Shadows Return

was still sitting in the water where he’d fallen. Water streamed down his face, and blood, too. Ilar was beaten, miserable, helpless. Pitiable.
    Seregil staggered to his feet. “Hit me again. Harder.”
    “What?”
    “Please, talí. Once more.”
    Alec gave him another doubtful look, and then slapped him, hard.
    Ilar staggered up, looking at them like they’d both gone mad, then edged around them to grab up his discarded robe. “I didn’t mean any harm, Alec,” he mumbled, trembling.
    “The hell you didn’t! You’ve been trying to cozy up to him from the start.” He turned accusing eyes on Seregil. “Did you let him?”
    Alec might just as well have hit him again. Seregil yanked on his discarded coat and stalked back up the hill to their camp, not trusting himself to answer. He wasn’t sure whom he was most angry with.
    Probably himself.
             
    Alec leveled the point of his sword at Ilar’s throat. “First me at the house, and now this? Leave him alone, damn you!”
    “Please don’t! You promised,” Ilar begged, as his legs gave out under him.
    “Don’t tempt me.” Disgusted, Alec sheathed his sword. “You put a slave collar on him, but he saved you anyway. Why are you making trouble now?”
    Ilar hugged his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth a little. Eyes downcast, he whispered, “I wasn’t always like this. All these years of being one master’s possession after another…I can’t expect you to understand, or him. I was just ‘Khenir’ for so long.”
    “Yhakobin didn’t give you that name?”
    “Of course not. When the slavers asked me what my name was, I just said the first one that came into my head, so as not to shame my clan any more than I already had.”
    As much as he hated to admit it, Alec suspected Ilar was telling him at least a partial truth. “How did you become a slave in the first place?”
    “When I failed, all those years ago, Ulan í Sathil had to make certain that the truth of his role in all that never came out. So he had me caught and sold.”
    Alec snorted. “Because the Aurënfaie don’t like to kill each other?”
    “Scoff all you like. He couldn’t very well declare teth’sag on my clan and me. And he couldn’t risk the Haman claiming their right to it, in case I talked. If he’d had me killed, it would have been murder and set his clan at odds with mine and their allies.” He was shivering harder now. “Besides, this is more of a punishment, isn’t it?”
    “And you wanted to punish Seregil, too.”
    “When I overheard one of Ilban’s visitors speak of you and Seregil a few years ago, something happened…” He paused, gaze fixed on his muddy feet. “Some part of me came back to life. I wanted revenge. I couldn’t think of anything else. And Ilban trusted me enough to look into the matter, once he heard the claims about your mixed blood.” He looked up, a bit of spirit coming back into his eyes. “Seregil is right when he says that all that’s happened to you was my doing, but he bears some of the responsibility.”
    “Don’t start that again. I don’t believe you and I don’t care.”
    Ilar stood up slowly and pulled on his discarded cloak. “What’s stopping you from killing me now?”
    Because I wouldn’t let Seregil do it, and now he won’t let me,
Alec thought, resigned.
    Ilar pressed his hand to his heart and gave him a small bow. “Whatever your reason, I thank you. If you only knew what it was like, seeing him again…But I’ll take more care around him, I swear!”
    “You’d better.”
             
    Seregil had found Sebrahn squatting in the dappled shade under a gnarled tree. His back was to Seregil but he turned as soon as he heard him approaching, long silvery hair swinging around his shoulders. Seregil had given up cutting it as often. It was too disconcerting to see it grow back.
    Distracted by the hair, it took Seregil a moment to notice that Sebrahn held a cup in both hands. The rhekaro rose and offered it to him. A large blue lotus filled the cup. “What’s that for?”
    Sebrahn pointed at Seregil’s bruised face. “Oh that? It’s—”
    There was a deep gash in Sebrahn’s forearm. The strange pale blood was still flowing, and a trail of dark spots in the dust led back to the open bundle, and the knife beside it.
    “How did you know?” Seregil muttered. “And what have you done to yourself? I don’t need that.”
    He scooped the wet flower from the cup and pressed it