Traitor's Moon

or so I’m told. Do you have any idea what it would do to the negotiations if word got out that a member of Klia’s delegation had been attacked by a Haman? Nazien is already expressing admiration for Klia—”
    â€œWho said anything about the Haman?”
    Her hand moved so fast it took him a second to register that he’d been slapped, and hard enough to make his eyes water and his ears ring. Then she was bending over him again, poking him painfully in the chest with one finger.
    â€œDon’t compound your stupidity with a lie, little brother! Did you think such a hollow act would make anything right? Did you
think
at all, or just hare off blindly like you always did? Have you changed so little?”
    The words hurt far more than the blow. He probably hadn’t changed all that much, though he knew better than to say so just now.
    â€œDoes anyone else know?” he asked dully.
    â€œOfficially? No one. Who would strut around bragging of breaking Aura’s sacred peace? But there have been whispers. You must be at the Iia’sidra tomorrow, and you’d damn well better look like you’ve been ill!”
    â€œThat shouldn’t be a problem.”
    For a moment he thought she was going to hit him again. Sparing him a last disgusted glare, she swept out. He braced to hear the door slam in her wake, but she refrained.
Mustn’t give the servants anything to talk about
.
    He pressed his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes, concentrating on the sounds of the birds and breeze and peoplepassing by along the street below. The brush of cool fingers against his cheek a moment later startled him badly. He thought Nyal had gone when his sister had arrived, but here he was again, studying him with unwelcome concern.
    â€œAre people so eager to hit you back in Skala?” the man asked, examining whatever new mark Mydri had left.
    Seregil should have been angry at the intrusion, but suddenly he was too tired, too sick.
    â€œNow and then,” he replied, closing his eyes again. “But there it’s usually strangers.”

20
T HE P ASSING OF I DRILAIN
    M idnight was long past by the time Korathan reached Phoria’s camp. He’d outdistanced his escort some miles back, pressing on alone in the vain hope of catching his mother’s dying words.
    The pickets recognized his shouted greeting and cleared out of the road without challenge. Thundering into camp, he reined in at the tent showing his mother’s banner, scattering a crowd of servants and officers gathered there.
    Inside, the heavy odor of death assailed him.
    Tonight only Phoria and a wizened drysian attended the queen. His sister’s back was to him as he entered, but the drysian’s solemn face told him that his mother was already dead.
    â€œYou’re too late,” Phoria informed him tersely.
    From the state of her uniform, he guessed she’d been called in off the battlefield, too. Her cheeks were dry, her face composed, but Korathan sensed a terrible anger just held in check.
    â€œYour messenger was delayed by an ambush,” he replied, throwing off his cloak. Joining her beside the narrow field bed, he looked down at the wasted corpse that had been their mother.
    The drysian had already begun the final ministrations for the pyre. Idrilain was dressed in her scarred field armor beneath the lavish burial cloak. That would please her, he thought, wondering if these considerations were Phoria’s doing or the servants’. The strap of her war helm was cinched tight to hold her jaw shut, and her dimmed eyes were pressed open for the soul’s journey. Her ravaged face had regained a certain dignity in death, but he saw traces of blood and dried spittle crusting her colorless lips.
    â€œShe died hard?” he asked.
    â€œShe fought it to the end,” replied the drysian, close to tears.
    â€œAstellus carry you soft, and Sakor light your way home, my Mother,” he murmured hoarsely, covering Idrilain’s cold hands with his own. “Did she speak much before she went?”
    â€œShe had little breath for talking,” Phoria told him, turning abruptly and stalking out. “All she said was, ‘Klia must not fail.’ ”
    Korathan shook his head, knowing better than anyone the pain Phoria’s anger hid. He’d watched for years in silence as the gulf between queen and heir had widened while Idrilain and Klia drew ever