Traitor's Moon

He couldn’t make out faces from this angle, but he saw that they wore the purple sen’gai of Bry’kha.
    Looks like I’m just in time
.
    He waited until the door closed, then ran to a window to the right of the door that looked promising, unshuttered and dark. Alec slipped over the sill and went into a crouch, listening. Satisfied that the room was unoccupied, he pulled the lightstone from his tool roll and shielded it with his hand. By its light, he saw that he was in an empty room. He tucked the stone into his belt and crept out into an unlit corridor, his bare feet silent on the smooth stone floor.
    He found his way to a passageway leading to the main hall. As hewatched from the shelter of a doorway, a servant crossed the room and returned a moment later with several Lhapnosans. He caught the words “welcome” and “garden.”
    Luck in the shadows indeed
, thought Alec, retreating back the way he’d come. Whatever the ’faie might think about thieves and thought readers, it seemed their god had a favor or two to spare the humble nightrunner. Now if his luck would just hold until he found the right garden.
    After several wrong turns, Alec ended up in a room with a low balcony overlooking an illuminated courtyard. Creeping to the archway, he peered out, then ducked quickly back, heart pounding in his chest. Ulan í Sathil sat less than twenty feet away. Moving more carefully, Alec chanced another look.
    The large, lushly overgrown garden was lit by crescent-shaped lanterns set on tall poles. Ulan faced his guests, most of whom were hidden from view by the angle of the wall. Alec guessed by the murmur of conversation that there were no more than a dozen people present. Those he could see included the khirnari of Lhapnos and Bry’kha, together with some of their kin and members of minor clans. Servants were circulating with wine and sweets.
    He was about to belly-crawl to the opposite side of the archway when a whiff of scent froze him on all fours. He’d smelled the same spicy, musk only once before, in the shadows of the House of Pillars. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck and spread gooseflesh up his arms.
    Turning, he scanned the room for its source, glancing toward the door in time to see a growing glimmer of light beneath it. He had just time enough to scuttle behind the door before it swung open. Through the crack between door and frame, he saw a bored-looking watchman raise the lantern he held and peer around the room. Satisfied, he went out again, closing the door behind him.
    Alec stayed where he was for nearly a minute, testing the air like a hound as he waited for his heartbeat to slow. For an instant he thought he smelled the perfume again.
    â€œWho are you?” he whispered, realizing as he did so that he was more fearful of receiving a response than not.
    No one answered, and the scent did not return.
    Don’t be a fool
, he berated himself as he crept back to the window. Someone wearing a strong scent had passed by in the corridor, maybe even someone the watchman was looking for. It was probably a common scent. Then again, he’d been to endless gatherings since his arrival in Aurënen and never smelled anything like it.
    He shook off the disconcerting thoughts. He couldn’t afford to linger.
    Standing on the opposite side of the archway now, he peered around and with a sinking heart recognized Seregil’s old friend, Riagil í Molan of Gedre sitting between Ruen í Uri of Datsia and Rhaish í Arlisandin. The khirnari of Bry’kha and Silmai were there, too, along with several minor khirnari.
    It was clear from the level of conversation that more guests were expected. A few moments later several Haman entered, but Nazien í Hari was not one of them. These were all younger men, and it was Emiel í Moranthi who bowed in greeting to their host.
    Alec’s lip curled at the sight of him, his distaste tempered only by the pleasure of observing the arrogant bastard unaware.
    This must have completed the company, for Ulan stood to address them. Alec sank down and settled his back against the wall to listen.
    â€œMy friends, my opposition to the Skalan’s demands are no secret among you,” Ulan began. “I am frequently accused of acting out of self-interest. I do not deny this, nor do I apologize. I am a Virésse, and the khirnari of my clan. My first duty is to my people. There is no dishonor in