Arched openings on each of its eight walls afforded pleasant views of the valley. Inside, smooth blocks of black stone served as benches and tables. Standing there alone, he could easily imagine the house's original inhabitants sitting around him, enjoying the cool of the evening. For an instant he could almost hear the lost echo of voices and footsteps, the rise and fall of music played on unknown instruments.
The scuff of leather against stone startled him and he jerked around to find Seregil grinning at him from the doorway.
"Dreaming with your eyes open?" he asked, crossing to the window that overlooked Adzriel's house.
"I guess so. What's this thing called?"
"A colos"
"It feels haunted."
Seregil draped an arm around Alec's shoulders. "And so it is, but there's nothing to fear. Sarikali is a city dreaming, and sometimes she talks in her sleep. If you listen long enough, sometimes you can hear her." Turning Alec slightly, he pointed across to a small balcony near the top of his sister's house. "See that window up there, to the right? That was my room. I used to sit there for hours at a time, just listening."
Alec pictured the restless grey-eyed boy Seregil must have been, chin propped on one hand as he listened for alien music seeping from the night air. "Is that when you heard them?"
Seregil's arm tightened around his shoulders. "Yes," he murmured, and for one brief moment his face looked as wistful as that lost child's. Before Alec could do more than register the emotion, however, Seregil was his old bantering self again. "I came to tell
you that the baths are prepared. Come down as soon as you're ready."
And with that he was gone.
Alec lingered a bit, listening, but heard only the familiar bustle of his fellow travelers settling in.
Beka declined a room in the main house in favor of a small side room in the barracks.
"I haven't seen a decent fortification since we got here," Mercalle grumbled, looking the place over.
"Makes you wonder what happened to those Bash'wai folks," Braknil observed. "Anyone could ride in and take the place."
"I'm no happier about it than you are, but it can't be helped," said Beka. "Get watch fires started, give the place a thorough inspection, and set guards at all entrances. We'll rotate everyone between guard duty here, escort detail for Klia, and free time. That ought to keep them from getting bored too quickly."
"I'll keep those off duty to standard city drill," said Mercalle. "No less than three in a group, old hands watching out for the new ones, and keep them close to home for the first few days until we see how warm our welcome really is. Judging by some of the Aurenfaie I saw today, there's likely to be a bit of chest thumping."
"Well said, Sergeant. Pass the word, all of you; if there is any trouble with the 'faie, Commander Klia doesn't want steel drawn unless life is about to be lost. Is that clear?"
"As spring rain, Captain," Sergeant Rhylin assured her. "It's better politics to take a punch than to give one."
Beka sighed. "Let's hope it never comes to that. We've got enough enemies back over the sea."
Entering the long main room of the barracks, she found Nyal stowing his modest pack next to one of the pallets.
"You're bunking in with us, then?" she asked, feeling another odd little flutter below her breastbone.
"Shouldn't I?" he asked, reaching uncertainly for his pack again.
From the corner of her eye she saw Kallas and Steb exchange knowing grins. "We still need you, of course," she replied tersely. "I'll have to consider how to assign you, now that we'll be splitting into details. Perhaps Lady Adzriel can find me another interpreter or two. We can't expect you to be everywhere at once, can we?"
"I shall do my best to be, nonetheless, Captain," he replied with a
wink. But his Smile faltered as he added, "I think it might be best if I don't attend the feast tonight, though. You and your people will be well looked after by the Bokthersans."
"Why not?" asked Beka, surprised. "You're living here in Adzriel's tupa. I'm sure she'd welcome you in her house."
The Ra'basi hesitated. "May we speak privately?"
Beka ushered him into her side room and closed the door. "What's the problem?"
"It is not the Bokthersans who would not welcome me, Captain, but the Akhendi. More specifically, their khirnari, Rhaish i Arlisandin. You see, Amali a Yassara and I were lovers for a time, before she married him."
The news sank in like a kick in the gut. What's the matter with me? I barely know the man! Beka thought, struggling to remain dispassionate. Instead, she suddenly recalled with merciless clarity how Nyal had kept his distance from Amali during the journey from Gedre when he had been so friendly with everyone else, and how he had faded into the background when her husband appeared at the Vhadasoori.
"Are you still in love with her?" She wished the words back as soon as she spoke them.
Nyal looked away with a sad, shy smile. "I regret the choice she made, and will always consider myself her friend."
Yes, then. Beka folded her arms and sighed. "It must have been uncomfortable—being thrown together again this way."
Nyal shrugged. "She and I—it was a long time ago, and most agreed that she made a wise choice. Still, her husband is jealous, the way old men are. It's best that I stay in tonight."
"Very well." On impulse, she laid a hand on his arm as he turned to go. "And thank you for telling me this."
"Oh, I think it would have been necessary sooner or later to say something," he murmured, and was gone.
Sakor's Flame, woman, are you losing your mind? Beka berated herself silently, pacing the tiny room. You barely know the man and you 're mooning over him like a jealous kitchen maid. Once this mission is over you'll never see him again.
Ah, but those eyes, and that voice! her mutinous heart replied.
He's a Ra'basi, for all his traveling, she countered. By all reports that clan was expected to support Viresse. And Seregil obviously distrusted Nyal, though he hadn't come out and said so.
"Too many months without a man," Beka growled aloud. That
was easy enough to remedy, and without all the bother of falling in love. Love, she'd learned through harsh experience, was a luxury she could not afford.
Freshly bathed and brushed, Alec and Seregil headed downstairs to meet the others in the main hall.
Reaching the landing at the second floor, however, Seregil paused. "I'd feel better if we were down here, closer to Klia," he noted, walking the length of the crooked corridor where the other guest rooms lay. At the far end was another stairway, with a window overlooking the rear yard. "This goes down to the kitchen, as I recall," said Seregil, following it down.
Wending their way past baskets of vegetables, they greeted the cooks and were directed down a passageway to the main hall at the front of the house. Klia, Kheeta, and Thero were there already, sitting next to a cheerful blaze on the hearth.
"It's too bad, having Akhendi there his first night with—" Thero was saying to Kheeta, but broke off when he caught sight of them.
"Hospitality must be served," Kheeta murmured tactfully, giving Seregil a knowing look that sent a niggling little jolt through Alec's gut. The two men may not have seen each other for forty years, but an undeniable rapport remained between them.
"Of course," Seregil agreed, brushing the matter aside. "Waiting for Lord Torsin, are we?"
And changing the subject as quickly as ever, too, thought Alec.
"He should be down in a moment," Klia said. The sound of cheers echoing down the back corridor just then.
"Ah, yes, and Captain Beka, too," Klia added with a knowing wink.
A moment later Beka strode in dressed in a brown velvet gown. Her unbound hair had been brushed until it shone and she even had on golden earrings and a necklace. It suited her, but if her expression was anything to go by, she didn't agree. Sergeant Mercalle came in just behind her, grinning broadly at her captain's unease.
"No wonde
r your riders were cheering," Kheeta exclaimed. "For a moment there I scarcely recognized you."
"Adzriel sent word that I was included among the guests," Beka explained, blushing as she flicked an imaginary bit of lint from her skirts. She looked up in time to catch Alec and Thero staring and bristled. "What are you gawking at? You've seen me in a dress before."
Alec exchanged a sheepish glance with the wizard. "Yes, but not for a long time."
"You look very—pretty," Thero hazarded, and got a dark look for his trouble.
"Indeed you do, Captain," chuckled Klia. "An officer on the rise has to know how to carry herself in the salon as well as in the field. Isn't that right, Sergeant?"
Mercalle came to attention. "It is, my lady, though this war hasn't given the younger officers much opportunity for anything except fighting."
Torsin came down the main stair and gave Beka an approving nod. "You do your princess and your country honor, Captain."
"Thank you, my lord," Beka replied, softening a bit.
Adzriel had included Klia's entire entourage in her invitation, and everyone was in high spirits as they walked over, even Seregil.
"It's about time I brought you to meet my family," he said, grinning crookedly as he slipped an arm around Alec and Beka.
Adzriel greeted them, flanked by her husband and sister. "Welcome, welcome at last, and Aura's light shine on you," she cried, clasping hands with each in turn as they entered. Seregil and Alec were soundly kissed on both cheeks. The word «brother» was not spoken but seemed to hover on the air like a Bash'wai spirit.
"The Akhendi and Gedre are here already," Mydri told them as they walked through several elegant chambers to a large courtyard beyond. "Amali is very taken with you, Klia. She's talked of nothing else since she got here."
This house was larger, but seemed to Alec to be more welcoming, as if centuries of habitation by this family had imbued the harsh stone with something of their own warmth.
Low, two-person couches for the highest ranking guests had been set out on a broad stone platform above an overgrown garden, positioned so that the members of the dinner party could watch the moon rise over the towers of Sarikali. Alec counted twenty-three people wearing the colors of Bokthersa, and half again as many Akhendi and Gedre. The riders who'd accompanied Klia over the pass were seated at long tables in the garden among banks of fragrant, funnel-shaped white flowers. They called out happily to the Urgazhi, making space for them among their ranks.
Amali was already stretched prettily beside her husband. She had not warmed to Seregil during the long ride, and showed no signs of thawing now. Alec was glad to be seated several couches away from her, near Adzriel and the Gedre khirnari.
Sitting down next to Seregil, however, he studied the Akhendi khirnari with interest. Rhaish i Arlisandin sat with one arm clasped
loosely around his wife, clearly pleased to be with her after a long absence. Looking up at Alec, he smiled. "Amali tells me you were the luckbringer of the journey?"
"What? Oh, this." Alec raised a hand to the dragon bite on his ear. "Yes, my lord. It was a bit of a surprise."
Rhaish arched an eyebrow at Seregil. "I would have thought you'd have told him all about such things."
Alec was close enough to feel Seregil tense, though he doubted anyone else noticed. "I've been very remiss, but I've always found it painful to—remember."
Rhaish raised a hand in what appeared to be some benediction. "May your time here be one of healing," he offered kindly.
"Thank you, Khirnari."
"You must sit with me as a most honored guest, Beka a Kari," Mydri invited, patting the empty place beside her. "Your family took our—took Seregil in. The Cavish clan will always be welcome at the hearths of Bokthersa."
"I hope we can offer your people the same hospitality one day," Beka returned. "Seregil has been a great friend to us, and saved my father's life many times."
"Usually because I'd gotten him into trouble in the first place," Seregil added, drawing laughter from many of the other guests.
Servants brought in trays of food and wine as Adzriel made introductions. Alec quickly lost track of the names but noted with interest the various Bokthersans. Many were referred to as cousins; such terms often indicated ties of affection rather than blood. One of these people turned out to be Kheeta's mother, a dark-eyed woman who reminded Alec of Kari Cavish.
She shook a finger sternly at Seregil. "You broke our hearts, Haba, but only because we loved you so." The stern look gave way to a tearful smile as she embraced him. "It is so very good to see you in this house again. Come to the kitchen anytime and I'll bake spice cakes for you."
"I'll make you keep that promise, Aunt Malli," Seregil replied huskily, kissing the backs of her hands.
Alec knew he was seeing glimpses of a history he did not share. As the old familiar ache threatened to close around his heart, however, he felt long fingers close over his own. For once, Seregil understood and offered silent apology.
The meal began informally with several courses of finger foods: morsels of spiced meat or cheese wrapped in pastry, olives, fruit, fanciful nosegays of edible greens and flowers.
"Turab, a Bokthersan specialty," a server murmured, filling Alec's cup with a frothy reddish ale.
Seregil clinked his cup against Alec's, murmuring, "My tali."
Meeting his friend's gaze over the rim of his cup, Alec saw an odd mix of joy and sadness there.
"I'd like to hear of this war from you, Captain," said Adzriel's husband, Saaban i Irais, as a course of meats was served. "And from you, as well, Klia a Idrilain, if it is not too upsetting to speak of it. There are many Bokthersans who will join your ranks if the Iia'sidra allows." Judging by the worried frown that crossed Adzriel's face, Alec guessed that Saaban might be one of them.
"The more I see of your people, the more I wonder why they would risk themselves in a foreign conflict," Beka replied.
"Not all would, or will," he conceded. "But there are those who would rather meet the Plenimarans now than fight them and the Zengati on our own soil later."
"We can use all the help we can get," said Klia. "For now, however, let's keep the darkness away and speak of happier things."
As the evening progressed and the turab flowed, conversation turned to reminiscences of Seregil's childhood exploits. Kheeta i Branin figured in a good many of these tales, and Alec was surprised to learn that the man was actually a few years older than Seregil. Seregil had moved to Kheeta's couch to share some story, and Alec studied the pair and those around them, trying yet again to get his mind around the long 'faie life span that he himself shared. Adzriel and her husband, he knew, were in their twelfth decade, a youthful prime among the Aurenfaie. The oldest guest, a Gedre named Corim, was in his third century and looked no older than Micum Cavish, at least at first glance.
It s the eyes, Alec thought. There was a stillness in the eyes of the older 'faire, as if the knowledge and wisdom of their long lives left its mark there—one that Kheeta did not yet show. Seregil, though—he had old eyes in a young face, as if he'd seen too much too soon.
And so he has, just in the time I've known him, Alec reflected. By the time they'd met, Seregil had already lived a human lifetime and seen a human generation age and die. He'd made a name for himself while the friends of his youth were still finishing out their long childhoods. Seeing him here, among his own kind, Alec realized for the first time just how young his friend actually was. What did his own people see when they looked at Seregil?
Or at me?
Seregil threw his head back, laughing, and for a moment he looked as innocent as Kheeta. It was good to see him like that, but Alec couldn't keep away the darker thought that this was how he might have been if he'd never gone to Skala.
"You're as solemn as Aura's owl, and as quiet," Mydri observed, sitting down next to him and taking his hand.
"I'm still trying to believe I'm really here," Alec replied.
"So am I," she s
aid, and another of those unexpectedly warm smiles softened her stern features.
"Can the ban of exile ever be lifted?" Alec asked, keeping his voice low.
Mydri sighed. "It happens, especially with one so young. Still, it would take a petition from the Haman khirnari to begin the debate, and that doesn't seem very likely. The Haman are an honorable people, but they are proud in a way that breeds bitterness. Old Nazien is no exception. He still grieves at the loss of his grandson and resents Seregil's return."
"By the Light, you're a grim pair," Seregil called over, and Alec realized that he was drunk, a rarity for Seregil.
"Are we?" Mydri shot back, a gleam of challenge in her eyes. "Tell me, Alec, does Seregil still have his fine singing voice?"
"As fine as any bard's," Alec told her, giving Seregil a teasing wink.
"Sing for us, tali!" Adzriel urged, overhearing. At her signal, a servant came forward with something large and flat wrapped in patterned silk and placed it in Seregil's hands.
He unwrapped it with a knowing smile. It was a harp, its dark wood polished with use.
"We kept it for you, all these years," Mydri told him as he settled it against his chest and ran his fingers across the strings.
He plucked out a simple tune that drew tearful smiles from his sisters, then moved on to a complex tune, fingers flying across the strings as melody followed melody. Even drunk and out of practice, he played beautifully.
After a moment he paused, then began the exile's lament he'd sung the first time he'd spoken to Alec of Aurenen.
My love is wrapped in a cloak of flowing green
and wears the moon for a crown. And all around has chains of flowing silver.
Her mirrors reflect the sky. O, to roam your flowing cloak of green
under the light of the ever-crowning moon.
Will I ever drink of your chains of flowing silver and drift once more across your mirrors of the sky?
"A bard's voice, indeed," said Saaban, dabbing at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. "With such power to move the emotions, I hope you know happier tunes."
"A few," Seregil said. "Alec, give us the harmony on 'Fair Rises My Lover. »
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