Traitor's Moon

Exile, a ghost come to haunt a little while. You disturb the khi of my murdered kinsman with your presence, but you’ll soon be gone. I can be patient.”
    â€œPatient as you were the night you and your friends met me in Haman tupa?”
    Emiel returned to his contemplation of the moon, but Seregil heard him chuckle.
    â€œAnswer me this, then.”
    â€œI told you before, Exile, I have nothing to say to you.”
    Seregil gauged the man before him, then slid the sword away. It clattered and spun across the uneven boards, drawing startled looks from the guards.
    â€œStay there unless I call for you,” Seregil told them, waving Steb and the others away. He moved closer to Emiel, stopping just inches away and lowering his voice. “The Haman are great bargainers. Here’s an even trade for you. Answer my question and earn another taste of teth’sag. Right here. Right now.”
    Emiel turned away slightly, and Seregil mistook the move for a refusal. An instant later, he found himself flat on his back with blood in his mouth. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and the entire left side of his head had gone numb where Emiel’s fist had caught him.
    Steb and the others were nearly on Emiel by the time Seregil had gathered his wits. “No! S’all right. Go ’way,” he managed, staggering to his feet. The look the corporal gave him warned that he’d be explaining himself to Beka later. Or worse yet, to Alec, who’d probably offer to even up the two sides of his head for him. No time to worry about that now.
    Emiel’s arrogant sneer was firmly in place again. “So ask your question, Exile. Ask as many as you like. The price is the same for each.”
    â€œFair enough,” Seregil replied, feeling with his tongue for looseteeth. “I know about the secret meeting Ulan í Sathil held a few nights back, and what he told you there. I know that you don’t share your uncle’s sympathy for Skala. How did he react when you told him what you’d learned?”
    Emiel let out a derisive snort, then lashed out again, backhanding Seregil hard enough to make him stagger. “You’re wasting that handsome face of yours on that? He was shocked, of course, and dismayed. Klia ä Idrilain has great atui. So did her mother. This new queen of yours, though?” He shook his head. “Even my uncle wonders if we should wait another generation before lifting the Edict. So do many of the other khirnari.”
    â€œYou’re generous with your answers,” Seregil muttered, almost managing a crooked grin.
    â€œAsk another.”
    Seregil took a breath and braced his feet, determined not to be caught off guard this time. “All right—”
    But Emiel surprised him again, going for his belly instead of his face. Seregil doubled over, gasping for air. When he could breath again, he asked, “Did you know of Lord Torsin’s private chats with Ulan í Sathil?”
    â€œThe Virésse? No.”
    Seregil leaned back against the wall, one hand pressed to his belly. His ears were ringing and his head hurt, but he didn’t miss how that last question had shaken his opponent.
    He considered pressing further on the Torsin angle but decided against it, not wanting to give too much away in case Emiel was telling the truth about not knowing. Instead, he let out a hollow chuckle. “So you think my face handsome, do you?”
    Emiel took a menacing step toward him. “Is that another question, Exile?”
    Seregil side-stepped hastily. “I withdraw it.”
    â€œThen I’ll answer you for free.” Grinning, Emiel raised his voice loud enough for the others to hear. “You were always a handsome little slut, Exile, more handsome even than the Chyptaulos traitor you played the whore for that summer.”
    The words froze Seregil where he stood.
    â€œYou don’t remember it, but I was there, too. I remember you and Ilar í Sontír—that was his name, wasn’t it? The man you killed my kinsman for? Too bad it wasn’t just your ass Ilar was after, eh, guest killer? Perhaps we’d all have been friends. He could have passed you around. Did you like it rough back then, too?”
    The words hit harder than any blow. Shame welled like bile inSeregil’s throat. How many of the Urgazhi in earshot had understood? Emiel’s scornful gaze seemed to scorch his skin as Seregil retrieved the