Traitor's Moon

had a few cracked ribs to remember the night by—but once he got started he couldn’t stop. The breathless gasps grew to undignified giggles, then bloomed into raw, full-throated cackles that racked fresh pain through his sides and head. The sound would probably draw the Haman back, but he was too far gone to care. Red spots swirled in front of his eyes, and he had the strangest sensation that if he didn’t stop laughing soon, his unmarked face would come loose from his head like an ill-fitted mask.
    Eventually the whoops lessened to hiccups and snorts, then dwindled to whimpers. He felt amazingly light, cleansed even, though his dry mouth tasted bitterly of piss. Crawling a few feet to safer ground, he sprawled on the dew-laden grass, licking moisture from the blades beneath his lips. There was just enough moisture to torment him. Giving up, he staggered to his feet.
    â€œThat’s all right,” he mumbled to no one in particular. “Time to go home now.”
    Something twisted painfully in his chest as he whispered the word again.
    Home.
    Seregil wasn’t sure afterwards just how he got back to the guest house, but when he came to he was curled up in a back corner of the bath chamber, dawn light streaming in softly around him through the open windows. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt to have his eyes open, so he closed them.
    Hurried footsteps brought him around.
    â€œHow did he get there?”
    â€œI don’t know.” That was Olmis, one of the servants. “I found him when I arrived to heat the water.”
    â€œDidn’t anyone see?”
    â€œI asked the guards. No one heard anything.”
    Seregil cracked an eyelid and saw Alec kneeling beside him. He looked furious.
    â€œSeregil, what happened to you?” he asked, then recoiled, nose wrinkling in disgust at the rank odor emanating from Seregil’s damp clothing. “Bilairy’s Guts, you stink!”
    â€œI went for a walk.” Fire erupted in Seregil’s side as he spoke, turning the words to gaps.
    â€œLast night, you mean?”
    â€œYes. Just had to—walk off a bad dream.” The ghost of a chuckle slipped out before he could stop it. More pain.
    Alec stared at him, then motioned for Olmis to help strip off the filthy clothing. Both let out startled exclamations as they opened his coat. Seregil could guess what he must look like by now.
    â€œWho did this to you?” Alec demanded.
    Seregil considered the question, then sighed. “I fell in the dark.”
    â€œDown a privy, by the smell of him,” muttered Olmis, wrestling off his breeches.
    Alec knew he was lying, of course. Seregil could tell by the hard set of his lover’s mouth as he helped Olmis lift him into a warm bath and wash away what they could of the night’s debacle.
    They probably tried to be gentle with him, but Seregil hurt too much to appreciate the effort. He didn’t feel light anymore. The night’s euphoric spell was broken; this pain was dull, nauseating,and constant—no brilliant flashes or crests. Closing his eyes, he endured the bath, endured being lifted out and swathed in a soft blanket. He let himself drift off, away from the massive throbbing in his head.
    â€œI should fetch Mydri,” Olmis was saying, his voice already faint in Seregil’s ears.
    â€œI don’t want anyone else seeing him like this. Not his sisters, especially not the princess. This never happened,” Alec told him.
    Well done, talí
, Seregil thought.
I don’t want to have to explain it, either, because I can’t
.
    Seregil awoke propped up in a soft bed. Squinting up in confusion, he made out the play of firelight on rippling gauze hangings overhead.
    â€œYou slept all day.”
    Moving only his eyes, Seregil found Alec in a chair close beside their bed, a book open across his lap.
    â€œWhere—?” he rasped.
    â€œSo you fell, did you?”
    Snapping the book shut, Alec leaned forward to place a cup of water to Seregil’s lips, then one containing a milky sweet concoction that Seregil fervently hoped was either a painkiller or swift poison. He had to lift his head slightly to drink, and when he did, hot wires of pain drew taut in his neck and throat. He swallowed as quickly as he could and sank back, praying he didn’t vomit it back up. That would involve far too much movement.
    â€œI told everyone you came down with a fever in the