Traitor's Moon

on the western border, close to the Zengati tribal lands.”
    â€œÂ â€˜Fade as’?”
    â€œFai’thast. It means ‘folk lands’; ‘home.’ It’s the territory each clan owns.” Seregil spelled the word out for him, a comfortingly familiar ritual. They’d done it so often that they scarcely noticed the interruption. Only later did it strike him that of all the words he’d poured out in his native tongue over the past two years, that one had not been among them.
    â€œThe western clans always had more dealings with the Zengati—raids out of the mountains, pirates along the coast, that sort of thing,” he continued. “But the Zengati are clannish, too, and some tribes are friendlier than others. The Bôkthersa and a few other clans traded with some of them over the years; my grandfather, Solun í Meringil, wanted to go further and establish a treaty between our two countries. He passed the dream on to my father, who finally convinced the Iia’sidra to meet with a Zengati delegation to discuss possibilities. The gathering took place the summer I was twenty-two; by Aurënfaie reckoning that made me younger than you are now.”
    Alec nodded. There was no exact correlation between human and Aurënfaie ages. Some stages of life lasted longer than others, some less. Being only half ’faie himself, he was maturing more rapidly than an Aurënfaie would, yet he would probably live as long.
    â€œMany Aurënfaie were against a treaty,” Seregil went on. “For time out of mind the Zengati have raided our shores—taking slaves, burning towns. Every house along the southern coast has a few battle trophies. It’s a testament to the influence of our clan that my father got as far with his plan as he did.
    â€œThe gathering took place beside a river on the western edge of our fai’thast, and at least half the clans there had come to make sure he failed. For some, it was hatred of the Zengati, but there were others, like the Virésse and Ra’basi, who disliked the prospect of western clans allying with the Zengati. Looking back now, I suppose it was a justifiable concern.
    â€œYou recall me saying that Aurënen has no king or queen? Each clan is governed by a khirnari—”
    â€œÂ â€˜And the khirnari of the eleven principal clans form the Iia’sidra Council, which acts as a meeting place for the making of alliances and the settling of grievances and feuds,’ ” Alec finished, rattling it off like a lesson.
    Seregil chuckled; you seldom had to teach him anything twice, especially if it had to do with Aurënen. “My father was the khirnari for Bôkthersa, just as my sister Adzriel is now. The khirnari of all the principal clans and many of the lesser ones came together with the Zengati. The tents covered acres, a whole town sprung up like a patch of summer mushrooms.” He smiled wistfully, remembering kinder days. “Entire families came, as if it were a festival. The adults went off and growled at each other all day, but for the rest of us, it was fun.”
    He rose to pour fresh wine, then stood by the hearth, swirling the untasted contents of his cup. The closer he came to the heart of the story, the harder it was to tell.
    â€œI don’t suppose I’ve ever said much about my childhood?”
    â€œNot a lot,” Alec allowed, and Seregil sensed the lingering resentment behind the bland words. “I know that, like me, you never knew your mother. You once let slip that you have three sisters besides Adzriel. Let’s see: Shalar, Mydri, and—who’s the youngest?”
    â€œIlina.”
    â€œIlina, yes, and that Adzriel raised you.”
    â€œWell, she did her best. I was rather wild as a boy.”
    Alec smirked. “I’d be more surprised to hear that you weren’t.”
    â€œReally?” Seregil was grateful or this brief, bantering respite. “Still, it didn’t much please my father. In fact, I don’t remember much about me that did, except my skill at music and swordplay, and those weren’t enough most days. By the time I’m speaking of, I mostly just stayed out of his way.
    â€œThis gathering threw us back together again, and at first I did my best to behave. Then I met a young man named Ilar.” Just speaking the name made his chest tighten. “Ilar í Sontír. He was a Chyptaulos, one of the