The only part of her story that had raised eyebrows at all was her assertion that the Akhendi she'd met on the road had meant to kill her. If not for Nyal's corroboration, she suspected they wouldn't have believed her at all.

Rhaish i Arlisandin was understandably upset by this news. "I gave orders for their safe return," he protested, making his apologies to Thero.

When it was all over, she was led away under guard by her own riders. Rhylin was in charge and gave her an encouraging grin as they left the chamber.

"They're all right, then?" he whispered.

She shrugged, thinking of the bloodstain on Nyal's tunic.

At the guest house, Thero took her directly to Klia's chamber, where the sick woman lay asleep under Corporal Nikides's watchful guard. Her hands rested on the comforter at her sides, one whole, the other still swathed in bulky dressings. The window was open, and incense burned on a stand across the room, but a sickly odor still underlay it, one she had smelled on battlefields and in hospital tents—illness, poultices, and damaged flesh. Klia was so pale, so still, that for a moment Beka feared she'd taken a sudden turn for the worse.

When Thero touched her shoulder and Klia opened her eyes, however, Beka saw that whether her commander could speak or not, her mind had cleared.

Thank the Flame, she thought, going down on one knee beside the bed.

"She wishes to know all that has happened," Thero said, drawing a chair up for her. "You'd best keep it brief, though. These periods of lucidity don't usually last long."

"There's not much to tell," Beka admitted. "Seregil found his trail and I went on; Nyal caught up with me and sent me back with his men while he went on after Seregil."

Thero made a low, angry noise in his throat. "What happened then?"

"We were attacked by bandits and I escaped in the confusion. Nyal tracked me down again the next day, just in time to get me away from those Akhendi riders. He claimed he'd found Seregil and Alec, helped them out of an ambush, too, and then sent them on their way. But—" She paused, fighting back the sudden tightness in her chest.

"You doubt his word?"

"I don't know what to think," she whispered. Looking down, she found Klia watching her intently. "He had blood on his tunic, my lady. He says Alec was hurt and he bound the wound. I—I don't know."

Thero squeezed her shoulder. "We'll find out," he promised. "What happened then?"

"I was headed back here anyway, so I let him bring me in. The rest you know."

Klia tried to speak but managed only a breathy rasp. Frustrated, she looked up at Thero.

"You did well, Captain. You should clean up and get some rest," he told Beka, then followed her from the room.

"What about her?" she demanded, keeping her voice low. "Have you been able to get any more out of her about who attacked her?"

"No, the poisoning affected her memory. She seems to recall little after the morning of the hunt."

"That's too bad. I don't like the idea of leaving Aurenen before we see justice done."

"That's not Klia's main concern," Thero told her. "Don't let it blind you, either. There's still the vote to come. Your duty lies there."

Returning to the barracks at last, Beka was met with a round of cheers from the riders waiting for her there.

"You look like you had a hard go of it, Captain," Braknil exclaimed, handing her a mug of rassos.

She downed it gratefully, welcoming the warmth it spread through her aching muscles. "No worse than usual," she replied, managing a grin to match those around her. "I just didn't have you all there to help me."

After checking the order of the watches, she left Braknil in charge and retreated to her room to clean up. Smoothing a clean tabard over her shirt, she rested a hand on the regimental device stitched on its front: crossed sabers supporting a crown.

Duty.

She recalled Nyal sitting across the fire from her, watching her with hazel eyes that spoke only of patience.

I wanted to make certain you were safe—

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Come," she mumbled, wiping quickly at her eyes.

It was Mercalle. Giving Beka a stiff salute, she closed the door quietly behind her.

Here was another situation designed to twist knots in her belly. The two of them had spoken less than ten words to each other since the sergeant had confessed to spying for Phoria. If they hadn't all been trapped together in a foreign land, Beka would have packed her off to another regiment at once.

"I was wondering if there was anything you needed, Captain," she said, clearly as uncomfortable as Beka.

"No." Beka turned away to the glass on the wall, fidgeting with her gorget.

But still Mercalle lingered. "I also thought you might want to know that there's a rumor going around that Nyal is in some sort of trouble with his khirnari."

Beka glanced at her in the mirror's reflection. "How do you know that?"

"I was on sentry duty until a few minutes ago. Kheeta i Branin came by with the news. It's something to do with him not telling folks soon enough that you'd gone."

"What do you mean? He set them on us and led them right to me."

"Well, as I understand it, you three left the night before. He didn't say anything to anyone until the next day, like he wanted to give you a head start. It was the Khatme who broke the news."

Beka fought back a surge of hope. "And you took it upon yourself to come tell me?"

Mercalle straightened to attention. "I'm sorry if I overstepped, Captain. I know how you feel about what I did. But Nyal's been a good help and—"

"And what?" Beka snapped.

"Nothing, Captain." Mercalle saluted quickly and turned to go.

"Wait. Tell me something. Why did you keep quiet about what Phoria told you to do?"

"Those were my orders, Captain. I've lived my life by orders, and for a good part of it those orders came from Phoria herself. That's what you do if you're a soldier." She broke off and Beka couldn't blind herself to the grief in the older woman's eyes, much as she wanted to. "A sergeant can't afford to pick and choose which ones she obeys, Captain," Mercalle went on. "We can't be like you and Lord Seregil, defying the Iia'sidra, or the commander."

Beka opened her mouth to protest, but Mercalle cut her off. "Klia was too sick to have given you any orders. Braknil knows it. So does Rhylin, though we've all tried to keep it from the riders. You did what you thought was best and I hope it turns out the way you want.

But even if it does, don't ever forget that you were lucky; choice is a luxury, one your average soldier can't afford."

She looked away, and when she spoke again her voice was softer. "All the same, if I could change the way things turned out, I would. I never thought it would bring harm to you or Commander Klia. Since Sir Alec caught me out, I've been doing a lot of thinking. Phoria's changed since I served with her, or maybe I've gotten to an age where I look at things a little differently...." She trailed off. "When we get home, Captain, I'll be leaving the regiment. That's what I came in to say, and to ask you to give Nyal a chance to prove himself before you cast him off." She gave Beka the hint of a smile. "It's not my place to say, Captain, but I will anyway. Men like that don't come along every day for women like us."

"And what if I told you he came to me with Alec's blood on his hands?" Beka snapped. "Or Seregil's? There's someone's blood on him, and until I find out whose, I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself."

"Your pardon. I didn't know." Mercalle saluted stiffly and went out, leaving Beka alone with a quandary she saw no way of resolving.

51

Sarikali

Anyone who traveled these mountains carried the necessary medicines for dragon bite. Riagil kept Seregil's hand bound with poultices of wet clay and herbs and had his men brew healing draughts of willow and serpentwood bark. All the same, Seregil's left arm quickly swelled to the elbow like a blue-mottled sausage. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes and he ached in every joint. Clinging grimly to the saddlebow with his good hand, he let Alec lead his horse.

By nightfall they reached the forested foothills of Akhendi and made camp in a clearing there. The grass was soft and the air sweet, but he spent the night tossing through feverish dreams and woke too stiff to rise without help.

"You should eat something," Alec advised, bringing him another dose of Riagil's infusion.

Seregil shook his head but accepted a mug of tea laced with some strong spirit Alec had scrounged up among the soldiers. With help, he clambered back into the saddle and waited miserably for the order to move on.

"Do you feel any better today?" Korathan inquired, walking his horse past.

Seregil managed a grin. "No, my lord, but I don't feel any worse either."

Korathan gave him an approving nod. "Good. It wouldn't do to leave you behind."

Alec grew increasingly watchful as they entered the more populated part of Akhendi. Whenever they stopped for water or news, he made certain that they were safely surrounded by uniformed Skalans. He also kept his ears open and learned that Amali had gone home after he and Seregil had escaped. Rhaish was still in Sarikali.

"What else can he do?" Seregil mumbled, hunched miserably in the saddle. "Either he's innocent and has no reason to run, or doesn't want to look guilty."

They reached the valley late in the day and found a cadre of Silmai lookouts waiting for them at the bridge. Iaanil i Khormai greeted Korathan in the Iia'sidra's name, then sent runners ahead to announce their arrival.

"A better welcome than Klia got," Seregil remarked, sounding more alert as he took his reins back from Alec. The swelling in his arm was already subsiding, though the skin was still discolored.

At the outskirts of the city they found a large crowd waiting to greet them. Foremost among them were nine white-clad members of the Iia'sidra. The khirnari of Viresse and Haman were not with them.

"Rhaish?" Seregil asked softly, craning his neck to see past a tall Skalan riding just in front of him.

"There," Alec said, spotting the Akhendi standing next to Adzriel and old Brythir.

"Good. Maybe he hasn't tumbled yet."

"Ulan and Nazien aren't here."

"That would hardly be tactful, now would it?"

The Silmai khirnari greeted Korathan, presenting him with a heavy golden torque. "I regret that such a circumstance brings you here."

"Or that we should meet for such a reason, my kinsman," said Adzriel, introducing herself.

"When you have rested and refreshed yourself, the Iia'sidra will hear your petition," Brythir went on. "Perhaps tomorrow morning?"

"I'd prefer to settle the matter tonight," Korathan replied brusquely. "I will visit my sister first to learn her condition."

Alec peered out from beneath the edge of his hood, watching

the faces of the various Iia'sidra members. Many were clearly offended at such haste, but no one was in a position to argue. Korathan was the aggrieved party and was within his rights to demand an assembly.

"Come, I'll take you to her," Adzriel said, stepping in graciously. "My sister Mydri is with her now, or she would have been here to greet you."

Saaban brought her a horse, and together they proceeded through the familiar streets.

Alec had never expected to enter this strange place again, or to feel the silvery play of its ancient magic across his skin. In spite of his underlying anxiety, he savored the moment. As if in response, he caught the rich, unmistakable scent of the Bash'wai and whispered his thanks.

"Look there," Seregil whispered.

Several rhui'auros stood beside the street, watching the newcomers pass. As they came abreast of them, one of the rhui'auros raised a hand at him in salute.

"They know!" Alec hissed.

"It's all right," Seregil replied quietly.

At the outskirts of Bokthersa tupa they were met by a crowd of well-wishers waiting to greet the prince. He acknowledged them with thinly masked impatience and pressed on.

Braknil's decuria were ranked at attention on the front stairs of the guest house. At the bottom Beka stood next to Thero, looking none the worse for her journey.

"Thank the Maker!" Alec exclaimed softly, feeling a weight lifted from his heart.

"Looks like she got back in one piece after all," whispered Seregil. "But where's Nyal? I hope she didn't kill him on sight."

Beka went down on one knee in front of Korathan as he dismounted. "Captain Beka Cavish, my lord."

"My sister mentions you often in her field reports, Captain," Korathan replied, less curt with her than he had been with the Iia'sidra. "It seems her regard for you is well founded."

Beka rose and saluted.

"And in you as well, young wizard," he added, turning to Thero. "You were apprenticed to old Nysander before Magyana, weren't you?"

"Yes, Vicegerent."

Alec thought he caught a gleam of alarm in Thero's eyes; an association with Magyana was unlikely to win anyone favor at court just now. He was also struck, however, by how Korathan seemed to know a bit about anyone he was introduced to.

"A most talented young man," the wizard Wydonis remarked, coming forward with Elutheus to clasp hands with Thero. "Your master and I had our differences, but I see he managed not to ruin you."

Thero returned the greeting stiffly, then clasped hands more warmly with the younger wizard.

Did Thero know who all the Watchers were? wondered Alec.

He and Seregil followed unremarked as Beka led Korathan to his sister's chamber. The nobles and wizards crowded in, leaving the soldiers on guard in the corridor. As soon as Klia's door was safely shut, Alec drew Beka into Thero's room across the corridor and latched the door shut behind them.

"What is this?" she demanded sharply, pulling away from Seregil.

"Don't you know us, Captain?" he asked as he and Seregil pushed back their hoods.

"By the Flame!" She pulled back to stare at them both. "What are you doing back here?"

"I'll explain later," said Seregil. "Did Nyal find you again?"

"Again?" Her smile died, and Alec knew at once that something was amiss. "Then you did see him?"

"See him? He saved our lives!" said Alec.

"He told me—oh, hell." She sank down on the edge of Thero's bed and pressed a hand over her eyes. "He claimed he was trying to help us, that he let you go. But he had blood on his clothes."

"Didn't you notice me limping?" Alec asked. "I took an arrow through the leg. Where is he? You didn't hurt him, did you?"

"No." It was almost a groan. "He brought me back yesterday. But—I still thought he'd betrayed us. Even after he got me away from the Akhendi—"

Seregil's eyes narrowed. "You had a run-in with the Akhendi, too?"

Beka nodded. "Among others. The men Nyal left me with got jumped that same day by a bunch of freebooters. I got away from them and took off into the woods. Later, I met some Akhendi swordsmen on the road and they attacked me. Nyal helped me get away."

"Akhendi riders attacked you openly?" Seregil asked again.

Beka nodded. "Rhaish i Arlisandin is furious."

"Is he?" said Seregil. "Where's Nyal now? I need to speak with him."

"With the Ra'basi, I suppose. I told him to keep his distance. He knows something, Seregil. I saw it in his eyes when I asked about the Akhendi who attacked me."

Seregil gathered her into an awkward, one-armed hug and held her tight for a moment. "We'll sort it out soon," he promised. "I'm just glad to see you safe!"

Beka shrugged. "What did you expect?"

"Has Klia said anything about who attacked her?" asked Alec.

"She can't speak yet, but she's more herself today. She still refuses to demand vengeance against the Haman, though, or anyone else."

Seregil sighed. "That's just as well. I think we've discovered our poisoner. Come, I want to speak to Klia before the others wear her out."

Korathan sat next to his sister's bed. On the far side, Mydri bent over Klia's damaged hand, changing dressings.

"You're back sooner than I expected, Haba!" Mydri exclaimed, glancing up as he came in. "Should I be glad?"

"It was my own choosing," Seregil replied, approaching the bed.

Klia greeted him with a rueful little smile. She lay propped up against a pile of cushions, dressed in a loose blue gown. Her face was still deathly pale, the skin too slack, but her eyes were bright and alert.

When Mydri removed the last of the bandages, however, Seregil's stomach did a slow lurch.

"Maker's Mercy!" Alec whispered, echoing his own dismay.

Klia's first and middle fingers were gone. Mydri had cut away flesh and bone at an angle, from the knuckle of the ring finger to the base of the thumb. The raw edges were sewn together with heavy black silk, and although the flesh was still swollen and red, it appeared to be healing clean. The hand itself, once strong and slender, now looked like a splayed bird's claw.

"Those white patches spread and turned to dry gangrene, just as Nyal said they would," Mydri explained, applying a pungent unguent to the incision. "It would have killed her in time. We were

lucky, only having to do it once. I'm afraid she won't draw a bow again, though."

Seregil looked up to find Klia watching him with mute resignation.

"You only need one hand to wield a sword," Seregil told her. She gave him a wink.

"I've explained something of what you two did for her and for Skala," said Korathan. "I'll leave the rest of it to you."

He exchanged a look with Mydri and she withdrew.

"Thank you, my lord." With Alec's help, Seregil explained what had happened once they'd parted from Beka, showing Klia the Akhendi sen'gai and the sealed bottle. Tears glittered in her eyes as they outlined their suspicions against the khirnari and his wife.

Betrayed again, Seregil thought sadly.

"I can't open the bottle just yet, as I don't want to give Rhaish any warning. Before I go to the Iia'sidra, I need you to think, Klia. Did the charm Amali gave you have any marks or cracks in the wood?"

Klia slowly shook her head.

"All right. Now then, did the Haman, Emiel, attack you during the hunt?"

She looked at him blankly.

"She remembers little of that day," Thero told him. "She was quite sick by then."

"That night at the Viresse banquet, do you recall feeling anything prick your hand?" Seregil asked her. "No? Any other time? Do you know when you might have been poisoned?"

Again no.

"Nyal said the snake's bite is painless," Alec reminded him. "The poison must deaden feeling. And the barb on the ring is tiny."

"The ring! Thero, were you able to learn anything more from it?"

"No. Whoever used it masked it well," the wizard replied.

"Just like the charm," Seregil mused, "And yet they were able to preserve the memory of Emiel in it, and turn it white again somehow without disturbing that memory."

"We were just discussing that," said Thero, who'd evidently warmed a bit toward the older wizard. "According to Wydonis, who is much more adept than I at this sort of thing, it's possible to mask the essence of a person, as has evidently been done with the ring. But it's virtually impossible, short of necromancy, to falsely imbue that essence."

Wydonis nodded. "Whoever had Alec's charm, they were careful only to mask its appearance, leaving Emiel's essence to be found when it changed again," Wydonis explained. "I grant you, it's difficult."

"But what made it turn black again, if Emiel didn't attack her?" asked Alec.

"Perhaps merely his proximity," the older wizard said. "As Thero has speculated, these are the doings of someone with greater than normal ability."

Thero passed the ring to the elder wizard. "Perhaps you could divine more than I have from this. We can't afford to miss anything."

Wydonis took the steel ring on his palm, breathed on it, then closed his fist around it. After a moment's concentration, he nodded slowly. "As you say, it reveals nothing of the murderer. However, I can tell you something—it was made in Plenimar, as you rightly suspected. At Riga, I think, by a one-legged smith who slakes his work in goat's urine. The ring was used for a time by a woman named—" He paused, brow furrowed. "She is of the house of Ashnazai, I believe. She used it to murder six people: four men, a woman, and an infant girl—all of them kin to the current Overlord—and then herself. More recently, it was used to kill several calves. It has something of Princess Klia's essence in it, too—blood perhaps—and Torsin's." He tried one last time, then raised an eyebrow at Seregil. "I also sense a fish of some sort, but whoever used the ring to poison the princess has left no trace."

"Could a Viresse or Haman do that?" Thero asked Seregil.

"The Viresse, perhaps, but probably not a Haman. Their gifts don't usually run in that vein. I think it's time we had a chat with Nyal. I'll ask Adzriel to have someone bring him to her house discreetly. We don't want to attract attention."

Korathan shot him a questioning look. "Who is this Nyal?"

"A confidant of Lady Amali's, my lord. These are delicate matters. It would be best if he thinks himself among friends," Seregil explained. "I'll have Adzriel, Alec, and Thero as witnesses. I think Klia will agree that this is best. My lady?"

Klia nodded slightly.

"Very well," Korathan said grudgingly.

"This shouldn't take long," Seregil promised. "Send word to the Iia'sidra that you'll meet with them in two hours." He paused. "Beka, do you want to be there for this?"

She hesitated, flushing a bit behind her freckles. "With my lord's permission?"

"Be my eyes and ears, Captain," said Korathan. "I'll expect a full report."

With that settled, Seregil left the others and found Adzriel waiting just down the corridor.

"I'll send Kheeta to fetch Nyal," she said. "I hope for Beka's sake that he hasn't betrayed you."

"So do I. But I suspect she's right about him knowing more than he's let on."

Adzriel went down the back stairs and he followed, motioning for Alec and the others to remain behind.

At the lower landing, just off the kitchen, he laid a hand on her arm. A ray of late-afternoon sun slanted in through the open door beyond, striking golden glints in her dark hair even as it highlighted the circles beneath her eyes. She looked older suddenly, and careworn.

"I have something for you," he told her, pressing Corruth's ring into her hand. "It belongs here. Who knows what the Iia'sidra will decide. . .." He faltered, unable for once to find the right words to shape his meaning.

The light struck the ring's large red stone, scattering bright spangles across her palm like tears of blood.

She looked down at it, then leaned forward and kissed him, first on the brow, then on the back of his bandaged hand. "I'm proud of you, my brother. Whatever judgment the Iia'sidra passes, you returned and I'm very proud of you." She touched his wounded hand again. "May I see?"

The teeth marks had scabbed over cleanly, each darkly ringed with blue lissik.

"Make certain the Iia'sidra see this," she advised. "Let them see that the dragons have claimed you. Whatever the khirnari may say, you will carry this mark of favor forever, here"—she touched a hand to his heart—"and here. Come over when you're ready. I'll see that Nyal is there."

Seregil kissed her cheek, then returned upstairs to find the others crowded around Klia's bed.

"She spoke!" Alec told him, making room. "She wants to go with us to the Iia'sidra."

"Is she strong enough?" Korathan asked, looking to Mydri.

"If we wrap her well and keep her from any jolts," his sister said. Looking down at Klia, she shook her head. "Is it important enough

to justify the risk, my dear? You're not strong enough to speak at any length."

"Must see me," Klia whispered, her brow furrowed with effort.

"She's right," Seregil said, giving the sick woman a smile. "Let them see just how badly the laws of hospitality have been breached." Leaning down, he clasped her sound hand and added softly, "If you weren't a princess, I'd have had you working with me long ago."

Her fingers tightened around his as she gave him a fleeting grin.

52

Long Ears

Adzriel opened her own sitting room for the interrogation. Seregil, Alec, Beka, and Thero were already in place when Kheeta ushered the Ra'basi in. Beka acknowledged him with a terse nod, remaining where she was in the embrasure of the window.

Nyal gaped in amazement at the two returned fugitives. "So you were captured after all?"

"No, we brought ourselves back," Alec told him.

"After all the trouble of getting away? Why?"

"We found out a few more things along the way," Seregil told him. "We need your help again. I'm hoping you'll give it as freely as you have in the past."

"Whatever I can do, my friends."

"Good. There are a few things we need to understand first. Tell us why Akhendi would attack not only me but Alec and Beka as well."

Nyal shifted uneasily in his chair. "Akhendi attacked you? When?"

Seregil took out the sen'gai. "We found these among the belongings of those so-called bandits after you left us."

"By the Light! But Rhaish said—"

"We know what he said," Seregil cut in. "I

also know about Alec's run-in with Emiel i Moranthi. You remember that, don't you? Alec says you took his warding charm to be restored? Did you give it to anyone?"

Nyal stared at him, "I gave it to Amali. What has that to do with anything?"

Seregil exchanged a glance with Alec. "Can you explain how that same charm—Alec's—ended up on the bracelet Amali wove for Klia? The very bracelet that she used to accuse Emiel? You see, Nyal, as much as I wanted to, I never believed the bastard laid a hand on her."

Nyal had gone ashen. "No, she would not—"

Alec placed a hand on Nyal's shoulder. "I know that you care for her. I've seen the two of you together several times, and that she shared some fear with you regarding her husband."

"You spied on me?"

"You're not the only one with long ears," Alec said evasively, but a betraying hint of color rose in his fair cheeks.

Nyal slumped back in his chair. "She did come to me, now and then. And you're right in thinking I would protect her. But we're not lovers. I swear it."

Still silent, Beka stared down at her hands.

"But you are her confidant?" said Seregil.

Nyal shrugged. "Before we met again in Gedre, I hadn't seen her for several years. Glad as I was for a chance to be near her without her husband glowering, I could tell that something was wrong. She told me of the child she carries, but also hinted at something amiss. We spoke several times on the journey, and again after we reached Sarikali. She was unhappy, that I could see, but she would only speak vaguely of her husband's fears for his clan, and for the outcome of the negotiations.

"She hinted that his behavior was sometimes alarming, that he was not himself. He grew more troubled after Queen Idrilain's death, but worse was to come. He'd become convinced that Lord Torsin was plotting secretly with Ulan, offering a different bargain, one in which Gedre would be closed again after Skala's war ended, leaving Akhendi as badly off as ever."

"Did you tell him this?" Seregil demanded, ignoring his sister's startled look.

Nyal lurched to his feet, angry now. "How could I, when I knew nothing of it? You have distrusted me from the beginning, but I am no spy! I worked among you in good faith, and resisted Amali's entreaties and even those of my own khirnari to pass on what I heard

among you. You know my gift, Seregil; it's one that can strain or destroy the possessor's atui if he doesn't learn restraint. I know when not to listen."

"But Amali did question you?" Seregil pressed.

"Of course she did! How could she not? I gave her what comfort I could and assured her that Klia was acting in good faith, even if Torsin was not."

"Why didn't you come to me about this?" Beka demanded.

"Because I didn't want you to think I was asking you to betray a confidence!" Nyal shot back. "Besides, I didn't believe it. Why would Torsin betray the woman he was sent to serve?"

"Did Amali ever mention Alec's charm after you gave it to her? Did you try to retrieve it?"

"I asked her about it once, not long after I'd given it to her, but she said she wanted to return it to Alec herself. I didn't think anything more of it."

"Would you swear that in front of a truth knower? " asked Thero.

"I will speak anything you like without fear of any wizard."

"And will you swear to these things before the Iia'sidra?" asked Seregil. "The life of the Haman may depend on it."

"Yes, of course!"

"What exactly did Amali say of her husband's behavior?" Seregil pressed.

"At first, only that he was concerned about how the vote would go. As time went on, though, she seemed to grow more frightened, saying he acted strangely, falling into black moods and weeping in the night. Just recently, though, she told me that being here in Sarikali had had a healing influence, for his spirits improved suddenly."

"Just before the Viresse banquet, perhaps?"

Nyal thought a moment, then shrugged. "Possibly."

"And that's as much as you know?"

"Yes."

Seregil rose to stand over the man. "Then tell me this. Why did you go after us? According to Thero, you weren't asked to; you volunteered. You've told Beka that you did it to protect us, yet you claim to know nothing of Rhaish's motives. You must have suspected something; otherwise, why assume we needed protection in Akhendi territory?"

Nyal shifted uncomfortably. "On the day of your disappearance, after the Haman had declared teth'sag, I saw Rhaish approach Nazien i Hari. I—I overheard him say something about a certain pass. I suspected you'd go that way, not knowing it had been

destroyed by avalanches. Perhaps Rhaish guessed the same, I told myself, yet why would he tell the Haman? It was then that I began to fear that there was something more behind his melancholy. There was no time to confront him—he wouldn't speak to me anyway, and Amali was gone. I reasoned that if I were the one to find you, I could keep you safe, perhaps even let you escape. I still don't understand what this has to do with the poisonings, though."

"You said it yourself," Alec replied. "Rhaish thought Torsin had betrayed him and took matters into his own hands, discrediting the Haman and Viresse so that they would be kept from the vote."

"And you believe Amali aided him?" Nyal said softly.

"I plan to find that out tonight, once and for all," said Seregil.

"Will you tell the Iia'sidra what you've told us here?" asked Adzriel.

"What choice do I have, Khirnari?" Nyal replied sadly. "I swear to you, Seregil, by Aura's Light, that I thought only to protect you. I trusted that you would not have left without good reason. I hope what I did helps you trust me." He touched a hand to his sen'gai."My rash action may cost me dearly."

"You haven't told any of this to Moriel a Moriel?" Adzriel asked.

"No, Khirnari. I had hoped I wouldn't need to, but I will not lie to her, either."

Seregil looked over at Thero, who'd chanced a forbidden spell as Nyal spoke. The wizard nodded slightly; the Ra'basi was telling the truth.

"I'll have to take back some of the things I've said about you, my friend," said Seregil, clapping him on the shoulder and giving Beka a surreptitious wink. "Captain, I'm putting him under your escort until this is over."

"I'll see to it, my lord," Beka assured him.

Alone again with Nyal, Beka found herself at a loss for words. An uncomfortable silence ensued, leaving her stranded by the window.

Duty or not, she'd been wrong. He'd risked so much to be her friend, her lover—more than she had begun to guess. In return, she'd been blind, suspicious, ready to believe the worst of him. She wanted to say something, but still no words would come. Forcing herself to look up, she found him staring pensively at his clasped hands.

"Seregil's right about Amali, I think," he said at last. "She's always used me, and I've let myself be used." He glanced up, coloring. "I shouldn't talk of her to you, perhaps—"

"No, it's all right. Go on."

He sighed. "We were to be married, but she changed her mind. For the good of her clan, she said. The khirnari needed her." He let out a bitter laugh. "Her family was delighted, of course. They liked that match far better than the prospect of a wanderer like me coming into the family. That's what's most important here: duty, family, honor."

The last words were spoken with a mix of regret and bitterness that surprised her. "You don't sound like you agree."

He shrugged. "I've traveled more than most 'faie, and it seems to me that sometimes you must step outside the laws in order to maintain what is right."

She had to suppress a smile at this. "That doesn't say much for you, then, does it?" she asked.

He gave a her a hurt look. "What do you mean?"

"I've been talking with my riders and some of the Bokthersans today. It seems no one knew we were gone until late the next morning, yet you told us just now that you knew where we were going all along. So you kept your mouth shut long enough to give us a head start, then let Seregil go when you found him."

She strode over to face Nyal, fists on her hips. He leaned back in his chair, staring up at her uncertainly.

"On top of everything else," she growled, "I find out that you've stayed loyal for years to a woman who broke your heart, letting her reel you in by the balls anytime she likes, instead of telling her to take a long stroll off the nearest short quay. Extraordinary behavior, all around! I know what I'd do if you were under my command."

"What?" he demanded with another flash of anger.

Straddling his knees, she pushed him back, grabbed him by the ears, and covered his mouth with her own.

For a moment she thought she'd misjudged; he flinched back, lips tight. Then strong arms came up to crush her close. Releasing her hold on his ears, she smoothed her hands back through his dark hair, letting herself be held.

When the kiss ended he leaned his head back and raised a skeptical eyebrow. "This is how you discipline your riders?"

She grinned down at him. "Well, no. In fact, if any of them lied to me that way, I'd tie them to the nearest tree and give 'em twenty

lashes. The same goes for lovers, by the way. But I wouldn't mind having someone with your varied talents on my side."

"Are you asking me to go back with you?"

"I already asked you, that night at the Viresse banquet," she reminded him. "You never gave me an answer."

"It would mean leaving Aurenen and following you back to your war."

"Yes."

He reached for her hands, clasping them in his. "When I came back and saw that you'd been ambushed—you know I'm a good tracker. The' signs I read as I followed you told me I was going to find you dead somewhere up that road. I had a few minutes to get used to the idea before I saw where you'd outflanked them. You're an astonishing woman, Beka Cavish, and a very lucky one. I think you may just survive this war of yours."

"I plan to."

"Thinking that you were dead, I knew that I loved you," he said, as if that explained something.

"I usually take what compliments I can get, but I'm not so sure about that one."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, tightening his grip on her hands. "Ah, talia! How do I say this? If only you were like Alec—"

"A man?"

Those hazel eyes snapped open. "No, a ya'shel. We call you Skalans 'Tirfaie.' Do you know what the word means?"

"Of course. 'People with short. ..' " A stab of dread killed the words in her throat.

"I love you, talia," he said, reaching to cup her cheek. "You're the only other woman I've truly loved in my life. The first time I saw you, that morning in Gedre, with your wonderful hair blazing in the sunlight—" He sighed. "But pairings between our two races are difficult. Could you bear it, growing old while I stay young?"

"Can you, you mean?" Beka climbed off his lap and walked back toward the window, marveling at the black, aching chasm that lay where her heart had been a moment before. "I see your point. You wouldn't want to be obligated to some wrinkled old hag."

"Stop it!"

Once again, he'd managed to sneak up on her unheard. She spun around, startled. He caught her by the shoulders, his face mere inches from hers, close enough to see the tears in his eyes.

"I am willing to risk it," he rasped. "I just don't ever again want to

see hatred and distrust in your face when you look at me. These past few days have been hard enough, between that and thinking you were dead. I will lose you, but while we're together, I need your trust. I need you to have faith that I love the woman I saw in your eyes that first moment we met, now and forever, no matter what your age. Aurenfaie and Tir have loved before; it can be done, but only with trust and patience."

Beka looked into those clear, green-flecked eyes and felt the same rush of heat she had that day in Gedre. "I'm willing to work for that, tali," she replied. "But if you come with me, you could be dead before next spring, too, or I could. Are you willing to risk that?"

"I am, my beautiful warrior," he replied earnestly, lifting a strand of her hair to his lips and kissing it.

Beautiful? she thought, smiling to herself as she pulled him close again. When had she started believing that? "Will your khirnari let you go?"

"She may be glad to get rid of me after what she learns tonight. Otherwise—" The grin he gave her could have beaten one of Seregil's best. "I think I'm a bit past asking permission, don't you?"

53

Accusations

We never counted on coming back. Now they're going to ask why we left," Alec fretted as he and Seregil changed clothes for the evening's work. "I don't like the idea of lying to the Iia'sidra."

"Don't lie," Seregil replied, stirring through the clothes chest for a coat. "Just stand by me and look convincing. That was one of the first things I decided about you, that day we met."

"What? That I'm a poor liar?" Grinning, Alec reached around him and fished out a favorite blue coat.

"That, and that you have an honest face. Those have their uses." Seregil paused over the somber black coat, then rejected it—too sinister given the current circumstances. A dark green one followed it into the discard pile—close enough in shade to Bokthersa's color to seem like a clumsy plea for acceptance.

He settled at last on one of Alec's, a russet brown, for no better reason than he couldn't come up with any negative association with the color.

No one's going to care what you're wearing.

Yes, but it's better than thinking about where I'm headed.

Pulling the coat on, he did up the carved

buttons and buckled on a wide belt. At the mirror, he examined the bruises on his face. Those Emiel had given him were going yellow around the edges, and the place where the Akhendi ambusher had kicked him was still dark and swollen. He was quite a sight.

"They'll show better if you tie your hair back," Alec suggested, guessing his thoughts.

"Good point."

A knock sounded at the door and Thero came in. "Korathan is waiting. Are you ready?"

Seregil shrugged. "What do you think?"

Thero looked them over with a critical eye, then went to Alec and tugged at a strand of brown-dyed hair. "You don't want to have to explain this, do you? Hold still."

He closed his eyes for a moment, then slowly combed his fingers through the younger man's hair from forehead to nape, returning the dark hair to its natural color.

"Thank you, Thero. I've always preferred blond men," said Seregil.

"I've taken a great deal of comfort in that over the years," the wizard shot back, tossing them their cloaks. "Now, hoods up until you make your grand entrance. I'll be with Klia."

"I'm beginning to feel like one of those actors back at the Tirari theater," said Alec.

"So am I," Seregil said. "Let's just hope tonight's play doesn't turn out to be a tragedy."

The rest of the household had already assembled in the main hall. Adzriel and her entourage stood with Korathan next to Klia's velvet-draped litter. All Seregil could make out of the princess through the crowd were booted feet below the hem of a silk gown. Beka and her riders stood close by, holding themselves a bit aloof from Korathan's guard. Nyal was there, too, talking quietly with one of Mercalle's riders.

Mydri caught Seregil's eye and came over. Clasping his hands between her own, she held them tightly a moment.

"What do you suppose the Iia'sidra will do with me, once they know I'm here?" he asked.

"I don't know. They're very angry. The Haman have asked for the death sentence this time."

Seregil gave her a crooked grin. "We'll see how they feel after I'm done with them tonight."

Korathan and Adzriel took the lead as they set off. Braknil's men carried Klia's litter, flanked by the Oreska wizards and the remaining members of Urgazhi Turma. Pale but alert, Klia lay propped up on cushions, her ruined hand hanging unbandaged across her chest in a black sling.

Seregil and Alec hid again among Korathan's guard, savoring their last few moments of anonymity.

"Look, the moon's at the half already," Alec murmured.

We could have been back in Skala by now. Seregil silently completed the thought for him.

The Vhadasoori circle was dark and empty as they passed, but lights blazed at the Iia'sidra.

A crowd had gathered outside, their faces masks of light and shadow in the mingled glow of torches and mage lights.

The Skalans were the last to arrive. Inside, the round chamber and the galleries above were filled to capacity. Seregil and Alec remained with a contingent of guards in an antechamber just outside.

From here, they watched as the others took their seats. Adzriel and Thero accompanied Korathan to the Bokthersans' place in the circle. Judging by the young wizard's look of concentration, he was channeling what strength he could into Klia.

Seregil watched Rhaish i Arlisandin when Klia's litter was set down less than twenty feet from where he sat. The man's face betrayed nothing but concern.

"What if we're wrong?" Alec whispered.

"We're not." He closed his fingers around the sealed bottle, thinking, If not him, then her.

The ritual chime was struck, and the invocation given. The Silmai khirnari stepped into the circle and raised his hands toward Klia. "Korathan i Malteus Romeran Baltus of Rhiminee, brother of Queen Phoria and of Princess Klia i Idrilain, kinsman of Adzriel a Illia of Bokthersa, seeks redress for the wrongs committed against his sister, and against their envoy, Torsin i Xandus. Because these crimes have occurred on this, our most sacred ground, the Iia'sidra itself also proclaims teth'sag against the guilty. Adzriel a Illia, do you speak for your kinsmen?"

"I do, Honored One. The children of Idrilain share with me the blood of Corruth i Glamien."

Satisfied, Brythir raised his hand again. "Present the accused."

Seregil couldn't see the two men but knew by the shifting of the crowd that Emiel and Ulan had come forward.

"Emiel i Moranthi, you stand before this body accused of committing violence against Klia a Idrilain while she was a guest of your clan," Brythir intoned. "An act which, being proven, brings shame upon the whole clan of Haman. How do you answer?"

"For myself and for the honor of my clan, I refute the charge," Emiel proclaimed loudly.

Brythir nodded, then turned to the right. "Ulan i Sathil, Khirnari of Viresse, you stand before this body for Viresse, beneath whose roof and on sacred ground sacrilege and guest murder were done. How do you answer? "

The Viresse khirnari's smooth voice carried easily through the large chamber. "Should it be proven that these acts occurred within Viresse tupa, then I will accept responsibility for myself and my clan and take the dishonor upon my name. Until that time, however, for myself and for the honor of my clan, I refute the charge."

"He's going to regret those words," growled Alec.

"Don't lay any bets on that," Seregil warned.

Korathan and Adzriel bent over Klia for a moment conferring, then faced the council. Adzriel took a step forward.

"The Skalans seek justice and redress, but not against these men.

Commotion broke out briefly around the chamber, but Seregil still watched Rhaish. The Akhendi sat motionless, hands folded in his lap.

"Surely Korathan i Malteus has been told of the proofs against them?" Brythir asked.

"I have proofs of my own to present," Korathan answered. "With your permission, Elder?"

The Silmai resumed his seat and motioned for the Skalan to proceed.

"Here we go, tali," Seregil whispered, his mouth suddenly dry. Dropping their cloaks, they strode forward together to the center of the Iia'sidra circle.

A spate of excited whispering swelled around them as word of their identity was passed to the back seats and around the galleries overhead.

Stealing another look at Rhaish, Seregil found the Akhendi seemingly no more surprised than anyone else.

"Seregil of Rhiminee?" Brythir said at last, as if he couldn't credit what he was seeing.

Seregil bowed, spreading his hands wide in the ritual gesture of surrender. "Yes, Khirnari. I have returned to ask your forgiveness, knowing I am not worthy of any mercy."

"This man broke teth'sag, my brothers and sisters," Adzriel

announced. "By that act he must be reclaimed by his clan, Bokthersa, for justice to be carried out against him. Yet he committed this offense in the service of the people to whom he was exiled, in order to remain loyal to Klia and her kin, as did his companions, Beka a Kari and Alec i Amasa. I pray you, let them give evidence this day for the sake of justice."

"This is an affront to all Aurenen!" Lhaar a Iriel objected, rising angrily. "Who is this Tirfaie Korathan, to come uninvited to our land and demand that our laws be put aside for his convenience? The Exile has proven himself a traitor and an oath breaker. How dare he come here for anything other than punishment?"

"Look at the mark the Exile now bears," Riagil called out from his place among the lesser clans. "You Khatme pride yourselves on knowing the ways and meanings of dragons. Examine the mark and interpret it for us."

"What mark?" she demanded.

Seregil stripped the bandage from his hand and held it up.

The Khatme's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she walked out to scrutinize the bite mark. "I know what you are, Exile," she hissed, too low for the others to hear. "This is some Skalan trickery."

"Look closer, Khirnari. No matter how much you may hate me, you're too honorable not to speak the truth."

She gave him a withering glare, then seized the offered hand, handling it as if it were smeared with filth. She made no effort to be gentle, but he endured the discomfort willingly as she prodded and pressed. He'd happily have endured a good deal more to watch the expression of grudging awe that came over the old virago's face.

"He bears the dragon's true mark," she announced at last. "A great mark; a sign of the Lightbearer's favor, though why this should be so I cannot say."

"Thank you," said Brythir. "The Exile will answer for his actions, but for now, I vote that he shall speak, and his companions with him. How say the rest of you, my brothers and sisters?"

One by one, the other khirnari assented.

"I will speak first for Emiel i Moranthi," Seregil began, turning to face the Haman.

Emiel stood next to Nazien's chair, watching Seregil warily, as if expecting some cruel joke at his expense. The khirnari's face was more guarded.

"Honored khirnari of the Iia'sidra," Seregil went on, "as you know, proofs have been given that Emiel i Moranthi attacked Princess Klia, either through violence or poison. From the beginning however, I had my doubts. I will now lay before you new proofs, ones that show his innocence.

"Klia was brought home from the hunt dying, with the marks of an attack on her throat. Alec i Amasa and others had seen Emiel struggling with her and assumed that he was doing her harm."

He held a hand out toward Klia. "You know Klia a Idrilain as a wise diplomat. But she is also a warrior, and would not suffer such an attack without fighting back. She had struggled; there was blood under her nails, but it was her own. Emiel bore no marks, no blood. She was choking, poisoned with the venom of the apaki'nhag hours earlier, and had clawed at her own throat in panic. Many of you have seen the effects of this poison; look at Klia as she is now. Speak with Mydri a Illia and Nyal i Nhekai, who healed her. I believe the Haman speaks the truth when he claims that he was merely trying to help her when she fell ill."

"But what of the Akhendi warding charm Klia wore?" asked the Ra'basi khirnari. "Surely you cannot refute that?"

"The charm proves that Emiel acted with violence, but not against Klia, and not that day." Seregil unsealed the bottle and handed Alec the bracelet, glancing at Rhaish i Arlisandin as he did so. The man still betrayed nothing.

Alec held up the bracelet. "The woven band is Klia's, made by Amali a Yassara of Akhendi. But the warding charm on it has been replaced. I know this, because this charm was mine. Emiel's violence was directed at me, soon after our arrival in Sarikali. The men who were with him that day can vouch for me. So can Nyal i Nhekai, Kheeta i Branin, and Beka Cavish."

"This is absurd!" Elos i Orian objected. "How could Amali not know her own work had been tempered with?"

"Nyal gave my charm to Amali a Yassara of Akhendi to restore it. I never saw it again, until I looked more closely at Klia's bracelet after we'd left Sarikali."

"Amali would surely have known the difference," Seregil pointed out. "We believe that she said nothing of it because it was she who switched the charms in the first place, seeking to dishonor the Haman in order to remove them from the vote."

All eyes turned to the Akhendi khirnari and Amali's empty chair.

"I refute the charge," Rhaish said evenly. "She is unwell. Perhaps she made a mistake. She had offered to read it more deeply, but the Exile had already carried it away with him. Perhaps he exchanged the charms, and for the same reason. To dishonor the Haman."

"Oh, Illior," Alec murmured. Before either of them could draw breath to answer, however, the Khatme khirnari spoke again.

"If that were the case, then why would he be refuting the accusation against Emiel now?" she snapped. "And why accuse the Akhendi, who have supported the Skalan cause? Besides, who but an Akhendi could have made such an exchange without destroying the magic?" She turned back to Alec. "Do you know more of this?"

"I—I think so, Khirnari," he stammered. "I believe I saw Amali make the switch the morning of the hunt. Later, when I found the bracelet and brought it back, Rhaish i Arlisandin insisted that she read the charm, though he or another Akhendi could just as easily have done so. At the time, I thought nothing of it, since she was the maker."

"And you maintain that you knew nothing of this?" Brythir asked Rhaish.

"Nothing at all," he replied.

"That may have been true at the time," Seregil said. "She wouldn't have told you that she had the charm because you might have guessed how she came by it and disapproved."

Rhaish colored angrily. "What are you saying?"

"That you are known to be jealous of her former lover, Nyal i Nhekai, and disapproved of their continued friendship. So you didn't know what she'd done until it was too late, any more than she knew what you'd done, or she wouldn't have meddled, would she? You certainly seem to have been at cross purposes."

"Explain yourself," Brythir ordered sternly.

"I can only conjecture, Honored One," Seregil said. "After Torsin died and Klia fell ill, I was at a loss to discover their attackers. Such acts are rare here but I have, as you know, spent most of my life in Skala where it is common practice. I've had years to observe the ways of dishonor. I have even made my way there using that knowledge, though not in the manner some of you assume. I am not a murderer, but I know the minds of murderers, traitors, and assassins.

"I didn't expect to encounter them here, not in Aurenen or in Sarikali. My childish memories blinded me for too long, and kept me from asking the right questions. I kept thinking in terms of who stood to gain by Klia's failure, instead of who would lose the most by it."

"And you claim that someone among the Akhendi is the murderer?"

"Yes, Khirnari. When Alec and I left Sarikali with Beka Cavish, we were careful to cover our tracks. Yet all three of us were attacked by Akhendi intent on killing us rather than capturing us. Alec and I were ambushed by a party of men waiting for us in the very pass I'd

chosen to cross the mountains. Someone told them where to find us, someone with the power to track us, since I'd told no one which route I meant to take. After the attack we found these among the ambusher's gear."

He pulled out the Akhendi sen'gai and held it up for all to see.

"We have only your word for that, Exile," noted Ruen i Uri of Datsia.

"You have mine as well," Nyal said, stepping forward. "I was tracking the Exile and his talimenios and came upon them just as they were attacked. With Alec's help, I managed to rescue Seregil as he was about to be murdered, and together we drove off the others. The bodies of those we killed are still there, as far as I know. Later, when I went back to find Beka Cavish, I discovered that she and my men had been set upon, too. I followed her and watched as she was attacked again, this time by men openly wearing the sen'gai of Akhendi."

"You helped the Exile escape?" asked Brythir, arching an eyebrow at the Ra'basi.

Nyal met his accusing gaze calmly. "I did, Khirnari."

The Silmai shook his head, then looked back at Seregil. "I still see no proof that your poisoner was an Akhendi."

"With the guidance of the rhui'auros, Khirnari, I realized that Alec and I had witnessed the poisonings with our own eyes, the night of the Viresse banquet. Rhaish i Arlisandin himself wore the poisoner's ring and killed Lord Torsin with the clasp of friendship. Later, someone placed a tassel from a Viresse sen'gai in Torsin's hand to further place the blame on the Viresse. It was a signal employed by Ulan i Sathil and Torsin to summon one another to secret meetings. Only the tassel found in Torsin's hand was not from the khirnari's sen'gai, nor was any such signal sent by a Viresse that night."

"Why should Rhaish i Arlisandin kill Torsin i Xandus?" the Bry'khan khirnari asked, clearly bewildered.

"Because the Skalan envoy was secretly parlaying with Viresse for a limited opening of Gedre."

Brythir turned to Klia. "Is this true?"

Klia whispered to Adzriel at some length, and the Bokthersan passed on her words. "Klia learned of this only a few weeks before the envoy's death. He was acting on Queen Idrilain's behest, as a safeguard in case the Iia'sidra would not grant the demands Klia brought. In the meantime, she proceeded with her original orders, hoping to open Gedre permanently."

Rhaish regarded them all stonily, saying nothing.

Brythir summoned the other khirnari, all but Adzriel and Rhaish, to his chair. After several minutes of excited whispering, they resumed their places.

"We would hear more of this supposed poisoning," the Silmai told Seregil.

"As I said, I didn't understand what it was that I was seeing at the time, not until after the attack in the mountains. I believe only Rhaish and Amali knew that we had the bracelet, and its significance if the altered charm was discovered. One of them used it to track us and set the ambushers on us.

"But it wasn't only Klia's bracelet that incriminated them. It was the absence of Torsin's, and for this reason, I believe that Klia's poisoning was an accident, rather than a deliberate attempt at murder.

"When Torsin's body was brought back to the guest house the morning after the Viresse banquet, Alec noted that his warding charm was missing. If the person who poisoned him recognized the charm for what it was, they would have removed it to cover their guilt."

He turned to face Rhaish. "You removed it as soon as you'd poisoned him, Khirnari, knowing that it would give you away. You pretended to stumble and used a common spell to undo the knot holding it on his wrist. The ruse covered this little theft, but Klia surprised you, kindly taking you by the hand to help you up."

"But wait!" Elos i Orian objected. "If that is so, then why didn't Klia's charm give him away in the same manner?"

"Because there was no ill intent, Khirnari. That was the charm's magic, to warn. Because Klia's poisoning was an accident, there was nothing to spring the magic. Perhaps Rhaish could justify killing Torsin—he was old, dying already. He was only a Tirfaie. He was plotting with Ulan to steal away the only hope he had of saving his clan. But Klia?"

He gave the old man a pitying look. "I saw your face as she helped you. If you'd meant to harm her, the charm she wore would have given you away then and there. You knew that, and left it where it was. You told no one what you'd done, not even Amali. Another mistake, Khirnari, given your wife's concern for you.

"It was no secret that Klia was hunting with the Haman the following day. Amali saw a chance to wound those she thought opposed Akhendi's interests and took it. You didn't even know she'd done it until after the bracelet was found, did you? You wanted the

blame on the Viresse, and this muddied the waters. The minute I put it in your hands you guessed what had happened and began to stall and try to get it back from me."

Seregil paused, shaking his head. "From the start, the evidence didn't fit the supposed events. There was too much of it, and too readily found. You gave yourself away at last, hunting us down." He held up the sen'gai again. "You couldn't chance the possibility that we had discovered your secret, which brings me back to Nyal."

Nyal came forward again, not looking at the Akhendi as he outlined what he had said earlier in Adzriel's sitting room. "Amali could tell me no reason for his strange moods, and I inferred nothing of what you have just heard until the day I left in search of the three fugitives," he explained. "Like Seregil, I'd seen without understanding. I just wanted to protect Beka, whom I love. I did help Seregil and Alec escape from the men who waylaid them. These men meant to kill them and would have succeeded if I hadn't happened along. I left them afterward still in ignorance. I wanted to protect Amali, too, until I was shown her duplicity with the charm. Even love has its limits."

A hush fell over the chamber.

"You must answer these charges, Rhaish i Arlisandin," Brythir said at last.

The Akhendi rose and drew himself up proudly. "No teth'sag has been declared. I refute the accusations."

"What say you, Korathan i Malteus?" the Silmai asked.

"I stand by what has been said here, and demand justice," the prince said gruffly.

"Have you any other evidence to offer, Seregil?"

This sounded dangerously like a dismissal. "No, Honored One."

Brythir shook his head, looking older than ever. "These are heavy matters, my brothers and sisters. The Iia'sidra must deliberate deeply upon them. Rhaish, you will summon your wife to answer the charges made against her. Until then, this matter is with Aura—"

"What?" Korathan objected, but Adzriel laid a hand on his arm, whispering earnestly.

Alec shot Seregil a dismayed look, but he shook his head and led the way to seats among the Skalans.

The old Silmai raised his voice again. "There remains the matter of Haman's claim of teth'sag against Seregil the Exile. He has broken teth'sag with both the Haman and with the Iia'sidra in defying the conditions of his return."

"Was it oath breaking to follow the orders of those he now serves?" asked Iriel a Kasrai.

"He is Aurenfaie, and subject to the laws," Galmyn i Nemius maintained.

"But he is exiled, and serves the Skalans," said Ulan i Sathil. "Is he therefore not cut off from the law as well as the comfort of his own kind? If he is not allowed to act as one of the people, is he subject to the same law?"

Seregil gave the Viresse an appraising look, knowing that self-interest lurked somewhere close to the surface of this unexpected support.

"Do the restrictions he and the Skalans agreed to mean nothing, then?" retorted Lhaar a Iriel. "If so, then may the Tirfaie simply not take what they want from us, regardless of what we say? You offer a dangerous precedent, Ulan. Conditions were laid down and agreed to. The Skalans and the Exile must abide by them."

"The Skalans have been wronged!" Adzriel Objected.

Brythir raised his hands for order. "This, too, must be debated with care. We must have time for reflections. Nazien i Hari, do you maintain the claim of teth'sag against this man, Seregil of Rhiminee?"

"I must, for honor's sake, Khirnari," Nazien replied solemnly. "He broke teth'sag. His khirnari must again accept responsibility for him."

Alec's knuckles went white as he clenched his fists. "That ungrateful son of—"

"No, Alec," Seregil whispered quickly. "He has no choice."

Adzriel rose and bowed deeply. "With great sorrow, Khirnari, I accept the justice of your claim. By my honor and that of my clan, I pledge to keep guard over him until judgment has been passed."

"Very well," said Brythir. "We will meet tomorrow morning and resume the debate. Rhaish i Arlisandin, you will summon Amali a Yassara. Korathan i Malteus, you have until the next half-moon to prove your charges."

Klia stirred, raising her good hand toward Korathan.

He listened, then asked, "What of the vote?"

"That must wait until these other matters have been settled," Brythir replied.

"Damnation!" Alec hissed softly.

The closing invocation was given, and the crowd slowly dispersed. Seregil leaned over to Alec, as if to comfort him, and whispered quickly in his ear. "Ask to stay with me. Make a scene."

Alec gave him a startled look. "What? I can't—"

"Just do it!"

"Come, Seregil," Adzriel said.

"Let me come, too!" Alec blurted out, grabbing Seregil's arm. He blushed as Beka and Thero turned to stare but clung doggedly to him.

Adzriel patted his arm consolingly. "I'm sorry, my dear, but that's quite impossible."

"It's my own fault, tali," Seregil said, looking mortified as he forcefully disentangled himself from Alec's grasp. "Come on now, don't act this way. You're bringing shame on both of us."

"I can't bear it," Alec groaned, burying his burning face in his hands. "After all we went through to get back here!"

"Control yourself, boy. You're making a spectacle of yourself," Korathan growled in disgust.

It took all of Seregil's frayed will to look his sister in the eye and dissemble. "I'm sorry, Adzriel, he's so young—Perhaps I could have my old room for the night? Then at least we could see each other's windows."

"It's as good a place as any," she agreed, clearly shocked by Alec's behavior.

"There now," Seregil murmured, bending to hug Alec. His friend stole a questioning look at him, and Seregil slipped him the signs for "nightrunning tonight."

"Old secrets," Seregil murmured, kissing him good-bye.

"Luck in the shadows," Alec whispered back, and Seregil breathed a sigh of relief.

As he turned to follow Adzriel, Thero grabbed him in an awkward and totally uncharacteristic embrace. "Good luck to you, my friend," he whispered, slipping him something in a little wad of cloth. "Remember your nature and depend on it."

"I will," Seregil assured him, palming the mysterious gift.

54

Teth'sag

Seregil lay on the musty bed, staring up into the darkness and trying not to dwell on all the lies he'd had to tell to end up here alone in his ruined childhood room. Blinding himself to the pain and worry in the faces of the others, he'd shut himself off from them more thoroughly than he had when he'd left the city a week earlier.

And could you sit with them, your sisters and friends, knowing that tomorrow you face judgment, and that Adzriel will be the one forced to carry out the sentence?

Better to lie here alone, conjuring Rhaish i Arlisandin's face out of the darkness as he mulled the events of the day. Seregil had dealt with liars for most of his life and practiced deceit as an art himself. No honest man was ever that calm.

The Iia'sidra might see through the Akhendi eventually, but how many more Skalans would die for want of what could so easily be given? He'd sacrificed his birthright for this mission, Klia her hand, Torsin his life. What else would be lost while the Iia'sidra paced itself in the cold cycles of the moon?

He absently fingered the little wax figure Thero had slipped him, recalling the wizard's parting words. Remember your nature and

depend on it. Was Thero speaking in double riddles now, like a rhui'auros, or had Seregil merely imagined the challenge, wanted to hear it?

He'd understood, of course. The wax figure was filled with Thero's spell, needing only a key word spoken over it to release it— Nysander had done the same for him many times, since he couldn't manage magic himself. The "nature" Thero had hinted at referred to the spell of intrinsic nature. A favorite of Seregil's from his apprentice days, it transformed one into an animal form said to give the seeker insight into his own heart.

Nysander had cast it on Alec soon after they met, and the boy had, to no one's real surprise, turned into a magnificent young stag.

Seregil hadn't been much older than Alec the first time Nysander had tried it on him. Finding himself in the sleek brown body of an otter, he'd almost wept with disappointment. He'd hoped for something a bit more impressive, a wolf, perhaps, or a great bird of prey like his master, who transformed into an eagle. Looking down at his chinless, whiskered reflection in a glass Nysander had set on the floor, he'd thought himself ridiculous beyond words.

"An otter?" he'd grunted, appalled at his raspy little voice. "What are they good for, except trimming coats?"

"Intelligent, playful creatures, otters. Users of tools, I believe," Nysander had remarked, running a hand down Seregil's supple back. "Sharp teeth, too, and fierce for their size when cornered."

"It's not what I'd have chosen," Seregil sniffed, still skeptical.

"And just what makes you think you get to choose, dear boy?" Nysander had laughed, then made him hump and waddle his way down all those long flights of stairs to one of the Oreska's garden pools, where he'd rediscovered the sheer joy of water.

Seregil shook free of the half-doze that had claimed him and sat up. Stealing silently to the door, he listened to the low voices of his guards. The three men outside were distant kinsmen. Kheeta and his sisters had offered to sit with him, but he'd pleaded weariness.

It hurt a bit, that they believed him and left him to himself.

He pulled a stool over to the balcony door and settled down to wait, knowing it was still too early.

Sitting there, he clocked the moon an hour's span, watching the house next door.

Alec sat awhile with Beka in the colos, then went alone to his room. Seregil saw him framed against the bright rectangle of his

own doorway and resisted the urge to wave. After a while the light went out there, though he thought he could make out a dark form still on watch, sharing his vigil.

There was more to being a good burglar than watching the moon. Some inner sense told Seregil when the moment was right, like picking up a scent on the night air, or a certain type of stillness.

He lifted the bed aside and reached beneath the loose stone tile for the grapple, brushing the doll as he felt about. A tendril of ancient hair tangled around his finger, and he caught a strain of strange, sweet music.

"Saying good-bye, my friends?" he whispered gratefully.

Tossing the grapple on the bed, he replaced the tile, then stripped to breeches and a dark tunic for the night's work.

Next, he placed Thero's bit of molded wax under the covers and whispered, "Otter."

A familiar form took shape under the blankets, and he found himself staring down at his own death mask. He lacked the magic to give the simulacrum the semblance of life, so he made do by turning it onto its side and arranging the limbs in a more natural pose. The feel of the cold, unnatural flesh made his skin crawl. It was like playing with his own corpse.

Just pray no one comes in to check on me, he thought as he headed out to the balcony.

The clink of metal on tile sounded dangerously loud as he set the hook on the edge of the roof. His bitten hand ached as he climbed, but the pain was nothing compared to the mix of fear and exhilaration that claimed him as he gained the roof. He felt like a child again, sneaking out to ride beneath the stars; or the Cat, nightrunning across the best roofs of Rhiminee. Either way, he was himself in a way he hadn't been for months—years maybe—and it felt damn good.

His feet remembered the secret way down the disused staircase at the back of the house to a certain landing that overhung the garden wall.

Alec stepped out of the deep shadows to his right as soon as he dropped to the ground. Without a word they set off together, a double shadow against the darkness.

"That was quite a performance you gave at the Iia'sidra," Seregil said when they were outside Bokthersa tupa. "Well done!"

Alec let out a derisive snort. "Oh, so you like me sounding like a clinging little rentboy, do you?"

"Is that the effect you were aiming for? "

"Bilairy's Balls, Seregil, you caught me off guard and I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind." Alec hunched his shoulders miserably. "I can hardly look Korathan in the eye."

Seregil chuckled. "I doubt it lowered his opinion of you much."

Akhendi tupa was quiet tonight. Keeping to side streets, they skirted the few taverns that were still open and reached the khirnari's house unseen.

With the aid of Seregil's grapple, they scaled the back wall and crept to the edge of the roof overlooking the gardens below. Judging by the darkened windows, the household had gone to bed.

They climbed down and followed a path between banks of flowers. Passing the bower where they'd last seen Amali, they saw that the door leading into the khirnari's bedchamber stood open.

Alec started toward it, but Seregil reached to stop him. There was no mistaking the soft rustle of a silk robe close by.

"I thought you might come, Exile."

They both crouched as a soft mage light winked into being in a nearby corner of the garden. It glowed in the hollow of Rhaish i Arlisandin's palm, just bright enough to illuminate the khirnari's lined face and the arms of the chair where he sat. Raising his other hand to view, he sipped from a clay wine cup, then set it down on a little table at his elbow.

"Please join me," he said, waving them closer. "You have nothing to fear from me now."

"I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long, Khirnari," Seregil countered, searching the shadows suspiciously. Having a light in his face made it harder to see.

"I spend most of my nights here. Sleep is not the friend it once was," Rhaish replied. "I watched you both the day you searched Ulan's house, and again today, as you cobbled together what you think I have done. You may have your mother's face, Seregil, but you possess your father's will, stubborn as iron."

Something in the man's manner sent a chill through Seregil, making his right palm itch for the grip of a sword. Yet Rhaish made no move, gave no signal, just reached again for his wine cup and drank deeply.

"I know you did those things," Alec said. "But I don't understand how you could. Torsin trusted you; we all did."

"You are a good man, young Alec, but you are not Aurenfaie. You

don't know what it is to wear the sen'gai of your ancestors, or to stand by and watch the land they walked die. No sacrifice is too great."

"Except Amali?" Seregil asked.

The old man grimaced, then said hoarsely, "She bears my only son, the carrier of my name. What she did, she did in ignorance. The fault is mine and I bear the blame. You might convince the Iia'sidra of her guilt in time, but you would be convincing them of a lie."

He reached into his robe and took out a simple woven bracelet with a blackened charm. His hands were trembling now, making the shadows jitter. "This belonged to Torsin i Xandus. It will prove your claim against me. Let it end there and justice is served."

A spasm of some sort gripped him then, and he clenched the fist holding the bracelet. The mage light still cradled in his other palm flared and flickered.

"Oh, no," Seregil gasped.

The shadows slewed again as Rhaish placed the bracelet on the table and shifted the light to his other hand. Its glow fell across the second cup that had been hidden before, and the small nosegay that lay next to it.

He heard Alec's sharp intake of breath as the younger man recognized the clusters of bell-shaped blossoms. "Wolfbane," he whispered, giving them their Tir name.

"Not cups. Bowls. It's dwai sholo," said Seregil. "This amounts to an admission of guilt."

"Yes," Rhaish gasped. "I considered using the apaki'nhag venom, but feared it might confuse the issue. I want no confusion." Another spasm shook him, Gritting his teeth, he pulled off his sengai and let it fall beside his chair. "The guilt is mine, and I bear it alone."

"Do you swear that by Aura's Light?' asked Seregil.

"I do. How could I ask anyone else to partake of such dishonor, no matter how necessary?" He stretched out a hand to Seregil and he took it, kneeling before the dying man.

"You'll make them believe?' Rhaish whispered. "Let my death absolve the name of Akhendi, and take all dishonor."

"I will, Khirnari," Seregil replied softly. The man's fingers were already icy. Leaning closer, Seregil spoke quickly. "I was right, wasn't I, about Klia's poisoning being an accident?"

Rhaish nodded. "Nor did I intend harm to the Haman. Silly girl— talia. Though I should—" He gagged, then drew a labored breath. The mage light still cupped in his palm was failing. "I should like to

have bested Ulan, the old schemer, and beaten him at his own game for once. Aura forgive—"

A spate of sour bile burst from the old man's mouth, staining the front of his robe black in the moonlight. He shuddered violently and fell back in his chair. The mage light went out.

Seregil felt the fleeting tingle of the departing khi as the cold hand went limp. "Poor old fool." The silence of the garden seemed to thicken into something more ominous, and he lowered his voice to a cautious whisper. "He had too much atui to be good at murder."

"Atui?" muttered Alec. "After what he did?"

"I don't excuse it, but I understand."

Alec shrugged and reached for the bracelet. "At least he gave us what we need.

"No, don't touch it. All this?" He gestured at the bracelet, the clay bowls, the cast-off sen'gai. "It's as good as any confession. They don't need us for that. Come on, let's go back before we're missed."

But Alec remained where he was, staring down at the dead man's slumped form. Seregil couldn't see his face, but heard a tremor in his voice when he said at last, "That could be you, if Nazien has his way."

"I'm not going to run away, Alec." A fatalistic smile tugged at the corner of Seregil's mouth. "At least not until I'm certain I have to."

Alec said nothing more as they hurried back to Bokthersa tupa, but Seregil could feel his fear like a chilled blade against his skin. He wanted to reach out, offer some comfort, but had none to give, still driven by the stubborn resolve that had come to him in the mountains.

He wouldn't run away.

Back in Bokthersa tupa, they paused outside the guest house. Seregil searched for something to say, but Alec cut him off, grasping him fiercely by the neck and pressing his forehead to Seregil's. Seregil hugged him close, fighting rigid limbs to drink in his lover's warmth and comforting scent. "They're not going to kill me, Alec," he whispered into the soft hair pressed beneath his lips.

"They can." No tears, but such misery.

"They won't." Seregil pressed his wounded hand to his friend's cheek, letting him feel the pebbled rows of scabs. "They won't kill me."

Alec rocked his head hard against Seregil's shoulder, then pulled away and scaled the stable-yard wall without a backward glance.

55

Judgment

Returning to his too empty room, Alec lit all the lamps, wanting to drive off the shadow of his own dark thoughts. , Anything to block out the memory of that slumped figure, and the two bowls.

Caught between fear and anger, he threw together two small traveling packs, preparing for a quick escape if that's what it took to keep Seregil from a headlong plunge into self-destruction. Time and again he went out to the balcony, but his friend's dark window revealed nothing.

What is he thinking? he raged silently, pacing again.

His own hopes and illusions mocked him now. He'd come to Aurenen to discover some part of his past, and Seregil's. Yet what had it come to? The revelation of his mother's sacrifice, the maiming of Klia, shame heaped on his friend, and now Seregil's inexplicable resolve to face the Iia'sidra.

Thero slipped in just then, looking as if he hadn't been to bed yet, either. "I saw your light. Were you successful?"

"After a fashion." Alec told him what they'd found, and how Seregil had chosen to leave things.

The wizard seemed satisfied with this turn

of events. "It's not over yet, my friend," he said, resting a hand on Alec's shoulder. "Sleep now."

Alec just had time to realize that this was a spell rather than a friendly suggestion before oblivion claimed him.

Alec awoke with the first hint of dawn creeping in through the balcony door. Pushing off the blanket Thero had spread over him, he changed clothes and hurried downstairs.

Noticing that Klia's door stood open, he stopped to check on her. Ariani was with her, talking softly to Klia as she brushed her dark hair. Both women looked up as he entered. He hadn't bothered with a mirror that morning, but the expression on the rider's face served well enough. Klia murmured something and Ariani withdrew, leaving them alone.

"How are you, my lady?" he asked, taking the chair next to the bed.

Her eyes were still deeply sunken, but her cheeks showed more color today. "A little better, I think," she whispered. "Thero told me—the others don't know yet. Rhaish—" Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down toward her ears. Alec blotted them with the end of his sleeve, then covered her good hand with his own. A healthy warmth radiated from her skin.

"Will it help us?" she whispered thickly, forcing the words out.

"Seregil thinks so."

"Good," she closed her eyes. "Don't give up. Nothing else matters now. Too far—"

"You have my word," Alec assured her, wondering if she understood what Seregil faced.

Better if she doesn't, he decided. He pressed his lips to her hand. "Rest now, my lady. We need you back."

She didn't open her eyes, but he felt the slight, answering pressure of her fingers against his. The feel of it lingered against his skin as he continued on to the hall.

The others were there ahead of him. The room was crowded with Korathan's guard and Urgazhi Turma. Craning his neck, Alec spotted Korathan and Wydonis talking with Thero by the hearth.

"There you are," Beka said, emerging from the press. She looked nervous. "Are you ready?"

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Word just came from Adzriel. Rhaish is dead. It looks like you and Seregil were right."

"What are they're saying?" Alec asked, holding relief at bay.

Before she could answer, Thero waved him over. Leaving Beka to her preparations, he pushed past the soldiers and joined the prince and wizards in the small side chamber.

Korathan was sipping tea, the delicate Aurenfaie cup all but hidden in his large, callused hand. Regarding Alec over the rim, he said quietly, "You should have reported to me last night. I had to hear it from Klia's wizard today."

Alec met the man's pale gaze without flinching. "I'm sorry, my lord. I thought—"

"I'm not interested in what you thought. You didn't help the old bastard along, did you? "

"No, my lord," Alec reported. "We—I—" It was too late to wonder just what Thero had told him. "Seregil and I just went to spy. Rhaish i Arlisandin had already poisoned himself when we arrived. We just happened to be there."

Korathan gave him another long, unreadable look. "Is there anything else you've kept back that I should know about?"

"No, my lord."

"There'd better not be."

Setting his cup aside, Korathan turned to the others. "Since you all seem to know what my original orders were, let me make clear to you where we stand now. If Alec and Seregil hadn't brought the news they did, I'd have carried those orders out. I make no apologies for that. I'm the queen's brother, and the queen's man. However, I will confess relief at the way things have turned out. I only hope I can be as convincing as Seregil was that this is a wiser course of action. The best way to do that is to carry out the mission my mother gave you: secure that northern port, and establish a reliable source of horses, steel, and provisions. As Vicegerent of Skala, I will parlay for those as soon as we get this business with Seregil out of the way. I don't pretend to understand this Iia'sidra of theirs, or how they function without a ruler. I know only that Skala has no time to waste in idle palaver."

Rhaish i Arlisandin's unexpected death delayed Seregil's trial until late morning. Alec paced the corridors and stable yard, unable to settle to anything. At last, however, he and the others set off for the

Iia'sidra again. Klia had again insisted on attending, and Thero stayed close beside her litter as she was carried through the streets.

No crowd greeted them today. Their footfalls echoed loudly as they filed into the chamber and took their place with the Bokthersans. The galleries were empty except for a few robed rhui'auros and scattered spectators. The Eleven were not yet in their seats.

One sight held his attention above all others, however, and set his heart hammering against his ribs.

A lone figure lay facedown in the center of the dark stone floor, arms stretched out to either side. It was Seregil. Alec knew him without needing to see the face hidden by the dark hair.

He was clad in a plain white tunic and trousers and lay utterly still, hardly seeming to breathe. Kheeta and Saaban flanked him like grim specters.

"Courage, Alec," whispered Beka, guiding him to his seat.

Atui, Alec thought, steeling himself. No one would say today that the talimenios of the Exile dishonored him with unseemly behavior.

Seregil had lost track of how long he'd lain there. Adzriel brought him to the Iia'sidra a few hours after sunrise. The stone floor was still cold from the night then, and the chill seeped up through his thin clothes, sapping the warmth from his muscles.

He'd lain on wet grass last time, in his father's own fai'thast. Insects had come and gone across his skin, and the turf had tickled his face as it drank his tears.

His face and chest hurt from pressing against the cold stone, and his muscles were soon twitching from the strain of keeping still. But he did not move, just listened to the distant sounds from outside.

In Bokthersa, he'd listened to the mocking whispers of children and young faie. It hurt worst when he recognized the voices of friends.

Here, it was so quiet that he could hear people passing by in the street. From the bits and pieces of conversation he caught, he knew that Rhaish's death had been discovered, and smiled with aching cheeks and dry lips as news of the man's guilt filtered in to him.

Bilairy's Balls, his back ached. His knees and shoulders throbbed, and the points of his hipbones felt like they were cutting through the skin. His neck and forehead throbbed with the effort of not crushing his nose against the floor, and at last he chanced rocking his head just enough to transfer the agony to a cheekbone. To

move any more than that would force his guardians to deal with him, and he couldn't bear to bring that down on Kheeta and Saaban, who stood unmoving somewhere nearby. The scabs on the back of his left hand began to itch, and he flexed his fingers in a vain effort to quell the irritation.

Sometime later something skittered across the back of that hand. A dragonling, his overtaxed imagination suggested hopefully. He squeezed his eyelids shut tighter as whatever it was investigated the side of his nose, then allowed himself a quick peek. A green beetle scuttled busily away, its back gleaming like fine enamel work as it entered a nearby patch of sunlight.

No dragons for him today.

He'd thought it would be a relief when the Iia'sidra finally began, but it wasn't. Without opening his eyes, he knew that people were walking close to him as they entered, some pausing to stare down at his exposed back. It was awful, the weight of those eyes upon him, worse than it had been all those years ago in Bokthersa.

I hadn't spent a lifetime avoiding notice then, he thought dully. His heart was pounding now, shaking him a little with every driving beat. Could they see? He pressed his palms to the floor and silently prayed for the trial to begin.

The shuffling of feet continued for some minutes, and he could hear people settling in, conversing among themselves. Someone was talking about the fresh caneberries they'd had for breakfast. Further away, Ulan i Sathil was talking of trade routes and weather. No one spoke his name. He lay like a forgotten pile of clothing in the center of it all, quivering under the weight of all those accusing stares. The beetle's patch of sunlight touched his fingertips, reminding him of how cold the rest of his body was. His pulse sounded like a bellows in his ears.

Please, Aura, let them begin!

At last, he heard the solemn chime of the Iia'sidra bell. Still facedown, he pictured a face for each successive voice as the Iia'sidra commenced his trial.

"Adzriel a Iriel," said Brythir. "A man of your clan has broken the laws of teth'sag laid against him."

"Seregil, once Seregil i Korit of Bokthersa, lies before you. Let the charges be heard." It was good to hear his sister's voice, fix the direction in his mind's eye. Alec and the Skalans would be there, too, seeing this. The thought made his cheeks burn.

"I speak for the Iia'sidra," Brythir continued. "Seregil i Korit has defied the conditions of his return. He has left the sacred city under cover

of night. He has taken weapons and used them against fellow Aurenfaie. He has put on Aurenfaie garb and passed as a spy among us."

He heard the sound of chair legs creaking, then Nazien took up the litany. "Seregil i Korit has broken the ban of exile laid against him for the murder of my kinsman, Dhymir i Tilmani Nazien."

His father's long-forgotten voice snarled at the back of his mind. He has a name, the man you killed!

Yes, my father, I've never forgotten it.

Footsteps approached, and strong hands hauled Seregil up to his knees.

"Courage," Kheeta whispered.

Seregil kept his hands on his thighs, head bowed. He was facing the Silmai elder, but could see Adzriel and the others from the corner of his eye. Korathan was there, and Klia on her litter. For the moment, he was thankful not to see Alec.

He hadn't let himself weep then, facing his kin with grass clinging to his face and clothes under that clear Bokthersan sky. He'd wanted to, but he fought the tears down until they were so far gone he didn't see them again for years.

"Seregil i Korit, you have heard the charges against you, acts which being proven bring shame upon the whole clan of Bokthersa. How do you answer?"

His throat was dry, his voice rusty as a crow's, but he faced his accusers unflinchingly. "I was cut off from my clan. You know me now as Seregil of Rhiminee, the Exile, and as the Exile, a servant of Klia of Rhiminee, I acted. Nothing I have done can bring shame upon Bokthersa.

"As Exile, I have done all you said and take all shame upon myself. I returned here of my own will to face you and make myself accountable for my deeds. I broke teth'sag, Honored One, but not out of evil intent."

Brythir stared at him a moment as others whispered. Was his admission of guilt what threw them, he wondered, or the fact that it was a complete breech of ritual?

"Does anyone speak for this man?" Brythir inquired of the chamber.

"The Exile surrendered himself willingly to me at Gedre," Riagil i Molan announced.

A pause raveled out, and Seregil caught movement among the Skalans. Adzriel bent over Klia's litter, then passed on her words. "Klia a Idrilain says that Seregil and his two companions broke teth'sag on her behalf. They risked their lives to meet Korathan and bring him news of her condition and of the confusion surrounding

the circumstances of Torsin's death. Queen Phoria did not know Klia has thus far forsworn teth'sag."

Thus far? Seregil felt his own eyes widen and knew that others around the room must be, as well. He happened to look Ulan's way and found the man smiling knowingly at him, as if they shared some secret. Perhaps they did, Seregil thought uneasily. The cagey old fox might not have needed the aid of Plenimaran spies to guess what Korathan's real orders had been.

Adzriel continued, still speaking for Klia. "Seregil and Alec's decision to risk their lives a second time in order to clear the names of Viresse and Haman was their own. Klia knew nothing of the matter until they returned yesterday.

"Let the death of Rhaish i Arlisandin speak also for the accused. Though he broke teth'sag, Seregil has brought the truth to light. Will you take his life for that?"

Korathan rose. "Seregil of Rhiminee has served Skala well and honorably for many years. For the sake of that service, I ask in Queen Phoria's name that you spare this man's life."

I wonder what your sister will think of that, if she ever hears of it? Seregil thought.

"We speak for him, as well," another voice rang out, and all eyes turned to the rhui'auros who'd stepped forward into the circle.

"Elesarit, honored as you and your kind are, you know that the rhui'auros do not speak before the Iia'sidra," Brythir remonstrated.

"We spoke for Seregil i Korit the first time he was tried, and do the same now," Elesarit retorted. "He's been marked. The will of Aura is plain on his flesh now, clear for all to see."

"Does anyone else speak for this man?" Brythir asked.

"I do," a deep, persuasive voice behind Seregil said, and he nearly toppled over twisting to look at Ulan i Sathil.

"Whether it was his intention or not, Seregil has proven that my clan does not bear the shame of guest slaying, and did the same for the Haman, whom he has no cause to love. A man lacking atui might just as easily have kept this knowledge to himself."

There would be time later to discover what price this support might carry; for now, Seregil was grateful.

Ulan was the last to speak in his behalf. Now Alec and Beka were called forward and questioned.

Alec wore Skalan blue and Seregil noted with an inward smile that he'd pushed the long hair behind his left ear back so that the dragon mark on his earlobe showed. All the same, he looked drawn

and worried. Beka, on the other hand, faced the Iia'sidra with squared shoulders, head held high?

Their interrogation was brief. Having reiterated the story that they'd acted in the interest of both countries, they were sent back among the Skalans.

Finally Nyal was called out. Striding out beside Seregil, he dropped to his knees and spread his arms. He was not wearing his sen'gai.

"Are we to understand from your statement yesterday that you did willfully aid the Exile in leaving Sarikali?" asked Brythir.

"Yes, Honored One." Nyal replied. "When I caught up with him and Alec and saw that they were being attacked, I thought it better to let them go on, in the hope that they would reach safety. I have accepted the consequences of my actions and been declared teth'brimash by my clan."

It was a serious matter to be cut off from one's clan, worse in some ways than outright exile, yet Nyal seemed oddly complacent about the matter.

"You served the Skalans at the behest of the Iia'sidra, Nyal i Nhekai. We may have more to say of this matter," Brythir informed him sternly. "Let the prisoners remain where they are."

The Iia'sidra withdrew to debate and Alec sat watching Seregil. His friend had scarcely stirred a muscle since they'd finished with him, just knelt there, head bowed, face half hidden by his hair. He'd spoken with such confidence in his own defense, prevaricating about nothing except the true nature of Korathan's orders, excusing himself nothing, either, yet making it sound like a challenge.

Alec's gaze shifted to the small side door, willing the Iia'sidra to hurry.

The shadows on the floor had moved less than an hour's span when they filed back into their places. Seregil raised his head a little but otherwise remained still. Beka reached for Alec's hand and held on tight.

Brythir remained standing as he extended a hand toward Nyal. "Nyal i Nhekai, your punishment is deemed sufficient. You shall be teth'brimash for no less than twenty years, cut off from your clan and your name. You will enter no temples, and Sarikali is closed to you. Leave this place."

Nyal bowed deeply and strode from the room in silence. Beka let out a sigh of relief and relaxed her grip on Alec's aching fingers.

Nazien i Hari was the next to speak. Rising, he pointed at Seregil. "For the atui this man has shown toward our kinsman, Emiel i Moranthi, Haman revokes our demand for his life. Let the ban of exile be reinstated against him."

"Thank the Light!" Alec groaned softly. Thero gripped his arm and gave it a victorious shake. There was more to come, however.

Brythir took Nazien's place. "Seregil of Rhiminee, you were granted entrance to Aurenen to serve as an adviser to Klia a Idrilain. This honor was given to you as one who knows the ways of our people and our codes of honor. Since your arrival, you have acted ably, with great atui, even in the face of insult. In time, you might have won back your name. Instead, you chose to break faith with this body by the breaking of teth'sag. You have become a stranger to us, choosing the ways of the Tir over those of the people who were your own. You have made your choice and must now abide by it. Seregil of Rhiminee, you are declared teth'brimash for life, not by your clan, but by the Iia'sidra itself."

Alec was dimly aware of a muffled sob from somewhere nearby—Adzriel perhaps, or Mydri. Seregil remained very still. Too still.

"You are no Aurenfaie, but a ya'shel khi," Brythir continued. "You are to us as the Tirfaie, an outlander, subject to the same restrictions and the same rights, but you have no claim of blood or kin among the people of Aura. Go with the Skalans and abide among them."

56

Teth'brimash

I expected something like this, Seregil told himself, trying not to sway as Brythir spoke the sentence. Why then did that one phrase—ya'shel khi—hurt so? The rhui'auros had called him that already, and he'd accepted it as a revelation. Spoken here, in front of his kin, the words cut like a hot knife. He thought he'd understood, but now the world seemed to be slipping out from under him. Exile he knew, but this severing went deeper.

"Go with the Skalans and abide among them," the ancient khirnari ordered.

Seregil's knees ached, but he managed to get to his feet without staggering. Pulling the Aurenfaie tunic over his head, he dropped it on the floor at his feet. "I accept the decision of the Iia'sidra, Honored One." His voice seemed to be coming from somewhere far outside himself. He was dimly aware of someone weeping—several people, in fact. He hoped he wasn't one of them.

He could barely feel his feet against the floor as he went to join the Skalans. Hands guided him to a chair and then Alec was beside him, wrapping a cloak around his shoulders.

The session ended quickly and the room emptied. Seregil pulled the cloak around him

and kept his eyes down as he followed Korathan out, not wishing to see the faces of other 'faie just yet. As they neared the door, however, the rhui'auros named Lhial stepped out and clasped him by the left hand. Stroking the dragon mark, he smiled warmly at Seregil. "Well done, little brother. Dance the dance and trust the Light."

It took Seregil a moment to recall that Lhial was dead, and by then the fellow was gone. A group of rhui'auros stood near the entrance, but the apparition was not among them. As he searched their faces, each one raised a hand in silent salute.

Dance the dance? He closed his eyes a moment, summoning a fragment of something Lhial had tried to tell him the first time he'd visited the Nha'mahat. Looking at you, I see all your births, all your deaths, all the works the Lightbearer has prepared for you. But time is a dance of many steps and missteps. Those of us who see must sometimes act.

I'm a blind man, dancing in the dark He thought of the last dream he'd had: the orbs melded into a pattern, and blood coursing down from a succession of weapons. The memory brought with it the same powerful sense of conviction that had overtaken him that night. The power of it straightened his spine and tugged the corner of his mouth up into a little half-smile.

Passing him, Lhaar a Iriel saw and gave him a scathing glare.

"Do not mock the mark you bear," she warned.

"You have my word, Khirnari," he promised, pressing his left hand to his heart. "I take what the Lightbearer sends."

Adzriel and Mydri clung to Seregil as they followed Klia's litter back to the guest house. Alec willingly gave place to them but stayed close, watching Seregil with growing concern.

Seemingly dazed, the man huddled in his borrowed cloak as if it were winter. What little Alec could feel of his friend's emotions was a whirl of confusion.

At least it was better than pure despair.

As soon as they were in the hall, safe from prying eyes, Klia summoned Seregil to her side and whispered to him. She was weeping now, too. Seregil knelt by the litter, bending to hear her. "It's all right," he told her.

"How can you say that?" Mydri demanded. "You heard what Brythir said; there was hope that the exile would have been lifted eventually."

Seregil swayed to his feet and headed for the stairs. "Later, Mydri. I'm tired."

"Stay with him," Thero murmured, but Alec was already on his way.

They climbed slowly to their room, Alec following a few steps behind. He wanted to reach out and steady Seregil, but something held him back. Reaching their chamber, Seregil shed the last of his clothing and burrowed under the covers. He was asleep almost instantly.

Alec stood beside the bed for a moment, listening to the soft, even breathing and wondering if it was exhaustion or despair he was witnessing. Whichever it was, sleep was probably as good a cure as any. Kicking off his boots, he stretched out beside Seregil, pulling him close through the blankets. Seregil muttered something and slept on.

Alec opened his eyes, surprised to find the room nearly dark and the other half of the bed empty. He sat up in alarm, then heard a familiar chuckle from the shadows near the hearth. A long form uncurled itself from one of the armchairs there and lit a candle from the coals.

"I didn't have the heart to wake you," Seregil said, coming to sit on the bed. He was dressed in the russet coat and breeches, and to Alec's relief, he was smiling. It was a real smile, fond and reassuring. "You've taken this harder than I have, tali," he said, ruffling Alec's hair.

"Is this what you had in mind when you decided to come back?" Alec asked, sitting up to search his friend's face for some sign of madness. How could he be so calm?

"Actually, I think things may have turned out better than I'd hoped, now that I've had a chance to consider. You heard what they said. I'm an outlander now."

"And that doesn't upset you?"

Seregil shrugged. "I haven't really been Aurenfaie for a long time. The Iia'sidra and the rhui'auros—they made me ya'shel khi when they sent me away so young. It was just something I clung to all those years. Remember when I finally got around to telling you that you were half 'faie and you said you didn't know who you were? Do you remember what I told you then?"

"No."

"I told you that you were the same person you'd always been."

"And you've always been ya'shel khi?"

"Maybe. I never quite fit here."

"Then you don't mind not being able to come back?"

"Ah, but don't you see? I'm not exiled anymore. Brythir changed all that. I'm one of you now, and can go wherever you go."

"Then if they do open Gedre—?"

"Exactly. And whenever they get around to lifting the Edict, which I have no doubt they will, I can go anywhere. I'm free, Alec. My name is my own to make and no one can call me Exile anymore."

Alec regarded him skeptically. "And you knew all this would happen, back there in the mountains?"

Seregil's smile tilted into a crooked grin. "Not a bit of it."

Seregil had a harder time swaying the others. Klia and Adzriel wept. Mydri retreated into sullen silence. Deep in his own heart, he still harbored doubts, but the words of the rhui'auros stayed with him: Dance the dance.

Fortunately, he had little time to dwell on it. There was still the matter of the vote, this time with Korathan heading the negotiations. Seregil was barred from the Iia'sidra chamber, but Alec and Thero kept him apprised of the progress over the next two days, or rather the lack of it.

"It's as if nothing changed," Alec groused as they sat down to a late supper. "The same arguments go round and round. You're not missing a thing."

Sitting home with Klia through the rest of that week, Seregil grew increasingly unsettled. The initial hope the rhui'auros had given him was wearing thin. For all his trouble, his part in the workings of power was over for now.

Or so he thought.

On the fifth day of negotiations, a young boy arrived at the door asking for Seregil. The lad wore no sen'gai and gave no name, simply handed him a folded square of parchment and walked away.

There was no one else around just then except the two Urgazhi standing guard on the steps below. As soon as he'd unfolded the packet, Seregil was glad of it. Inside he found the words "Cup of Aura tonight, alone, at moon's zenith" written in an elegant, familiar hand. There was also a token: a small tassel of red-and-blue silk.

Seregil examined it more closely, and smiled to himself when he found a few telltale darker threads among the red.

Alec was less pleased when Seregil showed it to him that evening. "What does Ulan want with you?" he wondered suspiciously.

"I don't know, but I'm betting it's in Klia's best interests if I find out."

"I don't like this 'alone' business."

Seregil chuckled. "I cleared the man's name. He's not going to murder me now. And not after putting this in my hands."

"Are you going to tell Klia?"

"You can tell her after I've gone. Tell everyone."

It was a still night. The full moon's reflection lay flat as pearl inlaid in jet on the face of the Vhadasoori pool.

Seregil entered the stone circle and walked slowly toward the Cup. He thought for a moment that he was the first to arrive; it gave one power to make another wait for you. Then he saw the moon's reflection bob and wink out of sight for an instant as a dark figure glided across the water's surface. Old fears stirred to life, but this was no necromancer's demon.

Ulan slid gracefully to shore and stepped up to meet him. His dark robes blended with the surrounding darkness, while his long, pale face and silver hair caught the moonlight like a floating temple mask.

Seregil distrusted this man, but he had to admire his style. "I had a feeling we might speak again, Khirnari."

"As did I, Seregil of Rhiminee," Ulan replied, linking arms with him. "Come, walk with me."

They strolled slowly along the water's edge as if they were companions. It wasn't hard for Seregil to imagine Torsin in his place. Had the old envoy been able to sense the power that rolled off this man like heat off a forge? Uncomfortable with such proximity, he freed his arm and halted. "I don't mean to be rude, but it's late and I know you didn't ask me here for the pleasure of my company."

"I might have," Ulan countered. "You are a most interesting young man. I'm sure you have many fascinating stories to tell."

"Only with a harp in hand and gold before me. What do you want?"

Ulan laughed. "Truly, you have taken on Tirfaie ways. That's all right, though. I like the Tir and their impatience. It's most

invigorating. I shall adopt the fashion and be direct. Your people still wish to see Gedre open, do they not?"

Ah, here it was at last. "Yes, and my guess is that you're finding Korathan a less subtle negotiator than his sister."

"I expected as much as soon as I heard he was on his way to Gedre with ships of war," the khirnari remarked blandly, gazing up at the moon.

Seregil refused to rise to such obvious bait. Either Ulan knew of Korathan's original orders or he was bluffing for information. With such an opponent, it was best to offer nothing in return.

Ulan tilted his head toward Seregil again, seeming not to have noticed his reticence. "You are clever, and wise beyond your years. Wise enough to know that I have the power and the will to fight against the Skalan's treaty until the Plenimaran fleet rides at anchor in Rhiminee harbor and your beautiful city is in flames. I've been watching this prince of yours. I don't think he has the wit to grasp this, but you do, and you have his ear."

"I can't tell him to give up. Gedre is essential."

"I have no doubt of that. That is why I am willing to abide by the agreement Torsin and I discussed before his unfortunate demise. Rhaish may be dead, and teth'sag satisfied, but I assure you, there are few among the Iia'sidra now who will spare Akhendi much pity. Her new khirnari, Sulat i Eral, is green wood yet, with little backing among the powerful. Your own clan is under a bit of a cloud as well, though I'm certain Adzriel a Illia will do her best. Yet there are so many who use the actions of her onetime brother as a two-edged sword. Is not yours a cautionary tale for those who wish no contact with the Tir? Will not Lhaar a Iriel point her tattooed nose in your direction and cry, 'See what comes of mixing with outlanders?' Then, of course, there is the matter of the new queen's honor. That is of great concern to us all."

"I've been wondering, Khirnari—what did you pay the Plenimarans for that information? "

Ulan raised an eyebrow. "That information came to me as payment. The Plenimarans are most anxious for the Strait of Bal to remain open to their ships and to their traders. The Skalans are not the only ones in need of supplies to wage this foolish war of yours."

Seregil's heart sank, though this came as no real surprise. "Are you telling me that you've supported them all along? That the Skalans have no hope?"

"No, my friend, I'm offering you a compromise and my support. Argue for a limited opening of Gedre—say, the duration of your

war? I tell you as one grateful for what you did to clear my name that this is the best you can hope for. Or has your unfortunate alliance with the Akhendi blinded you to your original purpose? Klia did not come to challenge the Edict but to secure aid."

"Can we even hope for that?" Seregil asked.

"You know what to do, my clever friend. You're the master harpist who knows what strings to pluck. If you agree to my tune, you will have my support."

"Are there verses to your tune? Certain strings you want plucked?"

Ulan's ghostly face loomed closer, the eyes lost in shadow. "There is only one thing I want: Viresse remains an open port. Respect that, and whatever else you need I shall endeavor to provide."

"I don't suppose you can do anything about Plenimaran warships blocking the Strait of Bal?" Seregil asked with a wry grin. The khirnari's smile drove his own from his lips. "You can, can't you?"

"There's a great deal the Viresse are capable of, if we choose. Skalan trade has never been adverse to us, and they tend to be more trustworthy. What do you say?"

"I can't speak for Klia or Korathan," Seregil hedged.

"No, but you can speak with them."

"And what should I say to the people of Akhendi and Gedre? That their days of prosperity are numbered?"

"I have already spoken with Riagil and Sulat. They agree that half an apple is better than no apple at all. After all, even in Aurenen, things change with time and death. Who knows what may come of this little crack in the Edict, eh? Slow change is best for our people. It always has been."

"And if things stay the same long enough for you to keep your power?"

"Then I shall die a contented man."

Seregil smiled. "I'm sure there are a great many people who wish for that, Khirnari. I'll speak with the Skalans. There's one last thing I'd like to know, though. Was it you who told the Plenimarans where to ambush us on the voyage over?"

Ulan clucked his tongue. "Now you disappoint me. What use would a princess martyred by Plenimar be to me? Her death would only have united my opposition and created the most inconvenient sympathy for Skala's cause. Besides, I'd have missed out on the delights of the game we've all shared here. That would've been a great loss, don't you think?"

"A game," Seregil murmured. "Or a complicated dance."

"If you like. That's what existence is all about for people like us, Seregil. What would we do if life were ever simple and easy?"

"I wouldn't know," Seregil replied, thinking again of Ilar and the complexities of that long-ago summer. "I was never given the chance to find out."

"You're wondering if I was involved with the Chyptaulos traitors," Ulan said, and Seregil would not have put it past the man to be able to read thoughts and to have the audacity to do it.

"Yes," he replied softly, wondering what he would do if Ulan confessed.

The khirnari turned to look out over the pool. "That game needed no assistance from me, I assure you."

"But you knew about it, didn't you? You could have prevented it."

Ulan arched an eyebrow at him. "In my place, would you?"

Seregil could feel the man's scrutiny, as if Ulan had the power to look directly into his soul and perceive the truth there. In that moment came the humbling realization that Ulan's power was based on nothing so paltry as the reading of thoughts.

"No," he admitted, and the khirnari's approving smile sent a shard of ice through his heart. "I'll speak with Korathan."

As Seregil walked away he had the uncomfortable sensation that Ulan was watching him go, perhaps gloating, and the thought made his skin crawl. Stealing a glance back over his shoulder, however, he saw the old man gliding in slow, graceful circles across the smooth face of the pool.

57

Aftermath

It took just two days for the Iia'sidra and Korathan to come to terms. That night, under a waning moon, the Eleven met at the Cup of Aura to cast their vote.

The stone circle was ringed with onlookers. Standing among them, Seregil watched with mixed feelings as, one by one, each khirnari dropped their lot into the Cup. When it was finished Brythir sorted the black stones from the white and held them up in his fists. His cracked old voice did not carry well, but word passed from mouth to mouth through the crowd: "Eight white. Eight white! Gedre is open."

A cheer went up from the Skalans.

But only for forty auspicious turnings of the moon, thought Seregil, watching as Ulan i Sathil congratulated Riagil. Viresse would remain open, as well.

Slow change is best, Ulan had said. Three years for the 'faie was not slow, but within that small space of time, Skala's war would be lost or won. If Skala won, then a precedent would be set, and they could try again for permanent trade.

As it stood now, the Skalans were to be allowed a small trade colony at Gedre but no access yet to the interior. No Aurenfaie troops would be levied, but anyone foolish enough to want to join with the Skalans was free to do so.

"It's a beginning, at least," Alec yelled to him over the rising tide of voices. "We can finally go home!"

Seregil gave him a wry smile. "Don't pack up just yet."

In typical Aurenfaie fashion, it took nearly a month to finalize the details of the agreement. Spring gave way to blazing summer, and many of the 'faie who'd come to witness the negotiations went home, leaving the city more empty and haunted than ever.

For days on end the sun burned down from a cloudless sky, turning the turf in the streets sere and brown, though hardy wild roses and summer flowers bloomed in profusion everywhere. Alec finally learned to appreciate the city's forbidding architecture. No matter how hot the day was, the dark stone rooms remained cool. Everyone adopted the Aurenfaie fashion of loose, flowing tunics and trousers of Aurenen gauze.

Alec once again had time on his hands and a great deal less to do. Beka and her riders however, found themselves in greater demand than ever. A steady stream of dispatches went up to Gedre, and Alec and Seregil sometimes went along with them. Nyal was there, helping Riagil oversee preparations for Klia's departure.

Since the vote, the Urgazhi were suddenly also popular with would-be adventurers, who talked excitedly of joining the Skalan cause.

"If they're as brave as they make out, we'll be Urgazhi Troop before we leave here," Sergeant Braknil observed one evening as they returned from a Silmai tavern.

"We'll need them, too," Alec heard Beka mutter.

"You're anxious to get back, aren't you?" he asked, dreading the prospect. It had been easy, all these months, to forget what awaited her when they went back.

"I'm a soldier, and an officer. I've been gone too long," she said softly, watching Braknil's riders laughing together as they walked along ahead of them.

A few nights before they were to leave, Alec and Seregil were summoned to Klia's chamber. Korathan, Thero, and Beka were there already but none of the prince's people.

Klia sat up in a chair by the window. As they came in, she smiled and held out her hands. On the left she wore a fine leather glove; the empty fingers had been artfully stuffed to hide her deformity. "See, I'll be whole yet!" she said.

"She's gaining quickly, isn't she?" Beka whispered to Alec as he took his place beside her. "She'll be walking again before we know it."

Alec had spoken with Mydri earlier and was less optimistic. Despite all the healer's efforts, Klia still had no strength in her legs and could barely hold a cup for herself. The poison had also left her with a slight tremor. Her mind, however, was as sharp as ever.

"That's all of you," said Korathan, abrupt as ever. "Thero, seal this room."

Standing next to Klia's chair, hands clasped behind his back, the prince looked as if he were about to address a regiment. "As vicegerent of Skala, it falls to me to put Gedre in order. Since Klia is still too weak for hard traveling or battle, I'm placing her in command of the supply station at Gedre. She knows these people better than anyone, now that Torsin is gone, and has the status to get us what we need. Riagil i Molan is preparing lodgings and warehouses at the waterfront.

"I'll need a sizable staff," said Klia. "Captain, you and Urgazhi Turma will remain in Aurenen with me."

Beka saluted woodenly, saying nothing, but Alec had seen her hastily masked shock.

"I've asked Thero to remain with me, as well," Klia added.

Korathan glanced down at his sister in surprise. "I thought Elutheus might do better. He's older, and more experienced."

"I'll take any wizards you can spare, Brother, but I'd prefer to retain Thero as my field wizard. He and I are used to one another, aren't we?"

"My lady." Thero bowed deeply, and Alec saw that he, at least,, was pleased with this turn of events.

"What about us?" asked Alec.

"Yes, what about us?" said Seregil.

"I'm sorry. Not you."

"But I thought he wasn't exiled anymore. Can't he go wherever you do?" said Alec.

"Under the law, yes," Klia told him. "But it's not politic for him to overstay his welcome, especially as part of my staff. Many of those

who opposed his return haven't changed their minds, and some of them have powerful voices among the clans who voted against the treaty."

"Not to mention the fact that the iron Skala needs is mined in the mountains of Akhendi fai'thast," Seregil added. "I'm not very popular among them. It could raise unnecessary difficulties."

Klia gave him a grateful smile. "I knew you'd understand."

"It's all right," he assured her. "There are matters in Rhiminee I need to attend to. I've been gone too long as it is."

Alec and the others took their leave. As soon as they were in the corridor, Beka turned and walked quickly toward the back stairs, fists clenched at her sides.

Alec moved to follow, but Seregil drew him in the opposite direction.

"Let her be, Alec."

Alec followed grudgingly, but looked back in time to see Beka wipe angrily at her cheek as she hurried down the stairs.

Seregil waited until the rest of the house had settled for the night, then stole down to Korathan's chamber. Light still showed beneath the prince's door, so he knocked softly.

Korathan answered, looking less than pleased to see him. "Seregil? What is it?"

"I'd hoped for a word alone with you before I leave for Skala, my lord."

For a moment he thought Korathan was going to send him away; instead he waved Seregil to a seat at a small table and poured wine for his unwelcome guest. "Well?" he prompted.

Seregil raised his cup to the prince, then took a polite sip. "Through all this, my lord, I haven't heard much of what the queen thinks of your departure from her orders."

"Why do you suppose all those dispatch riders have been wearing out horses since I got here?" Korathan pulled off his boots and scratched his foot, favoring Seregil with a sour look. "Count us all lucky that the Iia'sidra voted in our favor, and that Phoria's too busy with the Plenimarans just now to care about anything but the iron and horses Klia will be sending. Pray to that moon god of yours that the queen remains so occupied for some time. She's in no mood for—distractions. Is that all?"

"No. I also wanted to speak with you about Klia."

Korathan's expression softened slightly. "You've served her well. You all did. Klia and I will both make that clear to the queen. You've nothing to fear in Rhiminee."

Seregil took a longer sip, trying to quell the nagging sense that he was about to do something very unwise. "I'm not so certain one fact leads to the other, my lord."

"How do you mean?"

"Klia served Skala well. What's happened here, the progress we won, that was her doing. If she hadn't won them over the way she did, nothing you or I could have done would have made the difference."

"Are you here to make sure I don't steal my little sister's glory?"

"No, my lord. I didn't mean to belittle what you've accomplished."

"Ah, I'll sleep better, knowing that," Korathan muttered, refilling his cup.

Undeterred, Seregil plunged on. "I'd like to know whether the decision to keep Klia in Aurenen came from you or Phoria."

"What business is that of yours?"

"I'm Klia's friend. Phoria doesn't want her back, does she? She's succeeded where Phoria wanted her to fail, and turned you to her side in the bargain."

"It would be better if no one else ever heard you say these things," Korathan replied quietly, his pale eyes icy.

"They won't," Seregil assured him. "But Phoria must have known what she was doing when she sent you. It takes time to outfit that many warships, and time to get them here. This was no spur-of-the-moment venture. She didn't mean for Klia to come home."

"You're not a stupid man, Seregil. I've always known that, no matter how you played the wastrel with the other young bloods. So I know that you understand the risk you're taking, saying this to me, the queen's brother."

"Klia's loyal, Korathan. She has no designs on her sister's throne. I think you believe that, too, or you wouldn't have come here to help her," Seregil nodded.

Korathan tapped the side of his cup, considering. "It was Klia's idea to stay, as it happens, though I was happy enough to grant her request."

"Thank you, my lord." Seregil rose to go, then held his cup up

again. "To the continued good health of all Idrilain's daughters, and their daughters after them."

The prince touched his cup to Seregil's, not smiling. "I'm the queen's man, Lord Seregil. Don't ever forget that."

"Not for a moment, my lord."

The Skalans spent their last evening in the city as they had their first, feasting with the Bokthersans under a rising moon.

Sitting there in his sister's garden, Seregil searched his heart for some regret, but for once sadness eluded him. He could come back, at least as far as Gedre, and for now that was enough. His thoughts were already turning to Rhiminee.

As they rose to take their leave at last, Mydri drew him and Alec aside. "Wait, my dears. Let the others go. We must make our own farewells."

When she and Adzriel returned from seeing the others off, the older woman was carrying a long, familiar bundle.

"I hope you manage to hang on to it this time," Adzriel said, giving him back his sword. "Riagil left it with me when he brought you back."

Mydri placed a smaller package in Alec's hands, and he unwrapped it to find a long hunting knife. The grip was made of some dark, reddish wood and inlaid with bands of horn and silver. "Only members of our clan own such knives," she told him, kissing him on both cheeks. "You are our new brother, no matter what your name may be. Take care of Seregil until he comes back to us."

"You have my word," Alec told her.

Seregil and Alec were crossing the short distance to the guest house when a slender, robed figure stepped from the shadows across the street. The woman wore the hat and robes of a rhui'auros, but Seregil couldn't make out her face.

"Lhial sends you a gift, Seregil of Rhiminee," she said, and tossed something that glittered softly in the moonlight.

He caught it and recognized the slightly rough feeling of glass against his fingers.

"Such clever hands," the woman said, laughing as she vanished.

"What is it?" Alec asked, fishing a lightstone from his belt pouch.

Seregil opened his hand. It was another of the strange orbs, but

this one was as clear as river ice, allowing him to see the tiny carving it held—a dragon with the feathered wings of an owl.

"What's that?" Alec asked again.

Yours to keep. Yours to discard, little brother.

"A reminder, I think," Seregil said, pocketing it with care.

58

Ruins

Seregil stood alone at the ship's prow, watching as the distant outline of Rhiminee's citadel slowly resolved against the dawn-tinted sky. Fog lingered over the harbor, set aglow here and there by a few early lamps in the Lower City.

The sound of feet on the deck above had woken him. Leaving Alec still asleep, he'd gone up alone, thankful for a few moments to himself for this homecoming.

The harbor was as flat as a mirror inside the moles and crowded with warships and merchant carracks riding at anchor. It was so still at this hour that Seregil could hear the rumble of wagons on their way up the walled road to the Sea Market, and the crowing of cocks on the citadel. Closer at hand, a cook on a nearby man-of-war beat on a kettle to summon his shipmates to a hot breakfast. The scents of porridge and fried herring hung on the air.

Seregil closed his eyes, picturing familiar streets and alleyways, wondering what changes the war had brought.

Caught up in his thoughts, he let out a startled grunt when a warm hand closed over his on the rail.

"It looks peaceful enough, doesn't it?" Alec said, stifling a yawn. "Suppose there's any work left for us to do?"

Seregil recalled his last conversation with Korathan. "I imagine we'll find something."

They'd sent no word ahead of their arrival, so no one was at the docks to meet them. As soon as their horses were led off the ship, they set out for Wheel Street.

What remained of the Lower City looked just the same, a maze of customs houses, crooked streets, and filthy tenements. But as they rode on, they saw that whole sections along the waterfront had been razed to make room for supply markets and corrals. Soldiers were everywhere.

In the Upper City, the Sea Market was already busy, but there were fewer goods in the stalls than Seregil remembered.

The wealthy Noble Quarter was the least changed. Servants were abroad on their morning business, laden with market baskets. Trees laden with summer fruit arched their branches invitingly above the colorful tiled walls that shielded the villa gardens. A few trespassing dogs and pigs chased one another across the street. Children's laughter echoed from an open window as they rode by.

Wheel Street lay on the fringe of this quarter and was lined with more modest houses and shops. Seregil paused across the street from the house he'd called home for more than two decades. The grapevine mosaic over the door was as bright as ever, the stone stairway below neatly scrubbed and swept. Here he could only be Lord Seregil. The Rhiminee Cat lodged elsewhere.

"We could just send word that Lord Seregil and Sir Alec were lost at sea," he muttered.

Alec chuckled, then walked across the street and climbed the stairs. With a sigh, Seregil followed.

It had never mattered how long he was gone—three weeks or three years. Runcer kept the place unchanged, ready for his return.

The door was still locked for the night, so they knocked. After a few moments a young man with a long, vaguely familiar face answered.

"What's your business here?" he demanded, taking in their stained traveling clothes with obvious suspicion.

Seregil sized him up, then said, "I must see Sir Alec at once."

"He's not here."

"Well, where is he?" Alec demanded, falling in with the game.

"He and Lord Seregil are away on queen's business. You may leave a message for them, if you wish."

"I do," Seregil told him. "The message is that Lord Seregil and

Sir Alec have returned. Get out of the way, whoever you are. Where's Runcer?"

"I'm Runcer."

"Runcer the Younger, maybe. Where's old Runcer?"

"My grandfather died two months ago," the man replied, not moving. "As for who you might be, I'll need more than just your word for that!"

Just then a huge white hound pushed past the man and reared up to lick Seregil's face, wagging its shaggy tail frantically.

"Marag will vouch for me," Seregil laughed, pushing the dog off and scratching her ears.

In the end, however, they had to summon the cook to identify them. Young Runcer apologized profusely, and Seregil gave him a gold sester for his caution.

Giving Alec first turn in the small bath chamber upstairs, Seregil wandered the house, feeling like his own ghost. The lavish woodland murals of the salon seemed garish after Sarikali's austerity. His bedchamber upstairs, furnished in Aurenfaie style, felt more welcoming. Opening a door at the opposite end of the corridor, he smiled to himself. This had been Alec's room. They hadn't been lovers when they'd left.

He'd had his own cot at the Cockerel, too.

Turning, he found Alec leaning in the bath chamber doorway, water dripping from his hair onto his bare shoulders.

"We can't just avoid that part of the city forever," he said, guessing Seregil's thoughts easily enough. "I won't feel like we've really come home until I see it."

Seregil closed his eyes and rubbed at the lids, wishing for once that he couldn't feel the pull of Alec's longing. "After dark," he said, giving in.

They dressed in old clothes and dark cloaks, shedding their public personas as easily as the garments themselves.

Going on foot, they followed the Street of the Sheaf west toward the Harvest Market. On the way they passed the Astellus Circle and the Street of Lights. The colored lanterns of the brothels and gaming houses still glowed invitingly there, in spite of the war.

Reaching the poorer quarter behind the Harvest Market, they hesitated at the final turning onto Blue Fish Street. Each had his own memories of the horrors they'd witnessed here.

The ruin of the Cockerel was still there. The land belonged to

Seregil, by way of various false names. Not even Runcer had known of this place or his connection to it.

Chunks of rubble and most of the courtyard wall had been carried off by other builders, but one kitchen wall and the chimney still stood against the night sky, their broken edges softened by a thick growth of creeper. Somewhere among the tangled branches, an owl hooted mournfully. The night wind rustled the leaves and moaned faintly through broken brickwork.

Alec whispered something under his breath, a Dalnan prayer to lay ghosts to rest.

They had their pyre, Seregil thought, fighting down images of blood and dead lips speaking. He'd set the place ablaze himself, just to be certain.

In the back court, they found no sign of the stable, but the well had been cleared and appeared to be still in use. Thryis's kitchen garden had run wild nearby. Masses of mint, basil, and borage had spread to claim earth formerly the purview of the old woman's tidy rows of lentils and leeks.

"All the time we lived here, I don't think I ever used the front door," Alec murmured, picking his way over charred beams to the broken mouth of the hearth. The mantelpiece was still there above it. Mice had taken up residence in the warming oven.

Seregil leaned against the empty doorframe and closed his eyes, remembering the room as it had been: Thryis leaning on her stick as she fussed over her kettles and pots; Cilia peeling apples at a table nearby while her father, Diomis, tended the baby. He could almost smell the aromas: lamb and leek stew, new bread, crushed garlic, ripe summer strawberries, the sour reek of the cheese presses in the pantry. The Cavishs had taken breakfast in this kitchen when they visited the city for festivals. Nysander had had a particular fondness for Cilia's mince tarts and her father's beer.

The memories still hurt, but the edges were blunted.

Dance the dance.

"Damn, what's that?" Alec hissed.

Startled, Seregil opened his eyes in time to see a small, dark form dart out of the hearth. It dodged past Alec but tripped over something and went sprawling. Overhead, the owl and its mate took flight in a flurry of wings.

Seregil pounced on the struggling shadow, which turned out to be a ragged boy. He couldn't have been more than ten, but he rolled to his knees quick as a snake and pulled a dagger on Seregil, cursing him ripely in a high, shaky voice.

"Here's a proper Rhiminee nightrunner, if the stink and vocabulary are anything to go by," Seregil said in Aurenfaie.

"Bilairy take you, spirits!" the boy snarled, trapped between Seregil and a fallen beam.

"We're not ghosts," Alec assured him.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Seregil caught the boy by his dagger hand and pulled him forward. The lad couldn't be making much of a living for himself. His skinny wrist felt like a bundle of cords in Seregil's grip.

"What do you call yourself?" he asked, twisting the knife free.

"Like I'd tell you!" the boy spat out. With another burst of initiative, he kicked Seregil in the shin and yanked loose, escaping with the agility of a rat.

Alec's laughter echoed weirdly off the ruined stonework, but it was full-hearted all the same.

"If the neighbors do think this place is haunted, this ought to put the seal on it." Seregil grimaced as he sat down and rubbed his leg. "Quite a welcome, eh?"

"The best we could ask for," Alec gasped, sitting down beside him. "Owls, footpads—I think it's a sign."

"Take what the Lightbearer sends and be thankful," Seregil murmured, looking around again.

"It was a good place, the first one I ever really thought of as home," Alec said, sobering a little. "If someone were to build a new place here, do you suppose they'd haunt it?"

Seregil knew who "they" were. "If they did, it would be a sorry thing for them to find no one but strangers, don't you think?"

Alec was quiet a moment, then said, "We could do with a bit more room than we had, the way you clutter things up. It might be hard to find someone trustworthy to run it, though. And to do the magicking, too, with Magyana and Thero gone."

"It could be managed." Seregil smiled to himself in the darkness. "You know, I never could stand playing the noble for long, and I've had my fill of it these past few months."

"It'd be bad luck to use the same name. We'd need a new one." Alec leaned down and pulled something from beneath the beam—a long barred wing feather. "How about the Owl?"

"The Dragon and Owl." Ya'shel khi, a voice whispered in Seregil's heart. "After all, we'd want to attract the right sort of trade."