Traitor's Moon

heart.”
    â€œJust so long as he doesn’t break hers in the process. Rhaish is getting long in years. Is he well?”
    â€œI’ve been wondering that myself. He doesn’t seem himself; the strain of the negotiations, no doubt.”
    â€œHe’s known more than his share of sorrows, too,” said Säaban. “He’s seen two wives die, one barren, one in childbed, along with the child. Now Amali carries their first child. That’s bad enough by itself, but to be khirnari and watch your people suffer as his do—I can only imagine how much this business weighs on his mind. I suspect Amali wanted nothing more from Nyal than a shoulder to cry on.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    â€œTry as I may to dislike the man, I hear nothing but good spoken of him,” Seregil muttered as they walked back to their room.
    â€œThe Akhendi khirnari?” asked Alec.
    â€œNo, Nyal. Caring for the lover who threw you over shows more character than I have.”
    Alec allowed himself a smug grin. “See? I knew you were wrong about him.”
    Amali huddled in darkness by the bedchamber window, fighting back tears as Rhaish thrashed again in his sleep. He would not tell her what his dreams were, though they grew worse every night, making him sweat and groan. If she woke him he would cry out, glaring at her with mad, sightless eyes.
    Amali ä Yassara was no stranger to fear; she’d seen her family skirt starvation, driven by it out of the lands they knew to live like beggars in the streets of successive towns and cities across Akhendi. She’d let Nyal heal her fears for a time, but he wanted to take her away, to wander like a teth’brimash again. It was Rhaish who’d saved her, lifted her up and made her proud again to wear the sen’gai of her people. Her parents and brothers ate at the khirnari’s table now, and she carried the khirnari’s son under her heart. Before the Skalans had come, bearing hope, she had felt safe. Now her husband shouted madness in his sleep.
    With a guilty shudder, she felt in the pocket of her nightdress for the warding charm Nyal had given her to mend. It wasn’t his, but it was a link to him, an excuse to meet again when she’d finished with it. Her fingers stroked the crude knots of the wristband: a child’s work, but effective. Nyal’s fingers had brushed her palm as he’d given it to her when they first arrived at the House of Pillars. She let herself savor the memory of that touch, and those that followed; his fingers on her hair, his arms around her, shielding her for a little while from all her fears and worries. It wasn’t the Ra’basi she ached for now, but the sense of peace he’d always been able to give her—just never for long enough.
    She pushed the charm back into her pocket, her talisman to summon that comfort again if she needed it. Drying her tears, she found a soft cloth and went to wipe her beloved’s brow.

18
M AGYANA
    C
ool mountain air against her face. Jagged peaks against a flawless sky. One more pass to traverse and she’d be on the high plains beyond. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the mingled scents of wet stone, wild thyme, and the sweat steaming from her horse’s withers
.
    Freedom. Nothing ahead of her but endless days of exploration—
    Magyana jerked out of her doze as the quill slipped from her fingers. Her mouth was dry. The stale, overheated air inside the queen’s tent made her head ache. The dream had been so clear—for just an instant a flash of resentment overwhelmed her.
I never asked for this!
    Retrieving the fallen pen, Magyana trimmed it and settled resignedly back in her chair. Freedom was an illusion she’d been able to maintain too well for too many years. The gifts that raised a wizard to the highest levels of the Orëska came with a price—different for each, according to their talents.
    The bill for her wandering years had come due, and here she sat, unable to do more than watch over the best of queens as Idrilain fought death, her final adversary.
    Being Idrilain, she had managed to rally, at least for a time. Klia’s departure for Aurënen had somehow buoyed her. In the month since,she clung doggedly to life, even putting on a little flesh as the infection in her lungs receded. Most days she hovered in a murky half-sleep, surfacing now and then into lucid conversation,