Shadows Return

passed from view, then reappeared on one of the paths leading to the fountain.
    “Alec!” The breath locked in Seregil’s chest as he lurched unsteadily to his feet, clutching at the bars for support. There was no question; even with the veil and shapeless robe, his lover’s build and gait, and that braid hanging down the back of his cloak were unmistakable.
    He’s alive! He’s alive and he’s here, in this house!
    “Alec!” he shouted.
    When Alec gave no sign of hearing, Seregil reached through the bars, pounding at the thick window. It would not give, and even that sound did not seem to reach the men in the garden. That didn’t stop him from shouting himself hoarse. Caught between relief and frustration, he sagged against the bars, tears rolling unnoticed down his cheeks as he drank in the sight of his talí alive and apparently well.
    He’s alive! Thank the Light, Alec is alive!
The words throbbed in his head in time to his frantic heartbeat.
I didn’t get him killed!
    He’d paid scant attention to the other man, but he scrutinized him now and saw that he had Alec on a chain like a dog, fastened to some sort of collar around his neck. He silently vowed to cut off the hand of the man who’d put it there.
    Though Seregil couldn’t make out their faces, it appeared that they were on friendly terms. That gave Seregil hope. If there was one thing Alec excelled at, it was charming people and disguising his own motives.
    The other man wore a golden collar around his neck, just visible under the edge of the veil. He also had the dark hair and build of a ’faie.
Well done, talí. Perhaps you’ve found us an ally!
    Alec and his companion walked together, arm in arm, while Seregil watched like a drowning man sighting land across the waves.
    As they reached the fountain, both of them pulled down their veils. For a moment Seregil only had eyes for Alec; he looked well—better than well, actually. Even through the wavy glass, Alec had never looked more beautiful. It made his heart ache to be this close and yet so hopelessly apart. Just then, however, Alec’s companion looked up in Seregil’s direction and smiled.
    Seregil’s elation curdled in his throat. He knew this face, this man. He’d haunted Seregil’s memories all the days of his exile, and his dreams, too, since he’d been here.
    Ilar í Sontir. First lover. First betrayer. The man who’d engineered Seregil’s downfall all those years ago.
    He slammed his fist against the window again. “You whoreson bastard!”
    In the garden below, Ilar took Alec’s arm as if they were the best of friends. Seregil shuddered, feeling like he was caught in a horrible dream when he saw the way Alec smiled at him.
    Seregil clutched the bars that kept him from kicking out the window and leaping down to kill Ilar for putting hands on Alec.
Just one more reason to kill you, Ilar!
    Ilar looked up again, almost as if he’d heard Seregil’s thoughts.
    You meant for me to see, didn’t you, you bastard? You had Zoriel put me here, to be certain I’d be watching.
    What followed took on the feel of a staged performance, which it probably was. Ilar touched Alec often, and they stood close together, talking like friends as they threw bread to the fish. Alec actually reached out and took Ilar’s arm. Seregil stood there, fingers going numb around the bars, hating Ilar with a passion so strong it made black spots swim in front of his eyes.
    He stayed there until Alec and Ilar passed from view again, then sank down in the chair and put his head between his knees, feeling sick.
    When the nausea had abated he fell back in the chair, staring out the window at the grey-backed gulls circling above the house. His heart beat so hard it ached.
    How can this possibly be?
    Where has Ilar been all these years, and what is he doing here?
    Think, damn it! I can’t even stay on my feet. What am I going to do?
    When his head stopped spinning, he slowly pushed the chair into the corner of the room furthest from the door and huddled there, sweaty and winded, clutching the empty water pitcher in both hands. He felt absolutely ridiculous, but right now he didn’t have much in the way of options.
    Zoriel came at the customary time with his midday meal and found him there. “What’s this?”
    “I saw your ‘master,’ down there in the garden,” he growled. “Turns out he’s an old friend of mine.”
    Zoriel set the tray across his knees. “You’re talking nonsense. Eat your