Luck in the Shadows

and pointed across to the other side.
    Two otters were playing in the open water. Paddling to shore, they humped up the snowy slope and launched themselves back down again, sliding merrily on their smooth bellies into the water. Clucking and grunting all the while, they repeated the performance over and over while Alec and Beka watched in silent delight.
    "They remind me of Seregil," Alec whispered, propping an elbow on the tree trunk. "Nysander turned him into an otter once when we were at the Orлska House. There's this special spell—I can't remember what he called it—but Nysander says the kind of animal you turn into has something to do with what kind of person you are."
    "An otter, eh?" said Beka, considering the matter. "I would've taken him more for a lynx or a panther. Did he do it to you, too?"
    "I turned into a stag."
    "I guess I can see that. What do you suppose I'd be?"
    Alec considered the matter. "A hawk, I bet, or maybe a wolf. A hunter, anyway."
    "Hawk or wolf, eh? I'd like that," she murmured.
    They watched the otters in silence, each one savoring the sense of companionship that had grown up so easily between them.
    "Well, come on, we'd better get back," Beka whispered at last. As they headed back to the horses, she turned to him and asked, "You're fond of him, aren't you?"
    "Who? Seregil?"
    "Of course."
    "He's been a good friend?" he replied, puzzled by the question. "Why wouldn't I be fond of him?"
    "Oh." Beka nodded as if she'd expected a different answer, then, "I thought maybe you were lovers."
    "What? his Alec stopped dead, staring at her. "What put that in your head?"
    "I don't know," Beka bristled. "Sakor's Flames, Alec, why not? He was in love with Father once, you know."
    "With Micum?" Alec leaned against a slender alder. The tree swayed under his weight, sifting snow over the two of them. It dusted Beka's hair with a veil of sparkling crystals and filtered down the neck of Alec's tunic to melt into points of coldness against his skin.
    "How do you know that?" he demanded, flabbergasted.
    "Mother told me ages ago. I'd heard things growing up and finally I asked. It was pretty one-sided, according to her. Father was already in love with her when he and Seregil met, but Seregil didn't give up for a while. He and Mother didn't care much for one another in those days because of it, but they're friends now. She won out, and he had to accept it. Still, I remember once when I was very young, hearing Mother and Father arguing. Father said something like, "Don't make me choose, I can't do it!" Mother told me that it was Seregil he was talking about. So I guess he loves Seregil, too, in his own way, but they were never lovers."
    Alec chewed over this unexpected revelation; the more he learned of southern ways, the more incomprehensible they seemed.
    Watching the girls trying to teach Alec a country dance in the hall one snowy afternoon toward the end of the week, Micum realized he was going to miss the boy when he was gone.
    Just as Seregil had predicted, Alec had settled in well with his family and already seemed a part of it. Kari's heart had gone out to him at once, and the girls treated him like a brother. He'd picked up swordplay damn fast, too, without Seregil's impatient jousting to contend with.
    Kari stole up behind Micum and clasped her arms around his waist as she watched the progress of the dance lesson. The steps were complex and there was a lot of good-humored chaffing as Alec jostled to and fro between Beka and Elsbet.
    "I wish I'd given you such a son," she whispered.
    "Don't let Beka hear you say that!" Micum chuckled.
    Kari was doing her end-of-the-week mending by the kitchen window when Alec wandered in with his bow.
    "Do you have any beeswax?" he asked.
    "It's there on that shelf by the herbs," she said, pointing with her needle. "There are some clean rags over there if you need them. Why don't you put the water on to heat and sit with me awhile. You go home tomorrow and I haven't had you to myself all week."
    Alec swung the kettle hook into the fireplace and sat down on a stool beside her, bow across his knees.
    "It's good having you here," she said, her needle flashing in the sunlight as she stitched up a tear in one of Illia's kirtles. "I hope you'll come back to us often. Seregil doesn't come out as much as we'd like. Perhaps you can influence him for me."
    "I don't think anyone influences him very much," Alec said dubiously, then added, "You've known him a long time,