Traitor's Moon

after all
, he thought, letting out a pent-up breath when she’d gone out. She’d simply come to collect the day’s dispatches.
    He remained where he was a moment, and opened the daybook again. The first sign of weakness in Torsin’s handwriting appeared several weeks before Klia’s arrival. Pondering this, he turned to the latest entry, a summary of the previous day’s debate.
    U.S. remains subtle, letting the L. raise opposition—
    Alec allowed himself a wry smirk. What had he expected? “
Met with the Virésse. Plotted against the princess”?
    His current position afforded him a different perspective on the room. From here, he could see the careful polish on the row of shoes lined up next to a clothes chest, and the crisply folded pleats in the hem of a robe hanging on the wall.
    One glance into a person’s private rooms will tell you more about him than an hour’s conversation
, Seregil had once told him. Alec had found the statement amusing at the time, considering the source; any space Seregil inhabited was soon in complete disarray. Torsin’s room, on the other hand, shouted order. Everything was in its place, with nothing extraneous in evidence.
    As he slid out from under the bed he noticed a flash of red in the ashes on the hearth, just beneath the metal bars of the grate. If he’d been standing, he’d have missed it.
    Crawling over, he saw it was the half-charred remains of a small silk tassel, dark red with a few blue threads mixed in. He doubted Torsin owned a garment with such embellishments, but they were common enough on Aurënfaie clothing, edging cloaks and tunics.
    And sen’gai.
    He gingerly plucked it out, heart racing again. It was the right size and colors to have come from the edge of a Virésse head cloth. Someone had meant to destroy it, but it had fallen through the grate before the fire had completely consumed it.
    No chance of it being missed, then
, he reasoned, tucking it into the wallet at his belt.
    He spent the rest of the morning loitering about the edges of Khatme tupa in hopes of striking up a profitable conversation.Skilled as he usually was at such ploys, he had no luck here. Unwelcoming stares and whispers of “
garshil
” warned him off whenever he ventured too deeply into the area.
    Perhaps I used up all my luck this morning
, he thought, frustrated.
    The few outlying streets he did manage to explore had none of the usual gathering spots. Unfriendly tattooed faces peered at him from windows and balconies, then disappeared from view. No one, it seemed, had time to drink or game here. Or perhaps, insular as they were, their taverns were located deeper in the tupa, far from prying impure eyes.
    As midday approached he gave up and started for home. It took only a few turnings, however, to realize that he had once again gotten himself lost.
    â€œIllior’s Fingers!” he muttered, scowling as he scanned the anonymous walls and doorways.
    â€œBlaspheming won’t get you free, half-breed. You must use the Lightbearer’s true name here.”
    A Khatme woman stepped into view a few yards away, her tattooed face impassive beneath her bulging red-and-black sen’gai. She wore none of the usual heavy jewelry Alec associated with the clan, but her tunic was stitched with rows of silver, pomegranate-shaped beads.
    â€œI meant no disrespect,” Alec replied. “And you can spare yourself the effort of magic; I get lost on my own without any help.”
    â€œI’ve been watching you all morning, half-breed. What is it you want here?”
    â€œI was just curious.”
    â€œYou’re lying, half-breed.”
    Do the Khatme read thoughts after all, or do I just look as guilty as I feel?
Putting on the bravest face he could, he replied. “My apologies, Khatme. It’s a practice we Tír have when what we are doing is none of another person’s business.”
    â€œThere’s an etiquette to duplicity, then? How interesting.”
    Alec thought he saw a hint of a smile shift the black tracery covering one cheek. “You say you’ve been watching me, yet I haven’t seen you,” he countered. “Were you spying on me?”
    â€œWere you spying on Lord Torsin when he came here at our khirnari’s request last night, half-breed?”
    There was no use dissembling. “That doesn’t concern you. And my name is Alec í Amasa, not