Traitor's Moon: The Nightrunner Series, Book 3

by Lynn Flewelling

  “We know what he said,” Seregil cut in. “I also know about Alec’s run-in with Emiel í 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 Virésse 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 í 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 Virésse 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 ä 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 Bôkthersans 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 Virésse banquet,” she reminded him. “You never gave me an answer.”

  “It would mean leaving Aurënen 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, talía! How do I say this? If only you were like Alec—”

  “Aman?”

  Those hazel eyes snapped open. “No, a ya’shel. We call you Skalans ‘Tírfaie.’ 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, talía,” 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. Aurënfaie and Tír 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, talí,” 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 Ilar?” 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 Bôkthersa’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 kn
ow. 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 Orëska 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 Vhadäsoori 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 Bôkthersans’ 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 í 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 í Malteus Romeran Baltus of Rhíminee, brother of Queen Phoria and of Princess Klia í Idrilain, kinsman of Adzriel ä Illia of Bôkthersa, seeks redress for the wrongs committed against his sister, and against their envoy, Torsin í Xandus. Because these crimes have occurred on this, our most sacred ground, the Iia’sidra itself also proclaims teth’sag against the guilty. Adzriel ä Illia, do you speak for your kinsmen?”