Traitor's Moon

by Lynn Flewelling

  “What about snakebite?” suggested Thero.

  “There are no snakes in Aurënen, only dragons,” Seregil said.

  Mydri shrugged. “The sweating and purges should help. That and some strengthening magic are all we can do for now. She’s survived this long. Perhaps this will pass.”

  “Perhaps?” Alec rasped.

  Sergeant Mercalle entered hesitantly, dispatch pouch in hand. “Captain? I was about to send this when we got the news about Lord Torsin, so I held it for the Commander’s return.” She cast a mournful look at the dhima. “It’s sealed and ready to go, but shouldn’t someone write Queen Phoria about what’s happened?”

  Beka looked over at Seregil and the others. “Who do I take orders from now?”

  “That would be you, Thero,” said Seregil. “You’re the last Skalan standing with any noble blood in him. The Iia’sidra certainly won’t deal with me.”

  Thero nodded gravely. “Very well. Send it as it is, Captain. We’ll inform the queen of her sister’s illness when we have determined the cause. It’s unwise to risk spreading rumor without facts.”

  Mercalle saluted. “And the Haman, my lord?”

  Thero looked to Seregil. “You’re my adviser now. What do we do with them?”

  “Hold Emiel, but let Nazien and the rest go back to their tupa under pledge of honor. Don’t worry. He won’t go anywhere, and if any of his people make a dash for it, we’ll know who our poisoner is. Beka, station some of your people to keep an eye on them, but discreetly.”

  “I’ll see to it myself,” she assured him.

  31

  DEATHWATCH

  A sense of foreboding enveloped the household. All through the night the servants went quietly on about their business, cooking food that went uneaten, turning down beds no one slept in. Lord Torsin lay forgotten for the moment.

  Leaving Klia in Mydri’s care, Seregil enlisted Alec, Thero, and Adzriel to go over every flask, knife, and piece of jewelry confiscated from the Haman. Neither sharp eyes nor magic turned up any evidence of poison.

  “You said yourself they wouldn’t keep anything that would give them away,” Alec insisted. “I want to go back to that clearing. There wasn’t time to look around properly before.”

  “If Klia touched the object that contained the poison, I could locate it,” offered Thero.

  “You’re needed here,” Seregil told him.

  “Säaban has the gift,” said Adzriel. “He knows the way to the clearing, as well. Shall I ask him to make arrangements?”

  “If we leave before dawn, we’ll be back by midday,” Alec added.

  “I suppose you’d better,” said Seregil. “Where’s Nyal, by the way?”

  “I haven’t seen him since you got back,” said Thero. “Perhaps he’s with Beka?”

  “The one time I want the man and he’s nowhere to be found,” Seregil grumbled, suddenly weary beyond words. “Fetch him. He may have heard something of use.”

  The night wore on. The three of them sat on the floor beside the dhima, listening to Mydri’s soft songs of healing through the felt walls; now and then each took a turn inside.

  Sitting by Klia, hair and clothes plastered damply against his skin, Seregil allowed his mind to wander back to the dhimas beneath the Nha’mahat and the rhui’auros’s words to him there: Smiles conceal knives. The Haman had certainly been smiling when they rode out that morning.

  He didn’t know he was dozing until Mydri touched his arm.

  “You should rest,” she said, yawning herself.

  Thero and Alec were asleep where they sat just outside the dhima. Seregil passed them silently and went to the window to cool his face. Looking out, he saw the dwindling moon disappearing behind the western towers.

  Almost Illior’s Moon, he thought. Or rather, Aura’s Bow. He was back among his people at last; it was time he started thinking like a ’faie.

  “You’re a child of Aura, a child of Illior,” Lhial had told him. Aura Elustri, creator of the ’faie, mother of dragons. Illior Lightbearer, patron of wizards, madmen, and thieves. Light and darkness. Male and female. Wisdom and madness.

  Different faces for all comers, thought Seregil, smiling as he slipped out the window and set off for the stable yard. Just like me.

  The barracks were heavily guarded, but the long building itself was empty except for Kallas, Steb, and Mirn standing guard over their sullen prisoner. Emiel sat on a pallet in the corner furthest from the door. A clay lamp hanging overhead cast an uncertain light across the prisoner’s face. Emiel didn’t look up at Seregil’s approach but sat staring out a tiny window under the eaves, watching the moon.

  “Leave us,” Seregil ordered the guards. When they hesitated, he added impatiently, “Lend me a sword, and stay by the door. I promise you, he won’t get past me.”

  Steb gave Seregil his sword and moved off with the others.

  Seregil walked slowly over to the prisoner.

  “Here to murder another Haman, Exile?” Emiel asked, as calmly as if inquiring about the weather.

  “I have one too many of your people on my conscience as it is.” Seregil rested the blade point on the floor. This was the first time since Nysander’s death that he’d allowed himself to touch a sword; it felt awkward in his hand. “However, teth’sag is not murder, is it?”

  The Haman’s gaze did not waver. “To kill me here would be murder.”

  “But for you to kill my kinswoman, Klia ä Idrilain, was that teth’sag?”

  “She’s dead?”

  “Answer my question. If a Haman killed Klia ä Idrilain, would it be teth’sag against Bôkthersa? Against me?”

  “No, the tie is too distant.” Emiel rose to his feet and faced him. “Even if it weren’t, I would never bring shame on my clan for the likes of you. You are dead to us, Exile, a ghost come to haunt a little while. You disturb the khi of my murdered kinsman with your presence, but you’ll soon be gone. I can be patient.”

  “Patient as you were the night you and your friends met me in Haman tupa?”

  Emiel returned to his contemplation of the moon, but Seregil heard him chuckle.

  “Answer me this, then.”

  “I told you before, Exile, I have nothing to say to you.”

  Seregil gauged the man before him, then slid the sword away. It clattered and spun across the uneven boards, drawing startled looks from the guards.

  “Stay there unless I call for you,” Seregil told them, waving Steb and the others away. He moved closer to Emiel, stopping just inches away and lowering his voice. “The Haman are great bargainers. Here’s an even trade for you. Answer my question and earn another taste of teth’sag. Right here. Right now.”

  Emiel turned away slightly, and Seregil mistook the move for a refusal. An instant later, he found himself flat on his back with blood in his mouth. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and the entire left side of his head had gone numb where Emiel’s fist had caught him.

  Steb and the others were nearly on Emiel by the time Seregil had gathered his wits. “No! S’all right. Go ’way,” he managed, staggering to his feet. The look the corporal gave him warned that he’d be explaining himself to Beka later. Or worse yet, to Alec, who’d probably offer to even up the two sides of his head for him. No time to worry about that now.

  Emiel’s arrogant sneer was firmly in place again. “So ask your question, Exile. Ask as many as you like. The price is the same for each.”

  “Fair enough,” Seregil replied, feeling with his tongue for loose teeth. “I know about the secret meeting Ulan í Sathil held a few nights back, and what he told you there. I know that you don’t share your uncle’s sympathy for Skala. How did he react when you told him what you’d learned?”

  Emiel let out a derisive snort, then lashed out again, backhanding Seregil hard enough to make him stagger. “You’re wasting that handsome face of yours on that? He was shocked, of course, and dismayed. Klia ä Idrilain has great atui. So did her mother. This new queen of yours
, though?” He shook his head. “Even my uncle wonders if we should wait another generation before lifting the Edict. So do many of the other khirnari.”

  “You’re generous with your answers,” Seregil muttered, almost managing a crooked grin.

  “Ask another.”

  Seregil took a breath and braced his feet, determined not to be caught off guard this time. “All right—”

  But Emiel surprised him again, going for his belly instead of his face. Seregil doubled over, gasping for air. When he could breath again, he asked, “Did you know of Lord Torsin’s private chats with Ulan í Sathil?”

  “The Virésse? No.”

  Seregil leaned back against the wall, one hand pressed to his belly. His ears were ringing and his head hurt, but he didn’t miss how that last question had shaken his opponent.

  He considered pressing further on the Torsin angle but decided against it, not wanting to give too much away in case Emiel was telling the truth about not knowing. Instead, he let out a hollow chuckle. “So you think my face handsome, do you?”

  Emiel took a menacing step toward him. “Is that another question, Exile?”

  Seregil side-stepped hastily. “I withdraw it.”

  “Then I’ll answer you for free.” Grinning, Emiel raised his voice loud enough for the others to hear. “You were always a handsome little slut, Exile, more handsome even than the Chyptaulos traitor you played the whore for that summer.”

  The words froze Seregil where he stood.

  “You don’t remember it, but I was there, too. I remember you and Ilar í Sontír—that was his name, wasn’t it? The man you killed my kinsman for? Too bad it wasn’t just your ass Ilar was after, eh, guest killer? Perhaps we’d all have been friends. He could have passed you around. Did you like it rough back then, too?”

  The words hit harder than any blow. Shame welled like bile in Seregil’s throat. How many of the Urgazhi in earshot had understood? Emiel’s scornful gaze seemed to scorch his skin as Seregil retrieved the sword and headed for the door.

  “I don’t speak much ’faie, my lord, but I didn’t like the sound of that,” Steb growled as Seregil handed him back his weapon.

  Emiel í Moranthi has just confessed. He tried to murder Klia. Kill him. That’s all it would have taken.

  Locking the words away behind a bloodied smile, Seregil shook his head. “See that no harm comes to our guest, riders. Not so much as a harsh word.”

  As he’d feared, news traveled fast among the Urgazhi. Alec was waiting for him just outside.

  “Now what have you done?” he demanded, turning Seregil’s face toward the watch fire to inspect the latest damage.

  Seregil pulled away and continued on into the house. “Don’t worry, it was my own doing.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  “It wasn’t like last time. I goaded him to see what he’d say. It was atui that made him swing at me.”

  “So it’s honorable for him to hit you?”

  “Absolutely. While he was at it, however, he let slip a few valuable bits of insight.” He stopped just short of the great hall and lowered his voice. “As we’d feared, Ulan has done us a great deal of harm. Phoria’s honor is in question, and some of those who supported us while Idrilain lived are wavering. But from what Emiel said just now, Torsin’s secret meetings with Ulan aren’t common knowledge.” He fingered a tender spot next to his eye, hoping it wasn’t going to swell. “Maybe we can use that to cast doubt back on Virésse. If we do, and prove that Klia was poisoned, perhaps we can sway some clans back to our side. I have to talk to Adzriel.”

  “She’s in the hall.”

  Seregil clapped him on the shoulder. “See what you can find back in the hills. We need to know what Haman’s role in all this is.”

  “It’s going to take some doing,” Alec admitted. “If they threw away something during the ride, chances are we’ll never find it.”

  “We have to try. Otherwise, we can just stick our heads up our backsides and let it all fall to pieces.”

  Adzriel was talking with Rhylin and Mercalle beside the hall hearth. Drawing her into the mourning chamber, Seregil and Alec outlined the evening’s findings.

  “You can’t believe the Haman are innocent?” she asked, searching Seregil’s face.

  “I’m not ready to say that yet, but something isn’t right. I think Emiel is capable of it, but if he was going to go to the extreme of murder to get his way, wouldn’t his uncle be a more logical target?”

  “What about Nazien?” asked Alec. “He could have played us all for fools.”

  Seregil shrugged. “That seems even less likely. As much as I hate to admit it, he strikes me as an honorable man.”

  Adzriel touched Seregil’s bruised cheek, frowning. “What will you do now?”

  “Keep searching. Am I correct in guessing that anyone who falls under reasonable suspicion can be excluded from the vote?”

  “Yes, the Haman must prove themselves innocent, or you must prove them guilty within a moon’s span.”

  “We don’t have that long,” said Alec.

  “Perhaps not,” Adzriel replied. “Please, Alec, I’d like a moment alone with Seregil before he goes.”

  Alec cast a worried look at Seregil, then bowed. “Of course, my lady.”

  Adzriel gave him a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll send him back to you soon, talí.”

  She watched Alec fondly out of sight, then turned and touched a finger to Seregil’s swollen lip.

  “You must stop this,” she said softly. “It’s wrong to seek this out from them.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, folding his arms.

  “You know exactly what I mean! Do you think Mydri kept the last occurrence from me? What is it you expect from such behavior? Justice? Atonement?”

  “It wasn’t like that this time,” Seregil countered. “Sometimes you have to fool your enemy into doing what you want them to do. By letting Emiel think—”

  “And what will everyone else think when they look at you tomorrow?” she demanded angrily. “For once in your life, listen to good counsel. Hear me, if not as your elder, then as the khirnari of the clan I pray you will one day rejoin. To allow a Haman to lay hands on you dishonors the princess you serve and the clan you sprang from. It dishonors Alec. Have you considered that?”

  “That was pointed out to me, actually. But tonight—”

  “Tonight you let a Haman put his hands on you again, as if it were his right.”

  Seregil knew it had been different tonight. He knew that whatever the cost, it had been worth the information he’d gotten. Any Rhíminee footpad or noble intriguer would have applauded him for it. At the same time, he knew with equal certainty that there was no way his sister would ever understand.

  “Forgive me, talía. Bringing pain and dishonor to those I love best seems to be a particular talent of mine.”

  She cupped his chin. “Self-pity is a weakness you cannot afford to indulge. You know my hopes for you, talí. I want my brother back. I want you to be Aurënfaie again.”

  Tears stung his eyes as he pulled her close. I want that, too, more than you know: I just have my own ideas on achieving the impossible.

  Alec paced slowly around the hall. He had the place to himself for the moment, the first time since Klia’s mysterious collapse that he’d had a quiet moment to think. When he tried to make sense of the day, however, he was overwhelmed by the confusion of events. Klia’s illness and Torsin’s untimely death. Bad enough that they might be returning to Skala empty-handed and in the middle of a lost war. He’d stood by and allowed Klia to be poisoned right under his nose. Now Seregil was acting like a madman. Perhaps they’d both been too long away from Rhíminee, after all.

  Seregil came out of the mourning room looking subdued.

  “Well?”

  “Go back up to that clearing at first light. Find whatever you can.”

  Alec opened his mouth to reply but succumbed to a jaw-creaking yawn
instead.

  “Get some sleep,” Seregil advised. “There’s nothing else you can do tonight, and tomorrow is shaping up to be a very long day.”

  “Are you coming up?”

  “Maybe later.”

  Alec watched Seregil cross the darkened hall toward the bath chamber. “I still think Emiel did something to her.”

  Seregil paused but didn’t look back. “Find me some proof, talí,” he rasped. “Find me proof.”

  32

  SNAKES AND TRAITORS

  Seregil woke groggily to the sounds of an argument. He’d been dreaming of the Cockerel Inn again, but this time he’d been sitting on the roof.

  Stiff and disoriented, he sat up and looked around the dim hall to get his bearings. He’d stayed with Klia until Mydri had chased him off, then made a makeshift bed out of two chairs out here. He hadn’t expected to sleep, yet here he was with a stiff neck and one leg numb to the hip. The night lamp was guttering, and faint light was showing at the windows.

  The argument in question was being carried on in Skalan outside the front door. Limping over, he looked out to find Nyal facing several Urgazhi sentries. Corporal Nikides and Tare were resolutely blocking the door. A few steps below, the Ra’basi interpreter looked tired and apologetic, but determined.

  “It’s Captain Beka’s orders,” Nikides was saying. “No Aurënfaie except Bôkthersans are to be let in. When she comes back—”

  “But the rhui’auros said Seregil sent for me!” Nyal insisted.

  “Which rhui’auros?” Seregil demanded, sticking his head out.

  “Elesarit.”

  It wasn’t the name Seregil was expecting, but he played along. “Of course. It’s all right, Corporal. I’ll take charge of him.”

  As soon as the door had swung shut behind them, he grasped the Ra’basi by the arm and pulled him to a halt.

  “What did this rhui’auros say, exactly?”

  Nyal shot him a surprised look. “Only that you required my services.”

  “And that I’d sent for you?”

  “Well, no, now that I think of it. I just assumed—”

  “We’ll sort that out later. Where have you been?”