitation, he brought her hand to his lips. "At least allow me to call you 'friend. I promised your almost-brother I would never bring dishonor on you. I keep my word."

Perhaps he'd meant the gesture to be a chaste one; the warmth of his lips on her palm sent a wave of raw desire spiraling through her. Suddenly the light brush of her shirt against her skin was too much to bear. Freeing one hand, she pulled the shirt off, letting it drop to the dusty floor at her feet. Nyal's lips parted in a sigh as he traced the scars on her arms, chest, and side. "A true warrior."

"All my wounds are in the front," Beka managed, trying to sound flippant but shivering at the hot-and-cold touch of his fingers across her skin. By the time he reached her shoulders and breasts she was trembling.

"I like your spots," he murmured, bending to kiss her shoulder.

"Freckles," she corrected breathlessly, tugging up his tunic.

"Ah, yes. Freckles." He paused long enough to help her with his clothes, then pulled her close again. "So exotic."

That's a first, she thought, too far gone in the feel of his body warm against hers to care. His fingers traced burning patterns across her skin wherever he touched her, the sensation unlike anything she'd ever felt. Pulling back a little, she asked in wonder, "Are you using magic on me, Ra'basi?"

The hazel eyes widened, then tilted up at the corners as he laughed. The rich vibration of it against her chest and belly was a new and unprecedented pleasure.

"Magic?" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "By the Light, what sort of dolts have you let make love to you?"

Beka's laughter echoed around the ruined room as she pulled him closer. "Educate me!"

Nyal's expert tutelage lasted well over an hour, Beka guessed, seeing how the shadows had crept closer to where they lay. When it was over she was a good deal wiser, and happier than she'd been in recent memory.

The bed had proved too rickety, so they'd made do with a pallet of clothing on the floor. Unsnarling her breeches from the tangled mass, she reluctantly pulled them on, then leaned down to give her new lover a lingering kiss. Outside, thunder rumbled heavily in the distance.

Nyal's flushed face reflected her own elation. "Beautiful Tir," he said, gazing up at her.

"Beautiful Aurenfaie," she replied in his own language, no longer contesting his opinion.

"I did not think you would have me. Do all Tir hold back so?"

Beka considered this. "I have duties. What my heart and body want aren't what my head thinks I should do. And—"

"And?" he asked when she looked away.

"And I'm a little afraid of what you make me feel, afraid because I know it won't last. I lost someone, too. He died. Was killed." Beka closed her eyes against sorrow long denied. "He was a warrior, an officer in my regiment. I didn't have long with him, but we cared a great deal for each other. The pain I felt when he died was …" She stopped again, searching for words that wouldn't sound too cold but not finding them. "It was a

distraction. I can't allow that sort of thing, not when I have people depending on me to lead them."

Nyal stroked her face until she opened her eyes again. "I won't hurt you, Beka Cavish, or cause you any distraction if it's in my power to avoid it. What we do—" He grinned, waving a hand around at the disordered room. "We are two friends sharing a gift of Aura. There's no pain from that. Whether you're here or in Skala, we are friends."

"Friends," Beka agreed, even as the little voice from her heart taunted, Too late, too late!

"It's early yet," she said, rising. "Show me more of your city. Seems I have an unquenchable appetite for wonders today."

Nyal sprawled limply and let out a comic groan. "Warrior women!"

They were nearly dressed when something he'd said earlier suddenly struck her. Turning to Nyal, she raised an eyebrow and demanded, "When exactly did you and my 'almost-brother' discuss what to do with me?"

Beka's sudden appearance in the doorway of one of the ruined houses startled Kheeta as much as it did Alec.

"Aura's Fingers!" the Bokthersan laughed, reining in. "That's the first red-haired Bash'wai I've ever seen."

Beka froze for a moment, face reddening behind her freckles. An instant later Nyal stepped from the shadows behind her.

"Well, well, Captain," Alec said in Skalan, grinning mercilessly as he took in their disheveled hair and dust-streaked clothing. "Out reconnoitering?"

"I'm off duty," she retorted, and something in the look she gave him warned against further teasing.

"Have you shown her the House of Pillars yet?" Kheeta asked, apparently oblivious to the situation, or why his innocent question should draw such a loud and poorly suppressed snort of laughter from Alec.

"We were just heading there," Nyal replied, fighting to keep a straight face. "Why don't you come along with us?"

"Yes, do come!" Beka said, walking up to Alec and grasping his stirrup. In a low voice, she added, "You can keep a closer eye on me that way, Almost-Brother."

Alec winced. Damn you, Nyal!

The house in question lay several streets away. Thunder cracked

again, much closer now, and a sudden gust of wind blew their hair into their eyes.

"There it is," Kheeta said, pointing out a sprawling, open-sided structure through the gloom. Just then the skies opened up in earnest. Lightning bleached the air white for an instant, then darkness closed down around them with a deafening roll of thunder. Gripping the reins of their nervous mounts, Alec and Kheeta dashed toward shelter through the pelting rain with Beka and Nyal close behind.

The House of Pillars was a pavillion with a flat, tiled roof set on ranks of tall, evenly spaced black columns. Shreds of faded cloth hung here and there, suggesting that walls of a sort had been created by hanging tapestries between the columns.

"Looks like we'll be here awhile," said Beka, raising her voice to be heard over the downpour.

A damp wind swept through the outer columns, and they retreated farther to avoid the soaking rain that blew in with it. Alec reached inside his coat for the lightstone in his tool roll, then remembered he'd left both back at his room. Kheeta and Nyal flicked their fingers, and small globes of light snapped into being at their tips.

"What was this place?" asked Alec, speaking Skalan for Beka's benefit.

"A summer retreat," said Nyal. "It gets terribly hot here in summer. The roof makes shade and there are bathing pools further in."

Occasional flashes from outside threw bars of light and shadow across their path as they walked deeper into the forest of pillars.

Alec had assumed they had the place to themselves, but soon heard the sound of water splashing and the echo of voices from somewhere ahead of them.

Emerging into a large chamber, they came to a large round bathing pool fed by underground springs. Channels fanned out from it to smaller pools and what appeared to have been water gardens or fish pools.

A few dozen people were swimming naked in the large pool. Others sat nearby playing some kind of game by the light of hovering light orbs. Alec noted with a twinge of unease that most of those who were dressed wore the sen'gai of Haman or Lhapnos. Judging by their age and clothes, they were young retainers of those delegations, taking their ease while their elders attended the council.

Nyal approached them with his usual openness, but Kheeta hung back warily.

"Nyal i Nhekai!" called a Lhapnosan youth. "It's been too long since I've seen you, my friend. Come join us."

His welcoming smile died, however, at sight of Alec and the others. Getting to his feet, the Lhapnosan let one hand rest near the hilt of the knife in his belt. Several of his companions did the same.

"But I forgot," he said, eyes narrowing. "You're not keeping the best company these days."

"He certainly isn't," one of the swimmers remarked, climbing from the pool. He strode up to them, his face set in a disdainful frown.

Alec tensed, recognizing him by the dragon bite on his chin. This was no servant. He'd been with the Haman khirnari last night at the Silmai banquet.

The Haman stood a moment, eyeing them with distaste. "A Bokthersan, a Tirfaie." His gaze came to rest on Alec. "And the Exile's garshil ke 'menios."

Alec understood only half the phrase—garshil meant "mongrel" — but that and the Haman's tone left no doubt that it was a calculated insult.

"This is Emiel i Moranthi of Haman, the khirnari's nephew," Nyal warned in Skalan.

"I know who he is," said Alec, keeping his tone neutral, as if he hadn't understood the insult.

Kheeta had no such reservations. "You should choose your words more carefully, Emiel i Moranthi!" he snarled, stepping closer.

Alec laid a hand on his arm, then said in Aurenfaie, "He can use what words he likes. It's of no concern to me."

His antagonist's eyes narrowed; none of the Haman had bothered chatting with him the night before and no doubt assumed he did not speak their language.

"What's going on?" Beka muttered, sensing trouble.

"Just a few insults between clans," Alec said evenly. "Best to walk away."

"Yes," Nyal agreed, no longer smiling as he urged the glowering Kheeta back the way they'd come. But Beka was still eyeing the naked man.

"It was nothing," Alec repeated firmly, snagging her by the sleeve and following.

"What's the matter, too frightened to join us?" Emiel jeered.

It was Alec who wheeled around and, against all better judgment, strode back to face him. With the same bravado he'd once used staring down back-alley toughs, he crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side, slowly scanning Emiel from head to foot until his would-be adversary shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"No," Alec replied at last, raising his voice for all to hear. "I see nothing here that frightens me."

He sensed the attack coming and jumped back as Emiel lunged for him. The Hainan's companions caught at him, dragging him back. Alec felt hands on his arms, too, but shook them off, needing no restraint. Somewhere behind him, Beka was cursing pungently in two languages as Kheeta restrained her.

"Remember where you are, all of you," Nyal warned, shouldering in between them.

Emiel hissed softly between clenched teeth, but fell back. "Thank you, my friend," he sneered, though his gaze never left Alec. "Thank you for not letting me soil my hands with this little garshil ke'menios."

With that, he sauntered back toward the pool.

"Come away," Nyal urged.

The skin between his shoulder blades prickled and he tensed, expecting any moment for the Haman to change their minds and renew the fight. Aside from a few jeers and muttered insults, however, the defenders of the pool let them go in peace.

"What was that he called you?" Beka asked again as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Nothing that matters."

"Oh, I can see that! What did he say?" Beka demanded.

"I didn't get all of it."

"He called you a mongrel boy whore," Kheeta growled.

Alec could feel his face burning and was glad of the shadows.

"I've been called worse," he lied. "Let it go, Beka. The last thing Klia needs is the head of her bodyguard getting into a brawl."

"Bilairy's Balls! That filthy son of a—"

"Please, Beka, you mustn't say such things aloud. Not here," said Nyal. "Emiel's behavior is understandable. Seregil murdered his kinsman, and by our reckoning, Alec is kin to Seregil. Surely it's not so different among your own people?"

"Back home you can knock somebody's teeth in without starting a war," she snapped.

Nyal shook his head. "What a place this Skala must be."

Alec caught a hint of motion out of the corner of his eye just then and slowed, peering into the darkness between the pillars. Perhaps the Haman hadn't been put off so easily after all. He caught a hint of an unfamiliar scent, heavy with musk and spice. Then it was gone.

"What is it?" Beka asked softly.

"Nothing," he said, though instinct warned otherwise.

Outside, it was raining harder than ever. Curtains of mist anchored the clouds to the rooftops.

"Perhaps you should ride back with us," Kheeta suggested.

"I suppose so," Beka agreed. Accepting the Bokthersan's outstretched hand, she swung easily up behind him.

Alec kicked a stirrup free for Nyal. The Ra'basi reached to accept a hand up, then stopped to examine the Akhendi charm dangling from Alec's wrist. The little bird carving had turned black.

"What happened to it?" Alec asked, peering at it in surprise. A tiny crack he hadn't noticed before marred the tip of one wing.

"It's a warning charm. Emiel ill-wished you," Nyal explained.

"A waste of good magic, if you ask me," Kheeta muttered. "It takes no magic to read the heart of a Haman."

Alec pulled out his dagger, intending to cut the charm free and toss it into the bushes.

"Don't," Nyal said, staying his hand. "It can be restored so long as you don't destroy the knots."

"I don't want Seregil seeing this. He'll know something happened and I hate lying to him."

"Give it to me, then," the Ra'basi offered. "I'll get one of the Akhendi to fix it for you."

Alec plucked the lacings free and handed it to him. "I want your word, all of you, that Seregil won't hear about this. He has enough to worry about."

"Are you sure that's wise, Alec?" asked Kheeta. "He's not a child."

"No, but he does have a temper. The Haman insulted me to get at him. I'm not going to play their game for them."

"I'm not so sure," Beka said, more concerned than angry now. "You keep your distance from them, especially if you're alone. That was more than bluff and bluster just now."

"Don't worry," Alec said, forcing a grin. "If there's one thing I've learned from Seregil, it's how to avoid people."