Traitor's Moon

you’re telling us the truth, Sergeant. You may have doomed us all as it is.”
    â€œWhen did you last send a report?” asked Alec.
    â€œThe day before Klia collapsed.”
    â€œAnd what did you say?”
    â€œThat the date of the vote had been set, and that no one seemed very hopeful about the outcome.”
    â€œWe’ll speak more of this later,” Beka growled. Going to the door, she called in the two sentries on duty, Ariani and Patra. “Riders, keep Sergeant Mercalle under guard. She’s relieved of duty until you hear differently from me.”
    To their credit, the riders didn’t hesitate, though they both looked thunderstruck by the order. When they were gone, Beka rounded on Alec. “You
knew
it was her?”
    â€œI didn’t,” he assured her. “Not until just now.”
    â€œOh, Alec,” Seregil muttered. His own reputation as a clever intriguer was founded on more fortuitous discoveries of this sort than he liked to admit, but he’d always been careful to capitalize on them by making it look intentional after the fact.
    â€œThere’s a certain logic in what she said,” Thero offered. “Perhaps it was better having a friend doing the spying than an enemy.”
    Beka stalked angrily to the window. “I’m aware of that. If Phoria had given me the same order—” She slammed her hand against the sill. “No! No, damn it! I’d have found a way to tell Klia, protect her. By the Flame, how could Phoria do this? It sounds as if she was counting on her mother’s death.”
    Thero shook his head sadly. “My friends, I believe we are seeing the beginnings of a new era for Skala, one we may not like very much.”
    â€œWe can worry about that later,” Seregil said. “Right now we have enough problems. We’ll leave as soon as it’s dark.”
    Beka turned to look at him. “What are we going to tell your sisters?”
    â€œLet me speak to them.” Seregil ran a hand back through his hair and sighed, not relishing the prospect of such a farewell.

38
T RAITOR’S M OON
    S eregil put off going to his sisters until nightfall, though they were never far from his thoughts. He and Alec had made most of their stealthy preparations separately, ostensibly to avoid notice. The truth was, he’d needed some small part of this leave-taking to himself.
    Alone in the bedchamber that afternoon, he found himself working too quickly as he gathered what little he needed for the journey: his mail shirt, warm Aurënfaie clothes, a water skin, his tools.
    Corruth’s ring bumped gently against his chest as he worked. He paused a moment and pressed a hand over it, knowing he’d thrown away any chance he might have had to wear it with honor. He was already an outlaw.
    A sudden wave of dizziness forced him down on the edge of the bed. It had been easy enough to keep up a front for the others; dissembling was one of his greatest talents. But alone now, he felt something inside break, sharp and hurtful as one of the shattered glass orbs from his visions. Pressing a hand over his eyes, he fought back the tears seeping beneath his tightly closed lids.
    â€œI’m right. I know I’m right!” he whispered. He was the only one Korathan would listen to.
    But you’re not so certain as you’ve let on that he’ll agree, are you?
    Shamed by his momentary weakness, he wiped his face and pulled his poniard from his bedroll, savoring the familiar weight of its hilt against his palm. Beka had kept this and his dagger for him since they landed in Gedre. He tested the edges of the slender blade with a thumbnail, then slipped it into the knife pocket in his boot; another proscription broken.
    If he failed? Well then, his failure would be gloriously complete. He hadn’t protected Klia. He hadn’t caught the assassins. Now he was probably throwing away his life, and Alec’s in the bargain, to forestall Phoria’s insane act of aggression.
    Even if they did succeed, what awaited them in Skala? What sort of a queen ruled there now, and how glad would she be to see her sister safely home?
    Another question lurked below all the others, one he had no intention of examining until he was well away from Aurënen—
    forever
    â€”a question he planned to spend the rest of his life avoiding.
    what if—?
    No!
    Tossing his pack on the bed, he made a quick circuit of the