Traitor's Moon

I smelled that same sweet scent at about the same moment I thought I heard someone following us. Maybe that was a warning, too.”
    Seregil nodded thoughtfully. “Some people experience the Bash’wai that way.”
    A superstitious chill spider-walked up Alec’s spine. “You think that’s what it was?”
    â€œI expect so. Interesting.”
    â€œThat’s one word for it,” Alec replied. “Where I’m from, it’s an unlucky thing when the dead take an interest in you.”
    â€œAnd where I’m from, we say take what the Lightbringer sends and be thankful.” Seregil chuckled, rising to pull him into bed again. “Keep your nose to the breeze and let me know if you smell it again.”
    Corporal Nikides gave Seregil and Alec a knowing smirk the next morning as they went through the kitchen passage. “Good to have the mourning over with, eh, my lords?”
    â€œDamn right,” Seregil agreed jauntily.
    â€œOh, hell!” Alec growled beneath his breath, coloring hotly.
    Seregil wrapped an arm around his friend’s waist. “Oh, comenow, you didn’t think it was any secret, did you? Or are you ashamed of me, my stiff-necked Dalnan prude?”
    For a moment he feared Alec would pull away. Instead, he found himself pinned roughly against the wall of the now deserted hallway.
    Pressing his hands to the stone on either side of Seregil’s head, Alec leaned in for a bruising kiss. “Of course I’m not ashamed, but I
was
a stiff-necked Dalnan prude before you came along, so next time let’s make certain the door’s closed, all right?”
    Seregil clucked his tongue in mock concern. “Dear me, I see there’s a good deal more we have to work on with you.” Laughing, he slipped under Alec’s arm and continued on toward the hall. “At the solstice festival here, they—”
    â€œI know what they do,” said Alec. “I only pray we’re back in Skala before then.”
    Klia and the wizard were there, waiting for the rest to join them before leaving for the council.
    â€œYou two are looking remarkably well rested this morning,” Klia observed dryly.
    â€œAs are you, my lady,” Seregil returned with gallant good humor, trying not to laugh as Alec cringed beside him. “We’ll all be needing our wits about us today.”
    An air of expectation hung over the Iia’sidra chamber as the members gathered for the morning session. Seated with Alec in his usual place behind Klia, Seregil studied the faces around the council circle and read in many a subtle, collective tension that hadn’t been there a week before. The Khatme were looking unusually sanguine, the Akhendi grim—both bad weather signs for Skala. Ulan’s private cabal had certainly had an effect.
    Elos í Orian was the first to speak. He paused a moment to tuck back the ends of his brown-and-white sen’gai, letting the others wait, then addressed the chamber with the ease of one who has had his speech laid out for him in advance.
    â€œKlia á Idrilain, you have shown great patience,” he began, acknowledging her with a nod. “Your presence here has done honor to your race, and brought new insight to our people.” He turned to the assembly. “Are we of the Iia’sidra unaware of the pain such delay must have caused her and her people? Many things have been discussed in this chamber; all have had their say. What more is there to be done?” He paused for a murmur of approval. “The will of Auraand the people must be served. To that end, I propose that the vote be cast at the Vhadäsoori in seven days’ time.”
    One by one, the khirnari signaled unanimous consent.
    â€œThat’s the first thing they’ve agreed on since we’ve been here,” muttered Alec.
    The decision brought the council to an abrupt halt. Abandoning the orderly rote, people wandered freely, major and minor clans alike. Some, including the Akhendi, left quickly. Others lingered to cajole and harangue one another.
    The Skalans and Bôkthersans withdrew and rode back to their tupa together.
    â€œIt was most tactful of Ulan to have his daughter’s husband push for the vote,” Adzriel observed sourly.
    â€œYou think he means to capitalize on the doubts he’s sown?” asked Klia.
    â€œOf course he does,” said Seregil. “How long do you suppose he’s