Stalking Darkness

against his side where his sword usually hung. “Bilairy’s Guts, I was a
child!
Willful, misguided, guilty as hell, but still a child. If only you knew what I’ve done since then.”
    We found their precious Lord Corruth, Alec and I!
The words burned his throat. “I know the Skalans, their culture and politics, their language, better than any envoy.”
    “Yes, but whose interests would you be representing?”
    Adzriel’s level gaze stopped him in his tracks. “So I’m to sit idle here while the Zengati boil out of the hills and descend on Bôkthersa once again?”
    Adzriel sighed. “I hardly think you’ll be idle, not when the might of Plenimar is pounding against your shores and their armies roll across Mycena to batter at your northern borders. And mark my words, it will come to that before it’s over. I understand your pain, my love, but you’ve spent more than half your life here.” She paused. “I sometimes wonder if things haven’t worked out for the best, somehow.”
    “My being exiled, you mean?” Seregil stared at her. “How can you say that?”
    “I’m not saying I’m glad you were taken from us, but in spite of all the loneliness and pain you must have known, I wonder if life among the Tírfaie doesn’t suit you better? Truly now, could you ever be content to sit under the lime trees at home, telling tales to the children, or debating with the elders of the Bôkthersa Council whether the lintel of the temple should be painted white or silver? Think back, Seregil. You were always restless, always demanding to find out what lay over the next hill. Perhaps there’s some purpose in it.”
    Rising, she took his hands in hers. “I know you’ve paid for your mistakes. Believe me, I want your exile lifted, but you must be patient. Changes are coming for Aurënen, great ones. Make your stand here for now, in this dangerous, wonderful land of yours. What say you, my brother?”
    Still frowning, Seregil muttered, “Silver.”
    “What?” asked Adzriel.
    “Silver,” Seregil repeated, looking up with the crooked grin that had always won her over. “Tell the elders of the Council I said the lintel should be silver.”
    Adzriel laughed, a wonderful, radiant sound. “By Aura, Father was right! I should have beaten you more. Now where is this Alec í Amasa Nysander told me of? He interests me greatly.”
    “You know about Alec?” Seregil said, surprised.
    “More than he does himself, it would seem,” Adzriel chided.
    Seregil gave her a chagrined look. It seemed Nysander had packed a great deal into a short conversation.
    If Nysander hadn’t been with him in the gallery, Alec would have been hard-pressed not to eavesdrop. As it was, he could hear a steady murmur of voices from beyond the door where Seregil had gone.
    After what felt like an interminable length of time, the door opened and Seregil came back into the gallery, accompanied by the young Aurënfaie woman. His air of anguish was gone, erased by an almost sheepish grin.
    Alec knew before his friend spoke who she must be. Her lips were fuller and had none of the hard set of Seregil’s, but thebeautiful grey eyes were the same, with the same expression of appraising intelligence.
    “This is my eldest sister, Adzriel ä Illia Myril Seri Bôkthersa,” said Seregil. “Adzriel, this is Alec.”
    What little Aurënfaie Alec knew deserted him. “My lady,” he stammered, making a passable bow.
    The woman smiled, holding out her hands for his. “My people seldom use such titles,” she said in heavily accented Skalan. “You must call me Adzriel, as my brother does.”
    “Adzriel,” Alec amended, savoring the sound of it, and the feel of her cool hands in his. Rubies and moonstones glowed in the rings she wore on nearly every finger.
    “Nysander tells me you are my brother’s valued companion, a person of great honor,” she said, gazing earnestly into his face.
    Alec felt his cheeks go warm. “I hope so. He’s been a good friend to me.”
    “I am glad to hear such things said of him.” Bowing gracefully to him and the wizard, she stepped back toward the door. “I hope one day soon I may greet you all in my own land. Until then,
Aura Elustri málron.”
    “So soon?” Seregil asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.
    Alec looked away in embarrassment as the two embraced, speaking softly to each other in their own language.
    “Aura Elustri málron, Adzriel talí,”
Seregil said, releasing her reluctantly.
“Phroni soutúa