Traitor's Moon

by Lynn Flewelling

  “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 Aurënfaie 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 í 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 í 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 Bôkthersans. 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 Säaban 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 talímenios 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 Bôkthersa, 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 Säaban, 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 Bôkthersa.

  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 í 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 ä Iriel,” said Brythir. “A man of your clan has broken the laws of teth’sag laid against him.”

  “Seregil, once Seregil í Korit of Bôkthersa, 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 í 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 Aurënfaie. He has put on Aurënfaie garb and passed as a spy among us.”

  He heard the sound of chair legs creaking, then Nazien took up the litany. “Seregil í Korit has broken the ban of exile laid against him for the murder of my kinsman, Dhymir í 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 Bôkthersan 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 í Korit, you have heard the charges against you, acts which being proven bring shame upon the whole clan of Bôkthersa. 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 Rhíminee, the Exile, and as the Exile, a servant of Klia of Rhíminee, I acted. Nothing I have done can bring shame upon Bôkthersa.

  “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 í 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 ä 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 Virésse and Haman was their own. Klia knew nothing of the matter until they returned yesterday.

  “Let the death of Rhaish í 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 Rhíminee 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 í Korit the first time he was tried, and do the same now,” Elesarit retortèd. “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 í 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 í 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 í 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 í Hari was the next to speak. Rising, he pointed at Seregil. “For the atui this man has shown toward our kinsman, Emiel í 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 Rhíminee, you were granted entrance to Aurënen to serve as an adviser to Klia ä 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 Tír over those of the people who were your own. You have made your choice and must now abide by it. Seregil of Rhíminee, you are declared teth’brimash for life, not by your clan, but by the Iia’sidra itself.”

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

  “You are no Aurënfaie, but a ya’shel khi,” Brythir continued. “You are to us as the Tírfaie, 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 Aurënfaie 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.”