Traitor's Moon: The Nightrunner Series, Book 3

by Lynn Flewelling

“To be honest, my lady, I’m not so sure I like the idea of you going off with them into the hills,” said Beka.

  Adzriel shook her head. “Whatever tensions may lie between my clan and his, I know Nazien to be a man of honor. He will watch over your princess as closely as if she were in his own fai’thast, no matter where they are.”

  “And I’ll have you and Alec and a whole decuria of soldiers to protect me, Captain,” Klia added cheerfully. “After all these weeks of formalities, I’m looking forward to a hard day’s ride.”

  The waning moon hung low over the horizon as the Skalans and Bôkthersans strolled to Virésse tupa that evening. At Seregil’s suggestion, the entire delegation had dressed in their richest clothes.

  “We don’t want to come in looking like poor relations,” he warned, guessing what lay in store for them.

  Consequently, Klia was decked out like a queen. Her satin gown rustled richly as she walked arm in arm with Torsin. Aurënfaie jewels sparkled at her wrists, throat, and fingers. The gold circlet on her brow bore a crescent set with diamonds that caught even the gentle light of the moon and stars and turned them to fire. She even wore the humble Akhendi charms.

  The rest were equally resplendent. Alec could have passed for royalty on the streets of Rhíminee. Beka, who would act as Klia’s personal aide, was elegant in her close-fitting tabard and burnished gorget and brimmed helmet.

  By the time they reached the Vhadäsoori they could make out lights twinkling brightly outside the Virésse khirnari’s house.

  With Klia and Adzriel in the lead, they skirted the shore of the broad pool and emerged from between the stone guardians on the far side to find their host’s house festooned with mage lights, artfully arranged by some talented hand in clusters among the columns of the long portico.

  “It looks a bit different from the last time I was here,” Alec murmured.

  “At least this time you get to use the door,” Seregil whispered back.

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  They were met by Ulan’s wife, Hathia ä Thana, and a gaggle of flower-bedecked children, who presented each guest with a small parchment lantern hung on a red-and-blue silk cord.

  “What a pretty magic!” exclaimed Klia, holding hers up to admire the soft, shifting glow that came from within.

  “It is but a reosu,” Hathia demurred, welcoming them in.

  “No magic to it. It’s a firefly lantern,” Seregil explained. “I remember making these on summer evenings as a child. But I don’t recall ever seeing fireflies here in Sarikali this early in the year.”

  “They’re quite thick in the marshes of Virésse just now,” their hostess replied, leaving it to her guests to guess the expense and trouble of importing enough of the tiny insects overland for the simple pleasure of a few lanterns.

  They passed through the receiving hall and continued out onto a terrace overlooking the enormous garden court at the center of the house. The spectacle that greeted them drew gasps of appreciation from everyone.

  Hundreds of reosu hung in the flowering trees that ringed the garden. Others swung gently from the lines of brightly colored prayer kites rustling overhead. The walls of the courtyard were covered by swaths of crimson silk and gauze that rippled voluptuously in the evening breeze beneath garlands of gilded seashells. The soft music of flutes and cymbals came from some shadowed corner. A large crowd had already gathered in the garden, with more still arriving by various doors.

  Spices and incense from half a dozen foreign lands perfumed the air, mingling with the aromas of the feast laid out on long tables hung with colorful Skalan tapestries. Ulan í Sathil had opened his doors to all in Sarikali, and it looked like he had the provender to make good on the offer.

  Great antlered stags roasted whole lay between platters of birds cooked and dressed in their own plumage. Fish and seafood from the eastern coast were laid out in enormous seashells. Jellies of all descriptions quivered and gleamed next to mounds of rosy wingfish roe, huge smoked eels, and other costly delicacies. Fragrant parsley bread trenchers were stacked man-high in great wooden trays on the ground.

  Pastries the size of bed pillows dominated the display. A Virésse specialty, these were shaped into fanciful beasts and decorated with edible paints and gilt. Wines glimmered with limpid fire in huge, ornate bowls carved from blocks of mountain ice.

  Ulan stepped forward as they stood admiring the display. “Welcome to you, dear ladies, and to your kin and people,” he said, presenting Klia with a strand of black Gathwayd pearls the size of gooseberries.

  “I am most honored, khirnari,” Klia replied. Removing her diamond circlet, she placed it in Hathia’s hands. The making of such a lavish gift to her host’s wife caused no insult, but stated without words that Klia was Ulan’s equal. Her manner was flawlessly gracious, betraying nothing of her knowledge of his clandestine maneuvering.

  “For someone who opposes Klia’s mission, Ulan certainly hasn’t stinted on the welcome,” Alec remarked in an awed whisper as they followed Klia down the steps.

  “This display is more for his own benefit than Klia’s,” Seregil noted, recognizing a show of influence when he saw one. “She’ll go home eventually. He’ll still be here, a force to be reckoned with each time the Iia’sidra meets.”

  “I have heard much of you through our friend Torsin over the years,” Hathia was telling Klia. “It’s said the best of your ancestors lives again in you.”

  “The same is said of my sister, the queen,” Klia replied, just loudly enough for her voice to carry to the curious onlookers nearby. “May Aura grant that we are both worthy of such praise. You have a unique perspective on my family, having lived through so many generations of them. Ulan í Sathil, I believe you visited Skala in the days before the Edict?”

  The deep creases in Ulan’s cheeks deepened as he smiled. “Many times. I remember dancing with your ancestor Gërilani before she was crowned. That would be—how many generations back?”

  He paused in thought, though Seregil suspected the whole exchange had been carefully rehearsed.

  “Eight Tír generations back, I think?” said Hathia.

  “Yes, talía, at least that long. Gërilani and I were hardly more than children at the time. Fortunate for you,” he added with a twinkle in his wife’s direction. “She was most enchanting.”

  Klia’s arrival signaled the start of the feast. There were too many guests for tables; each person loaded a trencher and sat where they could, on the grass and the rims of fountains, or spreading into the rooms off the courtyard itself. The mix of opulence and informality was the hallmark of Virésse hospitality.

  A succession of entertainments commenced with the banquet: musicians, jugglers, tellers of tales, dancers, and acrobats.

  Seregil and Alec remained by Klia at first, watching and listening as the crowd flowed around them. Nazien í Hari was among the first to come to her, and Seregil noted with relief that Emiel and his cronies were not in evidence. Perhaps their khirnari was tired of having his policies challenged in public. Or maybe rumors of Seregil’s beating had reached the old Haman’s ears at last and he was chancing no further transgressions against Sarikali law. Whatever the case, Seregil breathed a little easier without them there, and Nazien was all smiles.

  “The weather promises fair. I hope we can show you good sport,” Nazien said, slipping his arm through Klia’s.

  “A hard ride and the chance to explore a bit more of your country will be sport enough for me, Khirnari,” Klia replied warmly.

  Seregil signaled Alec with a discreet nudge and faded back into the surrounding crowd, leaving Klia to charm these potential allies. They had other work to do.

  “This is the most people we’ve been around since we left Rhíminee,” Alec remarked.

  And I’ve missed this, Seregil thought, already straining his ears for interesting conversational tidbits. He suspected Alec felt the same. He’d already fallen into that unassuming manner that made him all but invisible in suc
h gatherings, but his blue eyes were alert as those of a hound that sensed the chase at hand.

  It was not difficult to linger unnoticed for a moment while Lhaär ä Iriel expressed her continuing opposition to any lessening of the Edict to a sympathetic Haman, or to watch one of their host’s kinsmen gently interrogating a Bry’khan woman as to her feelings about Aurënfaie mercenaries joining the war in the north.

  Alec drifted away for a while, returning with Klia and word that some of the guests were not above grumbling at the extravagance surrounding them.

  “I was standing near Moriel ä Moriel a moment ago,” he reported, pointing discreetly at the Ra’basi. Nyal was with her, gesturing animatedly in Beka Cavish’s direction. “She told a Lhapnosan that what we’re feasting on are the spoils that Virésse keeps for itself under the protection of the Edict.”

  “I’ve heard others say the same,” murmured Klia. “Still, she’s one I still can’t read. Ra’basi benefits from the trade coming up the eastern coast by ship, even if it is only Virésse’s crumbs. Yet she’s made it clear more than once that the Ra’basi do not like being treated like some dependent clan.” Her expression brightened as she glanced toward the main entrance. “Ah, but here are the Akhendi at last! I’d feared they wouldn’t come.”

  “Rhaish í Arlisandin doesn’t look very pleased to be back here so soon,” said Alec.

  “He has reason enough not to be,” Seregil agreed. The khirnari was pale and dour, though his greeting to their host and his wife seemed civil enough. His grey hair was windblown beneath his sen’gai, and he wore the same plain robe he’d had on at the morning’s council.

  “I’ll sound him out,” Klia said, going off to meet him. Seregil and Alec trailed behind her, picking up Thero along the way.

  The crowd was thick. By the time they reached him, Rhaish had already been waylaid by Lord Torsin and the Gedre khirnari. Clasping hands with the envoy, Rhaish fumbled his reosu lantern, dropping it at Torsin’s feet.

  “Ah, the cost of age!” he groaned, shaking his head as he went stiffly down on one knee to retrieve it.

  Klia and Thero both stepped forward, but the princess was quicker. Taking Rhaish’s hand, she tried to help him up. The old man yanked his hand away with a gasp and staggered to his feet. Realizing it was Klia who’d tried to assist him, he bowed deeply. “Forgive me, my dear, I did not see you there,” he said, embarrassment lending a little color to his cheeks.

  “Where is your lady tonight?” Klia asked, looking around hopefully. “I’ve missed her.”

  “She’s been weary these past few days and her women felt it would be best if she remained at home tonight,” Rhaish replied quickly, still flustered. “She asked me to express her regards, and the hope of seeing you tomorrow if her condition permits. I won’t be staying long myself.”

  “Of course not. It was good of you to make an appearance. I’ve been thinking Amali looked worn out these past few days. You know, there’s a tea Skalan women drink back home to build them up during their pregnancy. My captain might know what’s needed; her mother knows a good bit of midwifery.” Chatting brightly, Klia slipped her arm through the khirnari’s and drew him away in the direction of the iced wine.

  “We have work to do,” hinted Alec.

  “I suppose so,” Thero agreed.

  Seregil raised an eyebrow at the wizard. “Anxious to throw your dignity to the wind, are you?”

  Thero turned to study the banquet table. “I’ve been thinking about Nysander’s old tricks. That flock of roast wrens has definite possibilities.”

  “Our host is a fastidious man, so try not to make too much of a mess.”

  In the early days of their acquaintance, Thero had been mortified by his mentor’s penchant for amusing magical tricks at parties. Now the young wizard attempted the same silliness with a sense of showmanship Seregil would never have credited him with.

  Leaving the food alone for the moment, Thero began instead with the reosus. Approaching a group of Virésse children, he summoned several dozen of the little lanterns down from the boughs of a nearby tree and set them spinning in a circle above the children’s delighted faces. When he had their attention, and that of some of their elders, he brought the lights down into a man-shaped formation and set it capering like a demented acrobat.

  When a sufficient number of bystanders had turned to watch these antics, Alec and Seregil slipped out a nearby door and set off in search of the khirnari’s private quarters.

  Beka saw them go and watched to see if anyone followed. Satisfied that they were safe for the moment, she turned her attention back to Thero, who was now surrounded by a small crowd.

  “I think your friend has lost his mind,” Kheeta chuckled as he joined her.

  “You should have seen his old master when he had a drop in,” Beka replied, thinking wistfully of the pretty spells Nysander had concocted.

  Some of the older ’faie seemed to share Kheeta’s opinion. The khirnari of Akhendi stood next to Klia, looking doubtfully from the wizard to the princess, who was laughing gaily, as if Thero played the mountebank on a regular basis.

  Sending the lanterns back to their branches, he proceeded to pull flowers and colored smoke from the ears of the rapt children gathered around him. It was rare to see Thero smile; rarer still to see him playful.

  A familiar muffled cough distracted Beka. Turning, she saw Lord Torsin pressing a pristine handkerchief to his lips as his shoulders heaved. Hurrying to his side, she took his arm and offered him her wine cup. He drank gratefully and patted her hand. His own were cold.

  “Are you unwell, my lord?” she asked, noting the fresh stains on the white cloth as he tucked it away in his sleeve.

  “No, Captain, just old,” he replied with a rueful smile. “And like so many old men, I weary sooner than I’d like. I believe I’ll have a little stroll, then make my way home to bed.”

  “I’ll send an escort with you.” Beka gestured to Corporal Nikides, who stood nearby.

  “There’s no need for that,” Torsin said. “I much prefer to see myself home.”

  “But your cough—”

  “Has been with me a good long time.” Torsin shook his head firmly. “You know how I enjoy my quiet walks under the stars here. With today’s decision …” He looked around sadly. “I shall miss Sarikali. Whatever the outcome, I doubt if any of us shall see it again.”

  “I’ll be sorry if that is so, my lord,” Beka said.

  With a last bemused look at Thero, who was now coaxing a dragon-shaped pastry to life, the old envoy went to take leave of Klia and their host. Turning, Beka bumped into Nyal.

  Weaving his fingers with hers, he raised her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I shall be very sorry to see you go. I’ve been thinking of nothing else since the vote was announced this morning. Our parting will be all the worse, knowing that you return to your war, talía.”

  It was the first time he had used the endearment, and the sound of it brought a rush of warmth to her heart and the sting of tears to her eyes.

  “You could come with me.” The words escaped before she could second-guess them.

  “If they vote to lift the Edict, you could remain,” he countered, still holding her hand.

  The possibility hung between them for a moment, then Beka shook her head. “I can’t abandon my command, or Klia. Not when every soldier is needed.”

  “This is what comes of loving a warrior.” Nyal rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, studying the faded scars there.

  “My offer stands.” Searching those sad hazel eyes for an answer, she added in Aurënfaie, “Take what the Lightbearer sends and be thankful, talí.”

  Nyal chuckled softly. “That’s a Bôkthersan proverb, but I will reflect upon it.”

  Seregil and Alec moved through the labyrinthine house with their usual caution, but were soon satisfied that most of the household was busy in the main courtyard. The few people they encountered along the way, servants and trysting lovers mostly, were ea
sily evaded.

  “Does any of this look familiar?” Seregil asked.

  “No, I was in the other wing.”

  Seregil had once known this sprawling house well. Wandering through familiar corridors and courts, he found his way at last to the khirnari’s living quarters. The rooms faced a small courtyard encircled by banks of peony and wild rose. A pool at its center was stocked with large, silver fish.

  “If we don’t find the papers here, and quickly, we give up and go back,” Seregil said, trying a door and finding it unlocked. “We’ve got to return before we’re missed.” He squinted at Alec in the dim moonlight. “You haven’t smelled anything, have you?”

  “Just the flowers.”

  Their search was made easier by the spare furnishings Ulan and his lady favored. Each room had what it needed to make it habitable, no more. Thick carpets softened the sound of their feet, but there were no tapestries, just airy silk hangings around the bed.

  “Odd,” Alec whispered, keeping a lookout at the door. “This is all of the best quality, but after what we’ve seen so far tonight, I’d have expected Ulan’s tastes to be more elaborate.”

  “What does that suggest?” Seregil asked, poking through a clothes chest.

  “That he doesn’t care about material goods? That it’s the power he craves, and displays of wealth like this gathering tonight are simply manifestations of his power?”

  “Very good. There’s more to him than that, though. He lives for his clan. Not that he hasn’t made himself a great man in the process, but the power, the goods, trade, reputation? It’s all for Virésse. That’s the mark of a great khirnari.”

  He broke off, bent over a drawer in a small chest. “Look at this.”

  He flipped something bright at Alec, a new Skalan sester coin that had been cut in two.

  “I bet I know what this is,” he whispered, tossing it back. “Ulan sends sen’gai tassels. Torsin sends these.”

  “If you’re right, then they’ve met at least five times.” Seregil showed him more of the tokens. “What do you suppose Ulan is doing, keeping these close to hand? Now, what was I saying?”