Shadows Return

Sarikali. Mydri, the second oldest, was not as warm as Adzriel, but she’d been kind to Alec and at least tolerant of her wayward brother. Shalar and Ilina were another matter. They had cut all ties with Seregil when he was exiled.
    “Do you ever get angry with them? Your sisters?” asked Alec, keeping his gaze on the stars. He never knew how Seregil was going to react when asked about his past, especially his family.
    “How could I be? I committed the crime.”
    “But you were duped by that Ilar fellow.”
    Seregil was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “I should have known better.”
    “I don’t understand. You were hardly more than a child.”
    “Well, you didn’t grow up in Aurënen.”
    “Hmm. I guess neither of us has had the best experience when it comes to family.”
    Alec had known only his human father, and together they’d lived in virtual hiding from his mother’s people, the Hâzadriëlfaie. Her own kin had killed her for loving an outsider, and had tried to hunt down Alec and his father to finish the job. Alec grew up believing himself to be human, until Seregil and Nysander had convinced him of the truth. The most frustrating part was not knowing why the Hâzadriëlfaie were the way they were, or why they would care that his father wasn’t one of them. Even the oracles in Sarikali hadn’t been able to tell him that.
    Seregil reached over and smoothed his palm across Alec’s forehead. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles, frowning like that. What’s wrong, talí?”
    “Nothing you haven’t heard before.”
    “Going back to Aurënen makes you think about it, eh?”
    “Yes. And you?”
    Seregil grimaced. “Oh yes. I’m absolved, but not forgiven. But there’s no shadow on you.”
    “Because they’re not really my people.”
    “Let them know you as I do, and they will be. My sisters love you, and the clan will embrace you. Not because of me, or in spite of me, but for who you are.”
    Alec sighed and took his hand. There were some things even Seregil couldn’t understand.
             
    The weather blew fair and foul by turns, but the captain took full advantage of the winds and the
Lark
pounded swiftly on. They passed the Eamalie Islands on the fourth day and glided into Gedre harbor just as the sun was touching the jagged mountaintops beyond.
    There was no jubilant welcome this time; Skalan vessels had become a common sight here since the pact was signed. Alec felt a certain degree of pride as he counted the ships riding at anchor and the line of newly built storehouses along the shore. The town climbing the gentle rise beyond still looked the same, with its domed, whitewashed houses and flowering trees. Firelight glimmered warmly through hundreds of windows, formed a sparkling crescent around the harbor. The iron firepots on the quays cast wavering shafts of light across the water to meet them. A thin new moon—called Aura’s Bow here—had already risen above the eastern horizon.
    “I wonder if Ulan í Sathil has been here since the change?”
    “I hope so,” Seregil replied with a crooked smile. There was no love lost between him and the khirnari of Virésse. The easternmost clan and their allies had vigorously opposed the opening of another trade port, having enjoyed a monopoly on trade during the time of the Edict of Separation. In Gedre, however, the smugglers had been more than happy to trade openly once more.
    The surprised harbormaster met them at the quay and quickly sent word up to the clan house. A mounted messenger soon returned, leading a string of horses for them and carrying the khirnari’s warm welcome.
    Seregil took the red-painted message wand from his coat and snapped it in half. A tiny flash of light sizzled out and whipped away toward Skala.
    He smiled at Traneus. “That’s one.”
             
    Korathan was walking along the castle battlements, enjoying the night air, when the tiny blue orb appeared before him, hovering like a hummingbird. He touched it and a tiny voice—Magyana’s—said, “They have arrived at Gedre.”
    Pleased, he strode off to tell his sister.
    He found Phoria at sword practice with Elani in the queen’s private garden. He paused at the gate, admiring the skill on display. Dressed in plain practice leathers, Phoria and Elani struck at each other with blunted swords, catching each other’s blades on spiked bucklers. The girl was very quick. Korathan supposed she had to be; her aunt was not a