Traitor's Moon

8 GEDRE

The next morning, Seregil watched the port town of Gedre appear out of the thin mists like a familiar dream just remembered. Her white domes shone in the bright morning light. Beyond them, brown hills patched with green rose like mounting waves to the feet of the jagged Ashek peaks—the Wall of Aurenen, Dragon Home. He was probably the only one aboard who noted the scattering of ruins above the town, like a line of dried foam left in the tide's wake.

A land breeze swept the scent of the place across the water: tender spring sweetgrass, cooking smoke, sun-warmed stone, and temple incense.

Closing his eyes, he recalled other dawns, skimming into this harbor in a little skiff laden with foreign goods. He could almost feel his uncle's big hand on his shoulder, smell the salt and smoke and sweat on the man's skin. It had been Akaien i Solun who'd given him the praise he never seemed to merit in his own father's house. "You 're a good bargainer, Seregil. I never thought you'd talk that merchant up to such a price for my swords" or "Well steered, my boy. You 've learned your stars since our last voyage."

His father was gone, but so was his claim on this land. Reaching up, he touched the lump Corruth's ring made, hanging inside his somber grey surcoat. Only he and Alec knew it was there; the rest of the world saw only the flame and crescent emblem on a heavy silver chain on his breast, signifying his rank among Klia's entourage. For now, it was best that this be all that they see, these strangers who were once his people.

He knew the others were watching him and kept his face to shore, letting the wind cool the stinging behind his eyes as he watched the boats of Gedre put out from shore to welcome them.

Alec's heart beat faster as he watched the little vessels skimming across the waves under their colorful lateen sails to greet the Zyria and her remaining escort.

He leaned over the rail, waving to the half-naked sailors. They wore only a sort of short kilt around their slim hips, regardless of age or gender. Skimming in past the larger ships' prows, they laughed and waved, their long dark hair streaming in the breeze.

Several of Beka's riders let out appreciative whistles.

"By the Light!" murmured Thero, eyes widening as he saluted a lithe, sun-browned girl. She gestured back, and a fragrant purple blossom appeared behind the young wizard's left ear. Other boatmen followed her lead and more flowers materialized to adorn or shower the Skalan visitors.

"Sort of makes you want to reconsider that wizard's vow of celibacy, doesn't it?" asked Alec, giving him a teasing nudge in the ribs.

Thero grinned. "Well, it is strictly voluntary."

"It's a better welcome than we've had anywhere for a long while," said Beka, joining them. Someone had magicked a wreath of blue and white flowers around the brim of her burnished helmet, and more blossoms were tucked into her long red braid. She was still pale beneath her freckles, but no one had been able to convince her to lie low once land came in sight.

Standing nearby, Klia was clearly as excited as any of them. Today she wore a gown and jewels worthy of her royal status. Freed from its usual military braid, her thick chestnut hair fell in waves about her shoulders. Some Aurenfaie admirer had decked her with a girdle and wreath of wild roses.

Alec had put on his best, as well, and the neck of his cloak was

fastened with a heavy silver and sapphire brooch. Klia had smiled when she caught sight of it; it had been a gift from her own hand, an unspoken gesture of gratitude for saving her life.

Looking around, he saw with a sudden twinge of guilt that Seregil was standing alone. He held a single white bloom, absently twirling it by the stem between his long fingers as he watched the boats.

Going to him, Alec stood close enough to touch shoulders and took Seregil's free hand in his beneath the cover of their cloaks. Even after all their months of intimacy, he was still painfully shy about public gestures.

"Don't worry, tali," Seregil whispered. "Gedre holds good memories for me. The khirnari is a friend of my family."

"I'll have to learn who you are all over again," Alec sighed, rubbing his thumb across the back of Seregil's hand, loving the familiar play of bone and tendon beneath the skin. "Do you know the town well?"

Seregil's thin lips softened into a smile as he tucked the white flower behind his ear. "I used to."

The Zyria and the Courser glided into harbor like two storm-battered gulls and dropped anchor at two of the town's remaining quays. Tumbled piles of stones stretching out into the water were all that remained of several others.

Alec studied the crowd at the waterfront in awe. He'd never seen so many Aurenfaie in one place, and from a distance they all looked distressingly alike, even in their varying states of dress. Everyone seemed to have Seregil's dark hair, light eyes, and fine features. They weren't identical, of course, but the similarities threatened to blur into an indistinguishable whirl.

Most wore a simple tunic and breeches and colorful red and yellow sen'gai. Seregil had spent a good deal of the voyage schooling the Skalans on the various combinations, but this was the first time he'd seen the actual headdress. They added a bright, exotic note to the scene.

As he came nearer, however, differences began to emerge: He saw blond and ruddy hair scattered among the crowd, a man with a great wen on his cheek, a child missing a leg, a woman with a hunched shoulder. Still, they were all Aurenfaie, and beautiful in Alec's eyes.

Any of them could be blood kin to me, he thought, and in that moment felt the first true stirrings of understanding. In this foreign

place he saw faces that resembled his own more than any he'd seen in Kerry.

The Zyria docked beside the quay and the crowd fell back" as the Skalan sailors ran out the plank for Klia. Following her with the others, Alec saw a bearded old man in Skalan robes awaiting them with several important-looking 'faie.

"Lord Torsin?" he asked, pointing him out to Seregil. He'd met the envoy's niece several times in Rhiminee; she was a regular in Lord Seregil's circle. Torsin, however, he'd seen only at a distance at a few public assemblies.

"Yes, that's him," said Seregil, shading his eyes. "He looks ill, though. I wonder if Klia knows?"

Alec craned his neck for a closer look at the old man as their two groups converged on the quayside. Torsin's skin was sallow, his eyes sunk deeply beneath his thick white brows. The skin of his face and neck hung in folds, as if he'd recently lost weight. Even so, the man still cut an imposing figure, austere and dignified. The close-cropped hair showing beneath his plain velvet hat was snowy white, his long face creased with solemn furrows that seemed to sag with the weight of his years. As he approached Klia, however, his stern expression gave way to a surprising smile that immediately disposed Alec in the man's favor.

The principal members of the Aurenfaie contingent were easily distinguished by their fine tunics of ceremonial white. Foremost among these were a Gedre man with thick streaks of white in his hair, and a young, fair-haired woman wearing the green-and-brown-striped sen'gai of Akhendi clan. Of the two, she was the more heavily jeweled, denoting higher status. Smooth gems set in heavy gold glowed in the sunlight on her fingers, wrists, and at her throat.

The man was the first to speak. "Be welcome in the fai'thast of my clan, Klia a Idrilain Elesthera Klia Rhiminee," he said, clasping hands with Klia. "I am Riagil i Molan, khirnari of Gedre. Torsin i Xandus has been extolling your virtues to us since his arrival yesterday. I see that, as usual, he speaks without exaggeration."

Removing a thick silver bracelet from each wrist, he presented them to her. Among the 'faie, Alec had learned, one gained honor by being able to make a lavish gift to one's guests as if it were only a trifle.

Smiling, Klia slipped the bracelets onto her wrists. "I thank you for your welcome, Riagil i Molan Uras Mien Gedre, and for your great generosity."

The woman stepped forward next and gave Klia a necklace of

carved carnelians. "I am Amali a Yassara, wife of Rhaish i Arlisandin, khirnari of Akhendi clan. My husband is in Sarikali with the Iia'sidra, so it is my great pleasure to welcome you to Aurenen and to accompany you on your remaining journey."

"So lovely," Klia said, placing the necklace around her neck. "Thank you for your great generosity. Please allow me to present my advisers."

Klia introduced her companions one by one, rattling off the lengthy strings of patronymics or matronymics with practiced ease. Each Skalan was greeted with polite attention until they came to Seregil.

Amali a Yassara's smile disappeared. She gave no direct insult but instead treated Seregil like so much empty air as she stepped quickly past. Seregil pretended not to notice, but Alec saw the way his friend's eyes went hard and blank for a moment, shutting away the pain.

The Gedre khirnari regarded Seregil thoughtfully for a long moment. "You are greatly changed," he said at last. "I would not have known you."

Alec shifted uneasily; this was not the greeting of an old friend.

Seregil bowed, still betraying neither surprise nor disappointment. "I remember you well, and kindly, Khirnari. Allow me to present my talimenios, Alec i Amasa."

The Akhendi still kept her distance, but Riagil clasped Alec's hand between his own with evident delight. "Be welcome, Alec i Amasa! You are the Hazadrielfaie Adzriel a Mia told us of when she returned from Skala."

"Half, my lord. On my mother's side," Alec managed, still rocked by their treatment of Seregil. He hadn't expected anyone to know of him, much less care.

"Then this is a doubly happy day, my friend," Riagil said, patting his shoulder kindly. "You will find Gedre a welcoming clan for ya'shel."

He moved on, greeting the lesser aides and servants. Alec leaned closer to Seregil and whispered, "Ya'shel?"

"The respectful word for 'half-breed. There are others. The Gedre have the most mixed bloods of any clan in Aurenen. See that woman with fair hair? And that fellow there by the boat, with black eyes and dark skin? Ya'shel. They've mixed with Dravnians, Zengati, Skalans—anyone they trade with."

"Word of your arrival has already been sent to Sarikali, Klia a

Idrilain," Riagil announced when the introductions were finished. "Please be my guests tonight, and we will begin the journey tomorrow. The clan house lies in the hills above town, only a short ride."

While the nobles exchanged their greetings, Beka oversaw the unloading of their remaining horses and riders.

Rhylin's decuria had fared better than the others, despite the fighting they'd done. Counting them over, Beka was relieved to see that all were accounted for and none seriously wounded. There were long faces among the survivors of the ill-fated Wolf, however. Less than half of Mercalle's decuria had escaped unscathed.

"Bilairy's Balls, Captain, I haven't understood a word since we got here," Corporal Nikides muttered nervously, eyeing the crowd. "I mean, how would we know whether someone wanted a fight or was offering us tea?"

Before Beka could answer, a deep, amused voice just behind them drawled, "In Aurenen, the brewing of tea does not involve weapons. I am certain you would soon discern the difference."

Turning, she saw that the speaker was a dark-haired man dressed in a plain brown tunic and worn riding leathers. His thick brown hair was tied back beneath a black-and-white-patterned sen'gai. By his stance, Beka guessed him to be a soldier.

He's as handsome as Uncle Seregil, she thought.

The man was taller than Seregil, and perhaps a bit older, too, but had the same wiry build. His face was darkly tanned and wider through the cheekbones, giving it a more angular cast. He met her questioning look with a disarming smile; his eyes, she noted for no good reason, were a particularly clear shade of hazel.

"Greetings, Captain. I am Nyal i Nhekai Beritis Nagil of Ra'basi clan," he said, and something in the lilting timbre of his voice stirred a warm flutter deep in Beka's chest.

"Beka a Kari Thallia Grelanda of Watermead," she replied, extending a hand as if they were in some Rhiminee salon. He took it, his callused palm warm and familiar against her own for the instant the handclasp lasted.

"The Iia'sidra has charged me to act as your interpreter," he explained. "Am I correct in assuming that most of your people do not speak our language?"

"I think Sergeant Mercalle and I know enough between the two of us to get into trouble." She felt a self-conscious grin threatening

and quickly quelled it. "Please give the Iia'sidra my thanks. Is there someone I can speak to about horses and weapons. We ran into some trouble on the way across."

"But of course! It wouldn't do for Princess Klia's escort to enter Sarikali riding double, no?" Giving her a conspiratorial wink, he strode off toward a group of Gedre nearby, speaking rapidly in his own tongue.

Beka watched him for a moment, caught by the way his hips and shoulders moved beneath his loose tunic. Turning back, she caught Mercalle and several riders doing the same.

"Now, there's a long-legged bit of joy!" the sergeant exclaimed appreciatively under her breath.

"Sergeant, see that your people get their gear packed for riding," Beka snapped rather more sharply than she'd intended.

The Ra'basi was as good as his word. Though many of Mercalle's decuria still lacked proper weapons, they set off for the khirnari's house on horses each worth half a year's pay back home.

Klia's famous black stallion had weathered the voyage well and pranced proudly at the head of the procession, shaking its white mane.

"That's a Silmai horse," Nyal noted, riding at Beka's side. "The moon-white mane is their gift from Aura; it occurs nowhere else in Aurenen."

"He's carried her through some fierce battles," Beka told him. "Klia cares as much for that horse as some women do for their husbands."

"That is clear. And you handle an Aurenfaie mount as if you were born to it."

His slight, musical accent sent another odd little shiver through her. "My family has Aurenfaie stock in our herd, back home at Watermead," she explained. "I was riding before I could walk."

"And here you are, in the cavalry."

"Are you a soldier?" She'd seen nothing that looked like a uniform, but Nyal had the air of someone used to command.

"When necessary," he replied. "It is the same with all the men of my clan."

Beka raised an eyebrow. "I didn't see any women among the honor guard. Are they not allowed to be soldiers?"

"Allowed?" Nyal considered this for a moment. "There is no allowance necessary. Most simply choose not to. They have other

gifts." He paused, lowering his voice. "If I may be so bold, I had not expected Skalan soldier women to be so pretty."

Normally Beka would have bristled at such a statement, but the words were said with such earnestness and obvious goodwill that it took the edge off. "Well—thanks." Anxious to change the subject, Beka looked around at the white buildings that lined the streets. They were topped with low domes instead of a pitched roof; the shape reminded her of a bubble clinging to a block of soap. None were more than two stories high and most were unadorned, except for a piece of dark, greenish stone set into the wall by the front door.

"What are those?" she asked.

"Sacred stone from Sarikali, a talisman to protect whoever lives within. Hasn't anyone ever told you that you are pretty?"

Facing him this time, Beka pursed her lips into a stern line. "Only my mother. It's not the sort of thing that matters much to me."

"Forgive me, I meant no offense." Nyal's eyes widened in dismay and the way the slanting light struck the irises made Beka think of pale leaves lying at the bottom of a clear forest pool. "I know your language, but not your ways. Perhaps we can learn from each other?"

"Perhaps," Beka told him, and to her credit, her voice did not betray the undisciplined pounding of her heart.

The Gedre horsemen formed an honor guard for Klia and the Aurenfaie dignitaries as they rode out from the town and up into hills scattered with farms, vineyards, and deep-shaded groves. Drifts of fragrant purple and red flowers grew thickly in the coarse, pale grass along the roadside.

Alec and Seregil rode with Thero and the other aides just behind Lord Torsin. It felt good to have Windrunner under him again after so many days at sea. The glossy Aurenfaie gelding tossed his head, scenting the wind as if he recognized his homeland. Seregil's black mare, Cynril, was doing the same. Both horses drew admiring glances, and Alec, who seldom gave thought to such things, was suddenly glad of the impression they made.

"Who's the Ra'basi, I wonder?" he murmured, nodding toward a man riding beside Beka at the head of the column. What Alec could see of the fellow's face from this angle made him curious to see the rest.

"He's a long way from home," said Seregil, who'd also taken note of the stranger. "Beka seems rather taken with him, don't you think?"

"Not really," Alec replied. The Ra'basi was obviously trying to

make conversation, but her responses came mostly in the form of terse nods.

Seregil chuckled softly. "Wait and see."

In the distance ahead, snow-covered peaks gleamed against the flawless blue of the spring sky. The sight brought Alec an unexpected pang of homesickness; "The Asheks look a lot like the Iron-heart Range around Kerry. I wonder if the Hazadrielfaie felt the same when they first saw Ravensfell Pass?"

Seregil pushed a windblown lock of hair out of his eyes. "Probably."

"Why did those Hazad folks leave Aurenen?" asked Sergeant Rhylin, riding on his left. "Even if this is the dry edge of the place, it's better country than anyplace I've seen north of Wyvern Dug."

"I don't know much about it," Seregil replied. "It happened over two thousand years ago. That's a long time, even for the 'faie."

The Ra'basi stranger appeared out of the press and fell in beside them.

"Forgive me for intruding, but I could not help overhearing," he said in Skalan. "You are interested in the Hazadrielfaie, Seregil i Korit?" He paused, looking abashed. "Seregil of Rhiminee, I meant to say."

"You have me at a disadvantage, Ra'basi," Seregil replied with a sudden coldness that sent a warning shock through Alec. "You know the name taken from me, but I don't know the one you carry."

"Nyal i Nhekai Beritis Nagil Ra'basi, interpreter for Princess Klia's cavalry. Forgive my clumsiness, please. Captain Beka a Kari speaks so highly of you that I wished to meet you."

Seregil bowed slightly in the saddle, but Alec could tell he still had his guard up. "You must have traveled. I hear the accents of many ports as you speak."

"I hear the same in yours," Nyal replied with an engaging smile. "Aura gifted me with an ear for languages and restless feet. Thus, I've spent most of my life as a guide and interpreter. I am most honored that the Iia'sidra considered me worthy of this commission."

Alec watched the handsome newcomer with interest. From what he'd heard, the Ra'basi clan had everything to gain if the borders were reopened, yet they were also closely tied to their northern neighbors, Viresse and Golanil, who opposed any altering of the Edict of Separation. So far, their khirnari, Moriel a Moriel, did not openly support either side.

It was a moment before Alec realized the man was also studying him.

"But you're not a Skalan, are you?" he said. "You have neither

the look nor the accent—ah, yes, I see it now! You are the Hazadrielfaie! What clan are you descended of?"

"I never knew my people, or that I was one of them until quite recently," Alec told him, wondering how often he'd have to give this explanation. "It seems to mean a great deal here, though. Do you know anything of them?"

"Indeed I do," Nyal replied. "My grandmother has told me their story many times. She's a Haman, and they lost many people to the Migration."

Seregil raised an eyebrow. "You're related to the Haman?"

Nyal grinned. "I'm from a wandering family. We're related to half the clans in Aurenen one way or another. It's said to make us more—what's the word—forbearing? Truly, Seregil, even with a Haman grandmother, I bear you no ill will."

"Or I you," Seregil replied rather less than convincingly. "If you'll excuse me?"

Without waiting for reply, he wheeled his horse and rode toward the rear of the column.

"It's a bit overwhelming for him, being here," Alec apologized. "I would like to hear what you know of the Hazad. Tomorrow, perhaps?"

"Tomorrow, then, to pass the time during our long ride." With a juanty salute, Nyal rejoined the line of Skalan riders.

Alec rode back to rejoin Seregil. "What was that all about?" he demanded under his breath.

"He'll bear watching," Seregil muttered.

"Why, because he's part Haman?"

"No, because he overheard what we were talking about from twenty feet away, over the noise of the horses."

Looking back over his shoulder, Alec saw the interpreter chatting with Beka and her sergeants. "He did, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did." He lowered his voice and said softly in Skalan, "Our long holiday is truly over now. It's time to start thinking like…" Lifting his left hand, Seregil briefly crossed his thumb over his ring finger.

A chill ran up Alec's backbone; it was the hand sign for "Watchers." This was the first time since Nysander's death that Seregil had used it.

The clan house Riagil had spoken of turned out to be more like a walled village. White, vine-raddled walls enclosed a sprawling

maze of courtyards, gardens, and houses decorated with painted designs of sea creatures. Flowering trees and plants filled the air with heavy fragrances, underscored by the smell of fresh water close at hand.

"It's beautiful!" Alec exclaimed softly, though that hardly came close to expressing the effect the place had on him. In all his travels, he'd never seen anything so immediately pleasing to the eye.

"A khirnari's home is the central hearth of the fai'thast," Seregil told him, clearly delighted with his reaction. "You should see Bokthersa."

By the Four, I hope we both do someday, Alec thought.

Leaving the escort riders in a large courtyard inside the main gate, Riagil led his guests to a spacious, many-domed house at the center of the compound.

Dismounting, he bowed to Klia. "Welcome to my home, honored lady. Every preparation has been made for your comfort and that of your people."

"You have our deepest thanks," Klia replied.

Riagil and his wife, Yhali, led the Skalan nobles through cool, tiled corridors to a series of rooms overlooking an inner courtyard.

"Look there!" Alec laughed, spying a pair of small brown owls roosting in one of the trees. "They say owls are the messengers of Illior—Aura, that is. Is it the same here?"

"Not messengers, but a favored creature all the same, and a bird of good omen," Riagil replied. "Perhaps because they are the only predatory bird that does not feed on the young of the dragons, Aura's true messengers."

Alec and Seregil were given a small, whitewashed room to themselves at the end of the row of guest chambers. The rough-textured walls were inset with numerous well-blackened lamp niches. The furnishings were elegantly simple, made of pale woods with little ornamentation. The bed, a broad platform surrounded by layers of an airy cloth Seregil called gauze, was a particularly welcome sight after their cramped public quarters at sea. Looking around, Alec felt urges held firmly at bay during the sea crossing making themselves known and regretted they were only spending one night here.

"Our bath chamber is being prepared for you and your women," Yhali told Klia as she and Riagil took their leave. "I'll send a servant to escort you."

Riagil spared Seregil a cool glance. "The men will use the blue chamber. You remember the way, I'm certain?"

Seregil nodded, and this time Alec was certain he saw a flicker of sadness in his friend's grey eyes.

If the khirnari saw it, he gave no sign. "My servants will conduct you to the feast when you have refreshed yourselves. And you, Torsin i Xandus?"

"I will remain here for now," the old man replied. "I'm not acquainted with some of our party, it seems."

' As the khirnari and his lady withdrew, Torsin turned and addressed Alec directly for the first time since his arrival. "I have heard many times how you saved Klia's life, Alec i Amasa. My niece Melessandra also speaks most highly of you. I am honored to make your acquaintance."

"And I yours, honored sir." Alec managed to keep a straight face as he accepted the man's outstretched hand. After a lifetime of complete obscurity, such widespread notoriety was going to take getting used to.

"I will join you momentarily, if you will excuse me? "Torsin said, entering his chamber.

"Come along, you two," Seregil said to Alec and Thero. "I believe you'll enjoy this. I certainly intend to."

Crossing the flower-filled courtyard, they entered a vaulted chamber, the walls of which were painted blue and decorated with more of the whimsical sea creatures Alec had seen on the exterior walls. Sunlight streamed in through several small windows set near the ceiling, the rays dancing off the surface of a small, steaming pool sunk into the floor. Four smiling men of varying ages stepped forward with murmured greetings to help them out of their clothing.

"Leave it to the Aurenfaie to make a guesting custom of bathing," Alec remarked to cover his initial discomfort with such attentions.

"It doesn't do to tell your visitors that they stink," Seregil murmured with a chuckle.

Before Alec had met Seregil, a bath was something undertaken only as an absolute necessity, and then only in the heat of high summer. Daily ablutions struck him not only as absurd but downright unsafe until he'd been won over in Rhiminee by the amenities of heated water and tubs without splinters. Even then, he'd considered Seregil's devotion to such physical comforts to be just another of his friend's forgivable quirks. Later, Seregil had explained that bathing was an integral part of Aurenfaie life and the heart of hospitality.

And now at last, he was going to experience it firsthand—if in a slightly altered version. Separate bathing for men and women was a Skalan custom; Alec wasn't sure how he could have gotten through a communal bath with Klia.

Clay pipes brought heated water into the bath chamber from somewhere outside. The steamy air was redolent with sweet herbs.

Surrendering the last of his clothes to the attendant, Alec followed the others into the bath. After so many days at sea, it was a delicious sensation and he soon relaxed, watching the play of reflected light across the ceiling as the embracing water drew out all the tensions and bruises of their journey.

"By the Light, I've missed this!" Seregil sighed as he stretched lazily, resting his head against the side of the pool.

There's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the arrow wound on Seregil's shoulder. The skin was still swollen, and an ugly purple bruise had spread darkly across his fair skin, reaching halfway to the small, faded circular scar at the center of his chest.

"I didn't realize it was that bad," he said.

Seregil flexed the shoulder nonchalantly. "It looks worse than it feels."

After a proper soak and scrub, the servants dried them and led them to thick pallets on the floor, where they massaged them from head to toe, kneading aromatic oils into every joint and muscle. Seregil's attendant took special care with his bruised shoulder and was rewarded with a series of appreciative groans.

Alec did his best to relax as skilled hands worked inexorably down his back toward portions of his anatomy he generally considered off-limits to anyone but Seregil. None of the others seemed to have any qualms about it, though, not even There, who lay growling contentedly on the next pallet.

Take what the Lightbringer sends and be thankful, Alec reminded himself, still striving to adopt Seregil's avowed philosophy.

Torsin joined them during the massage, lowering himself slowly into a chair beside them.

"And how are you enjoying our host's hospitality?" he asked, smiling down at Alec and There. "We Skalans may consider ourselves a cultured people, but the 'faie put us quite to shame."

"I hope they offer it everywhere we stay," the wizard mumbled happily.

"Oh, yes," Torsin assured him. "It's considered a great disgrace for host or guest to neglect such niceties."

Alec groaned. "You mean if I don't wash or use the proper tableware I'll cause a scandal?"

"No, but you will bring dishonor on yourself and the princess," Torsin replied. "The laws governing the behavior of our hosts are even stricter. If a guest is harmed, the entire clan carries the dishonor."

Alec tensed; there was no mistaking the veiled reference to Seregil's past.

Seregil rose on one elbow to face the old man. "I know you didn't want me here." His voice was level, controlled, but the knuckles of his clenched fists were white. "I'm as sensitive as you to the complications of my return."

Torsin shook his head. "I'm not certain you are. Riagil was your friend, yet you cannot have misread his reception today." He broke off suddenly and coughed into a linen napkin. The fit went on for several seconds, bringing a sheen of sweat to the old man's brow.

"Forgive me. My lungs aren't what they once were," he managed at last, tucking the napkin into his sleeve. "As I was saying, Riagil could not bring himself to welcome you. Lady Amali will not even speak your name, despite her support of Klia's cause. If our allies cannot bear your presence, what will our opponents make of it? If it were up to me, I would send you back to Skala at once rather than risk jeopardizing the task our queen has set us."

"I'll bear that in mind, my lord," Seregil replied with the same false composure that had worried Alec earlier. Rising from the pallet, he wrapped himself in a clean sheet and left the room without a backward glance.

Swallowing his own anger, Alec followed, leaving Thero to sort things out as best he could. He caught up to Seregil in the garden court and reached to halt him. Seregil shook off his hand and strode on.

Back in their chamber, he tugged on a pair of doeskin breeches and used the sheet to dry his hair. "Come along now, make yourself presentable, my ya'shel," he said, face still obscured.

Alec crossed, the room and grasped his wrist, pulling the cloth away. Seregil glared at him through a tangled mass of hair, cold fury burning in his eyes. Pulling roughly away again, he grabbed a comb and yanked it through his hair hard enough to pull out several strands.

"Give me that before you hurt yourself!" Shoving Seregil down into a chair, Alec took the comb and set to work more gently, working out the knots, then settling into a soothing rhythm as if currying a high-spirited horse. Anger radiated from Seregil like heat, but Alec ignored it, knowing it was not directed at him.

"Do you think Torsin really intended—?"

"It's exactly what he intended," Seregil fumed. "For him to say that, and in front of those attendants—as if I need to be reminded why I have no name in my own country!"

Alec set the comb aside and drew Seregil's damp head back

against his chest, cupping his friend's thin cheeks in his hands. "It doesn't matter. You're here because Idrilain and Adzriel want you here. Give the rest time. You've been nothing but a legend here for forty years. Show them who you've become."

Seregil covered Alec's hands with his own, then stood and drew him close. "Ah, tali," he growled, hugging him. "What would I do without you, eh?"

"That's nothing you ever have to worry about," Alec vowed. "Now, we've got a feast to get through. Play Lord Seregil for all you're worth. Confound them with your charm."

Seregil let out a bitter laugh. "All right, then; Lord Seregil it is, and if that's not enough to win them, then I'm still the talimenios of the famous Hazadrielfaie, aren't I? Like the moon, I'll hang close to you through the night, reflecting your brilliance by virtue of my own dark surface."

"Behave yourself," Alec warned. "I want you in a sweeter temper when we get back here tonight." He brought his mouth to Seregil's to underscore his meaning and was gratified to feel the tight lips soften and open beneath his own.

Illior, patron of thieves and madmen, lend us the guile to survive this evening, he thought.

Torsin was not in evidence when a young woman of the household arrived to guide them to the feast. Thero was, however, and Alec saw that the wizard was out to make an impression; his dark blue robe was embroidered with silver vine work, and the crystal wand he'd used aboard the Zyria was tucked into a belt embossed with gold. Like Alec and Seregil, he also wore the flame and crescent medallion of Klia's household.

The feast was held in a large courtyard near the center of the clan house. Ancient trees overhung the long tables set there, their gnarled trunks and lower branches studded with hundreds of tiny lamps.

Looking over the assembled company, Alec was relieved to see that the Gedre didn't stand on ceremony. People of all ages were already gathered there, laughing and talking. Growing up in the northlands, the 'faie had been creatures of legend for him, magical and awesome. Standing here in the midst of a whole clan of them, Alec felt like he was back at Watermead, sharing a communal meal at day's end.

Spotting Beka at a table near the gate, he cast Seregil a hopeful

look, but their guide was already ushering them toward the khirnari's table beneath the largest tree. Klia and Torsin sat to Riagil's right, Amali a Yassara to his left. Alec was chagrined to find himself furthest from the others, seated between two of Riagil's grandchildren.

All the same, he found the food and etiquette involved in dining considerably less complicated than what he'd encountered at Skalan banquets.

Poached fish, a rich venison stew, and pastries stuffed with cheese, vegetables, and spices were served with baskets of bread shaped into fanciful animals. Platters of roasted vegetables, nuts, and several kinds of olives soon followed. Attentive stewards kept his cup filled with a spicy drink his dining companions called rassos.

No formal entertainment had been arranged; instead, various guests of the feast simply stood up on their benches and started a song or performed some colorful magical trick. As the meal progressed and the rassos flowed, these impromptu exhibitions grew more frequent and more boisterous.

Too far from the others to participate in their conversation, Alec looked with envy toward Beka's table. The riders of Urgazhi Turma were mingling sociably with those of the Aurenfaie honor guard. The interpreter, Nyal, was seated beside Beka, and the two looked to be sharing some joke.

Seregil also seemed to be making the best of things. Amali was still ignoring him, but he'd managed to strike up a conversation with several other 'faie. Catching Alec watching, Seregil gave him an amused wave, as if to say, "Be charming and make the best of things."

Alec turned again to his young dining companions.

"You really knew nothing of your 'faie blood?" asked the boy, Mial, after quizzing him pointedly about his family background. "Don't you have any magic?"

"Well, Seregil did teach me a trick with dogs," Alec said, showing him the left-handed sign. "But that's about it."

"Anyone can do that!" scoffed the girl, Makia, who appeared to be about fourteen.

"It's still magic," said her brother, though Alec had the impression he was merely being polite.

"I always just thought of it as a trick," Alec admitted. "None of the wizards we know seem to think I have any real magic in me."

"They're Tirfaie," Makia scoffed. "Watch this."

Furrowing her brow, she scowled down at her plate. Three olive pits slowly rose into the air and hung unsteadily in front of her face for a moment before clattering back to the table. "And I'm only twenty-two!"

"Twenty-two?" Alec turned to Mial in surprise. "And you?" The young Aurenfaie grinned. "Thirty. How old are you?" "Almost nineteen," Alec replied, suddenly feeling a bit strange. Mial stared at him a moment, then nodded. "It's the same with some of our half-breed cousins; you mature much faster at first. You might want to keep your age to yourself once you get over the mountains, though. The purer clans don't understand ya'shel the way we do here. The last thing your talimenios needs is another scandal."

Alec felt his face go warm. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

"You are to advise Princess Klia on the western clans, I understand?" Amali a Yassara remarked, addressing Seregil directly for the first time.

Seregil looked up from his dessert to find her studying him coolly. "I hope to be of service to both our lands."

"And you do not think their request was in part motivated by the possibility that your presence would elicit strong reactions in certain quarters?"

Klia smiled at Seregil over the rim of her cup; blunt speech was considered a sign of goodwill in Aurenen. After all his years of intrigue in Skala, however, it was going to take some getting used to.

"The thought did occur to me," Seregil replied, adding pointedly, "However, as Lord Torsin opposed my inclusion for the very same reasons, I doubt that was their aim."

"Despite the errors of his youth, I can assure you that Seregil is a man of honor," Klia interjected calmly. He kept his eyes on his dessert dish as she went on.

"I've known him all my life, and he's been invaluable to my mother. No doubt you have heard that it was he and Alec who found the remains of Corruth i Glamien while uncovering a plot against the Skalan throne? I'm sure I don't have to explain to you the effect that discovery has had on relations between our two countries. If not for that, I might not be sitting here with you now, nor would Skalan ships be riding at anchor in this harbor again after all these years."

Riagil saluted her with his cup. "I begin to see why your mother entrusted you with this mission, Klia a Idrilain.

"I do not doubt what you say of him, or disparage his good works," Amali said, apparently content to speak again as if Seregil were not there. "But if he is still 'faie in his heart, then he knows that one cannot change the past."

"Yet may not one's past be forgiven?" Klia countered. When the question went unanswered, she turned to Riagil. "What do you think his reception will be at Sarikali?"

The khirnari gave Seregil a thoughtful look, then replied, "I think that he should keep his friends close by."

A warning or a threat? wondered Seregil, unable to discern the sentiment behind the man's bland words. As the evening wore on, he often looked up to find Riagil watching him with that same enigmatic look—not smiling, but not cold, either.

After the meal people wandered among the tables, sharing wine and conversation.

Seregil was just looking about for Alec when he felt an arm around his waist.

"Torsin was right about her, wasn't he?" Alec muttered, nodding slightly in Amali a Yassara's direction.

"It's atui," Seregil replied with a loose shrug.

"She also fears the effect you'll have on the Iia'sidra," Nyal said behind them.

Seregil rounded on the eavesdropper with poorly concealed annoyance. "It seems to be the prevailing attitude."

"Princess Klia's success means a great deal to the Akhendi," the Ra'basi observed. "I doubt she would judge your past so harshly if it did not pose a threat to her own interests."

"You seem to know much about her."

"As I told you, I am a traveler. One learns much that way." Bowing politely, he wandered off into the crowd.

Seregil watched him go, then exchanged a dark look with Alec. "Remarkable hearing that man has."

The gathering gradually tapered off as restless children disappeared into the shadows beyond the trees and their elders made their farewells to the Skalans. Released from social obligations at last, Alec had retreated to the company of Beka and her riders. When Seregil rose at last to take his leave, however, Riagil stayed him with a gesture.

"Do you remember the moon garden court?" asked the khirnari. "As I recall, it was a favorite haunt of yours."

"Of course.".

"Would you care to see it again?"

"Very much, Khirnari," Seregil replied, wondering where this unexpected overture would lead.

They walked in silence through the warren of dwellings to a small courtyard at the far side of the enclosure. Unlike the other gardens, where colored blossoms contrasted vividly against sun-baked walls, this place was made for the meditations of the night. It was filled with every sort of white flower, medicinal herb, and silvery-leafed plant, banked like drifted snow in beds along paths paved with black slate. Even under the waning crescent that rode the stars tonight, the blossoms glowed in the darkness. Overhead, tubular paper kites with calligraphy-covered streamers rustled on wires, breathing their painted prayers on the night breeze.

The two men stood quietly awhile, admiring the perfection of the place.

Presently Riagil let out a long sigh. "I once carried you sleeping to your bed from here. It seems not so long ago."

Seregil winced. "I'd be mortified if any of my Tir companions heard you say that."

"We are not Tir, you and I," Riagil said, his face lost for a moment in shadow. "Yet I see now that you've grown strange among them, older than your years."

"I always was. Perhaps it runs in the family. Look at Adzriel, a khirnari already."

"Your eldest sister is a remarkable woman. Akaien i Solun was glad enough to hand the title to her as soon as she was of age. But be that as it may, the Iia'sidra will still perceive you as a stripling, and the queen as a fool for employing you as an emissary."

"If I've learned anything among the Tir, it's the value of being underestimated."

"Some might interpret that as a lack of honor."

"It's better to lack the semblance of honor but possess it than to possess the semblance and lack the honor."

"What a unique point of view," Riagil murmured, surprising Seregil with a smile. "Still, it has its merits. Adzriel brought favorable news of you from Rhiminee. Seeing you today among your companions, I believe her hopes are justified."

He paused, his face serious again. "You are a sort of two-edged blade, my boy, and as such will I employ you. Gedre has slowly withered since the Edict was imposed, like a vine whose roots are cut. It is the same for Akhendi, who shared in the trade through our

port. Klia must succeed if we are to survive as we are. Trade with the north must be reestablished. Whatever the Iia'sidra decides, let your princess know what Gedre will support her cause."

"She has no doubt of that," Seregil assured him.

"Thank you. I shall sleep more peacefully tonight. Let me leave you with this." Riagil drew a sealed parchment from his belt and handed it to him. "It is from your sister. Welcome home, Seregil i Korit."

Seregil's throat tightened painfully at the sound of his true name. Before he could reply, Riagil tactfully withdrew, leaving him alone with the soft rustle of the kites.

He rubbed a thumb over the tree and dragon imprint in the wax, imagining his father's heavy seal ring on his sister's slender finger. Prying the wax up with a thumbnail, he unfolded the sheet.

Adzriel had tucked a few dried wandril flowers into the letter. Crushing the faded red petals between his fingers, he inhaled their spicy scent as he read.

"Welcome home, dear brother," the letter began, "for so I address you in my heart even if it is forbidden elsewhere. My heart breaks that I cannot yet claim you openly as kin. When we meet, know that it is circumstance that prevents me, not coldness on my part. Instead, I thank you for undertaking this most painful and dangerous task.

"Asking for your inclusion was no sudden inspiration. The first glimmer of it was already in my mind during our all-too-brief reunion that night in Rhiminee. Aura's blessings on Nysander's poor khi that he told me of your true work. Take care for the safety of our kinswoman, and may Aura guard you until we embrace again at Sarikali. I have so much to tell you, Haba. — Adzriel"

Haba.

The tightness in his throat returned as he reread the precious letter, committing it to memory.

"At Sarikali," he whispered to the kites.