Traitor's Moon

to hide.”
    â€œThank you, Khirnari,” said Thero. “First, was an Akhendi charm found anywhere in your tupa after the banquet?”
    â€œNo, nothing of that sort.”
    â€œVery well.” Going to a stone bench that stood nearby, Thero spread the stained cloth out and wove a spell over it with his wand. The others watched with growing interest as the colored patterns twisted in and out of existence at his command.
    Seregil quietly turned his attention to the immense garden. The trappings of the banquet had been cleared away, of course. Recalling how the various tables had been set up, he began a methodical search of the area, hoping to find the lost charm, if nothing else.
    Unfortunately, Ulan’s servants had been thorough in their tidying up. He didn’t find so much as an overlooked mussel shell or lost knife.
    â€œI have the sense of something lying in that direction,” Thero announced at last, motioning vaguely to the wing of the house where the khirnari’s rooms lay.
    They moved on, passing along the same corridors Seregil and Alec had walked a few nights earlier. Seregil guided Thero, who walked with eyes half closed, his wand held out before him between his upraised palms.
    The wizard’s face registered nothing but detached concentration until they reached the garden court where Ulan’s private chambers lay. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he looked around, brow furrowed. “Yes, there’s something here, but it’s still very faint.”
    Too easy
, Seregil thought again, rifling his way once more through the bedchamber and sitting room. It was a bit distracting, doing this in broad daylight with an audience that included the owner of the room. It felt indecent, really, like having someone watch you take a crap. The day had turned warm, and sweat trickled down his back and sides as he worked.
    Again, he found nothing. “Are you certain about this?” he muttered, coming back to Thero, who was standing by the fish pool.
    Thero nodded. “It’s unclear, I admit, but it’s here.”
    Pondering what corners he might have missed, Seregil stared down at the fragrant white water lilies floating on the pool’s dark surface. Fish darted below the round, green leaves like half-glimpsed inspirations. A single dead fish floating in a far corner of the pool was the only jarring element; no doubt the usually fastidious khirnari had more pressing things on his mind since Klia’s collapse than the care of his fish pool.
    The others were watching his every move with varying degrees of interest or hostility. Doing his best to ignore them, Seregil looked around the courtyard again. If Thero said there was something here, then something was here. It was just a matter of looking in the right place.
    Or asking the right questions.
    The masses of white peonies and roses caught his eye; he didn’t much relish the idea of uprooting them without good cause. Reddamsel flies darted around the blooms. One strayed to land on the lip of a lily pad. A fish flashed up and swallowed it.
    â€œThey are always hungry,” Ulan murmured, lifting the cover from a bowl set into the rim of the pool. He scattered a handful of crumbs, and the calm water churned as more fish rose to snatch up the morsels.
    The dead fish reclaimed Seregil’s attention. It was a large one, longer than his hand, and its scales were still bright. That, and the fact that its hungry companions hadn’t begun picking at it yet, suggested that it hadn’t been dead long.
    Curious, he walked around to where it floated and scooped it up for closer inspection. Its dark eyes were still clear. Yes, freshly dead.
    â€œMay I borrow a knife?” Seregil asked, careful to keep the rising excitement out of his voice.
    This violated the terms of his return, but the Silmai elder himself handed Seregil a dagger.
    He slit the belly with a single stroke and was rewarded with a glint of steel among the guts. With the tip of the dagger, he extracted a plain ring. Not so plain after all, though, he thought, discovering a tiny barb protruding from its outer rim.
    The others crowded around, muttering excitedly. Seregil looked over their heads at Ulan í Sathil, who stood unmoved near the roses. His face betrayed no guilty blanch, no panicked admission.
    I wouldn’t like to play cards against you
, Seregil thought with a certain grudging respect.
    â€œA clever piece of work,