Traitor's Moon

track a black cat on a moonless night, yet so much of your own heart is still unknown to you. You must pay better attention.”
    Nysander took his hand away, and Seregil saw that the wizard now held one of the mysterious glass orbs. With a careless flick of his wrist, he tossed it up into the air. It glittered a moment in the sunlight, then fell to shatter on the rocks at their feet. For one terrible instant Seregil was back on the windswept Plenimaran ledges, blood—Nysander’s blood—dripping from his ruined blade. Just as quickly, the image was gone.
    â€œDidn’t it make a lovely sound?” the wizard asked, smiling down at the tiny shards.
    Seregil blinked back tears, trying to make sense of what he was being shown. “The rhui’auros said I have to keep them.”
    But Nysander was gone, and Lhial sat in his place again, shaking his head. “I said they were yours, son of Korit. But you know that. You knew it before you ever came to me.”
    â€œNo, I don’t!” Seregil cried, but with less conviction now. “What am I supposed to do?”
    The wind blew colder. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, trying to warm himself. He felt movement next to him and saw that Lhial had been replaced this time by a young dragon the size of a bull. Its eyes were gold, and kind.
    â€œYou are a child of Aura, little brother, a child of Illior. The next step in your dance is at hand. Carry only what you need,” the dragon told him, speaking with Lhial’s voice. With that, it spread leathery wings with a sound like summer thunder and rose to blot out the sun.
    Seregil was drowned in darkness. The hot, acrid atmosphere of the dhima closed around him like a fist. Fighting for breath, he found the door flap and scrambled out, then collapsed gasping on the warm, rough stone outside.
    There was something beneath his left hand. Even without the faint light filtering down to him from the main cavern, he knew what it was; recognized the curve of cool, slightly rough glassunder his fingers. Swaying to his feet, he weighed the sphere on his palm for a moment; it was heavy, too heavy for something no bigger than a raven’s egg. It was precious, loathsome; his to do with as he wished.
    Carry only what you need
.
    With sudden vehemence, he flung it against the far wall. There were no visions this time, just the sharp, satisfying
chink
of breaking glass.
    The sun was still low over the eastern horizon when he emerged from the Nha’mahat. His body hurt and he was as tired as if he really had journeyed to the mountains and back on foot.
    Back at the guest house, he found Alec still abed, a pillow over his head. He woke as Seregil closed the door, emerging sleep-tousled and yawning.
    â€œThere you are,” he said, raising himself on one elbow. “Out early again? Where’d you go this time?”
    No words would come. Seregil sat down on the edge of the bed and ruffled Alec’s tangled hair. “Just wandering,” he said at last. “Come on. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”
    The Haman were among the last to pay their respects to Klia. Warned of Nazien í Hari’s arrival, Seregil tactfully withdrew with Alec to a side chamber, where they could watch the proceedings from behind the door.
    The khirnari was accompanied by ten of his clan, including Emiel í Moranthi.
    â€œSuppose Nazien knows where his nephew was last night?” whispered Alec.
    Seregil found himself hoping in spite of himself that Nazien did not. Proud and arrogant the Haman might be, but Klia had clearly taken a liking to the man and it seemed to be reciprocated.
    Nazien and the others laid their little cedar bundles on the brazier and bowed to Klia.
    While Nazien chatted quietly with her, Seregil watched his nephew’s face for some betraying expression. Emiel merely looked distant, and a bit bored.
    When the initial greetings had been dispensed with, Klia leaned forward and regarded the old man earnestly. “Tell me, Khirnari, willthe Iia’sidra vote soon on my petition? I long for my homeland, and to do proper honors at the grave of my mother.”
    â€œIt is time,” Nazien agreed. “You have been most patient, though I wonder if you will be pleased with the outcome.”
    â€œThen you think it will fail?”
    Nazien spread his hands “I cannot speak for all the others. For myself, regardless of my feelings toward your