Lynn Flewelling - Traitor's Moon

"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 Aurenfaie 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 i 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 i 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 Bokthersans. 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 Saaban 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 talimenios 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 Bokthersa, 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 Saaban, 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 Bokthersa.

Ihadn'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 i 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 a Iriel," said Brythir. "A man of your clan has broken the laws of teth'sag laid against him."

"Seregil, once Seregil i Korit of Bokthersa, 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.