Traitor's Moon: The Nightrunner Series, Book 3

  Brythir raised his hands for order. “This, too, must be debated with care. We must have time for reflections. Nazien í Hari, do you maintain the claim of teth’sag against this man, Seregil of Rhíminee?”

  “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 í Arlisandin, you will summon Amali ä Yassara. Korathan í 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, talí,” 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, blowing 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 í Arlisandin’s face out of the darkness as he mulled the events of the day. Seregil had dealt with Ilars 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 Orëska’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 tho
ught 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 Rhíminee. 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 Bôkthersa 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 í 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 Aurënfaie. 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 í 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 Tír 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—talía. 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 Bôkthersa 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 Bôkthersa 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 har
d 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 Aurënen 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.