Traitor's Moon

out what it means soon enough,” said Seregil.
    Fog seeped up from the ground as they rode, collecting beneath the dark boughs and dripping coldly from the ends of long evergreen needles. Spiderwebs were woven across narrow places in the trail; they were all soon coated in sticky wet strands.
    Just after midnight they reached a sizable village next to a small lake.
    â€œThe first change of horses for the dispatch riders is here, in a byre just beyond town,” Beka whispered. “Do we dare make a change here, or cut around?”
    Seregil slapped absently at a spider on his thigh. “We need thehorses. Dressed as we are, and at this hour, we should be safe enough. I doubt there’s even a guard posted.”
    Just past the last small house they found a sagging lean-to, its cedar-shake roof thick with moss. Three sturdy horses were stabled inside. Dismounting, they shifted their saddles over, working by the light of Seregil’s lightstone.
    As they led the new mounts out, however, a sleepy young face appeared out of a pile of hay at the back of the byre. Beka grabbed quickly for Seregil’s light, waving the others outside. Holding the light high to keep her face in shadow below the brim of her helmet, she faced the boy. He was sitting up now, regarding her with groggy interest; not a guard, just someone left to tend the horses.
    He mumbled something, and she recognized the word for “messenger.”
    â€œYes, sleep again,” Beka replied in her broken Aurënfaie. Her knowledge of the language had improved, but she still understood more than she could say back. “Ours we leave.”
    â€œIs that you, Vanos?” the boy asked, craning his head for a look at Alec.
    Alec whispered something back and quickly disappeared.
    The boy squinted back up at Beka as she turned to go. “I don’t know you.”
    Beka shrugged apologetically, as if she didn’t understand, then pocketed the light and led her horse out.
    The hay rustled behind her and she heard the boy mutter, “Cheap Skalan.”
    Just like home
, Beka thought with amusement. Pulling a coin from her wallet, she flipped it in his direction.
    â€œNow we’ve been seen,” Alec muttered as they set off up the road again.
    â€œCouldn’t be helped,” Seregil said. “He mistook us for the usual riders, and we’ll be long gone before anyone comes looking for us.”
    â€œI hope you’re right,” Beka replied doubtfully.
    Thero prowled the halls after Seregil and the others left. Only Braknil and Rhylin shared his vigil; as far as the others knew, Beka was on duty with the princess. Klia remained unconscious, mercifully oblivious as Mydri checked her mutilated hand repeatedly through the night, debating whether or not to cut more away.
    From the beginning, their little delegation had rattled about the cavernous place like seeds in a dry gourd. Now, with so many missingor dead, the sense of emptiness was palpable. Thero strengthened the warding spells he’d laid about the place, then retreated to the colos. The fragrant night breeze across the back of his neck felt good as he took a lump of candle drippings from his pocket and set about warming it between his fingers. When it was soft, he divided it in two and took out his wand. Slipping off the two long strands of hair—one Seregil’s, one Alec’s—knotted around it, he kneaded each into one of the wax balls until it disappeared. Speaking the appropriate spells, he covered them with netted designs he made with the tip of his dagger. A red glow flared briefly at the center of each soft lump when he finished. Satisfied, he tucked them away for future use.
    It was well past midnight now; a few scattered pinpricks of firelight glimmered in the distance. Imagining groups of friends or lovers awake together in the glow of those lights, he was suddenly overcome by a wave of loneliness. The people he trusted most were already miles away. Those whose trust he needed, here in this strange land, he must lie to, breaking honor to serve his princess.
    Shaking off the dark thoughts, he settled himself more comfortably on the stone seat to meditate. Instead, his unruly imagination took him back to the mysterious vision he’d experienced during his first visit to the Nha’mahat. He absently smoothed the lap of his robe; the dragon bite had healed, but the marks left behind remained as an impressive reminder of that