Traitor's Moon

this.”
    He paused, perhaps to let his guests reflect on their own loyalties. “Until now my opposition has been based on my desire to preserve the prosperity of my clan. Like you, I had the greatest respect for Idrilain ä Elesthera. She was a Tírfaie of great atui and valor. Klia ä Idrilain is very like her mother and I hold her in equal esteem.
    â€œBut now Idrilain is dead, and it is not Klia who ascends that throne, but her half-sister, Phoria. I have called you here tonight not as a Virésse, or a khirnari, but as a fellow Aurënfaie who realizes that we must, in the affairs of the wider world, act as a single people. This new queen is not a woman of honor. Of this I have proof.”
    Alec scrambled to his feet and peered out. Ulan was holding up a handful of documents, the largest of which bore a large wax seal Alec knew only too well.
    O Illior!
Memories of secrets he’d all but forgotten he knew settled over Alec like a pall. It was a Queen’s Warrant, no doubt the lost twin of a forged document used by Phoria five years earlier to reroute a shipment of gold destined for the Skalan treasury. On the surface it had been a foolish indiscretion, done to help protect a kinsman of the queen’s vicegerent, Lord Barien, who’d also been rumored to be Phoria’s lover. In fact, the whole business had been secretly engineered by enemies of the queen, a faction known as theLerans. He and Seregil had uncovered the plot by accident during their investigation of that same forger. Only Nysander had been privy to the resulting confrontation between Idrilain and her daughter. All Alec knew was that Phoria had remained heir.
    He gnawed his lip in frustration as Ulan fitted the facts into a far more damning picture, depicting Phoria as a weak woman, led by passion rather than honor.
    Risking another glance out into the courtyard, Alec saw the gloating satisfaction of the Haman and Lhapnosans. The Gedre khirnari was whispering anxiously to Rhaish í Arlisandin, who’d gone pale. The Silmai elder merely stared down at his hands, as if lost in thought.
    Ulan í Sathil continued on, evincing nothing but an earnest desire to inform. Nonetheless, Alec was certain he caught a triumphant gleam in the man’s eyes.
    What a schemer you are
, Alec thought, not knowing whether he should feel angry or awed.
    Too restless for company, Seregil retired early and attempted to read by the fire, but one book followed another onto the untidy pile beside his chair. Soon he was up and pacing as he mulled various unhappy scenarios to account for Alec’s prolonged absence.
    Alec’s foray into Torsin’s room aside, it had been months since either of them had done any outright burgling. As the stars marched toward midnight, he found himself worrying as if Alec were still his green protégé.
    Perhaps he’d been caught. Seregil could imagine Klia’s reaction if Alec was brought home under Virésse guard, accused of spying. Or maybe he’d stumbled into the clutches of Seregil’s Haman friends.
    No, he thought, rubbing at the fading bruises on one forearm, Alec was too clever for that. Maybe he’d just gotten lost.
    Seregil had nearly talked himself into going out to look for him when Alec slipped in.
    â€œWell?” Seregil demanded.
    Alec was frowning. “You’re not going to like it. Ulan found out about Phoria and Barien: the whole business of the forged papers, the Leran gold, everything.”
    â€œBilairy’s stinking codpiece!”
    â€œAnd he did a fine job of painting our new queen as an honorlessIlar,” Alec went on as he changed into his own clothing. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
    â€œYes.” Seregil sighed. “Come on, let’s find Thero and get this over with.”
    Klia entered Thero’s room clad in a soft velvet robe, her hair loose and tousled about her shoulders. She looked anything but sleepy, however, as she noted the three of them standing uneasily by the hearth. Thero closed the door and wove a spell, sealing the chamber off from prying eyes and ears.
    Klia raised an eyebrow at him, then took a seat in the room’s only chair “Well, out with it.”
    Seregil leaned an elbow on the mantel and launched into a tale he’d never intended to tell.
    â€œIt has to do with Phoria, and your mother’s late vicegerent.”
    â€œBarien? The man’s two years dead, and