Traitor's Moon

gender. Skimming in past the larger ships’ prows, they laughed and waved, their long dark hair streaming in the breeze.
    Several of Beka’s riders let out appreciative whistles.
    â€œBy the Light!” murmured Thero, eyes widening as he saluted a lithe, sun-browned girl. She gestured back, and a fragrant purple blossom appeared behind the young wizard’s left ear. Other boatmen followed her lead and more flowers materialized to adorn or shower the Skalan visitors.
    â€œSort of makes you want to reconsider that wizard’s vow of celibacy, doesn’t it?” asked Alec, giving him a teasing nudge in the ribs.
    Thero grinned. “Well, it
is
strictly voluntary.”
    â€œIt’s a better welcome than we’ve had anywhere for a long while,” said Beka, joining them. Someone had magicked a wreath of blue and white flowers around the brim of her burnished helmet, and more blossoms were tucked into her long red braid. She was still pale beneath her freckles, but no one had been able to convince her to lie low once land came in sight.
    Standing nearby, Klia was clearly as excited as any of them. Today she wore a gown and jewels worthy of her royal status. Freed from its usual military braid, her thick chestnut hair fell in waves about her shoulders. Some Aurënfaie admirer had decked her with a girdle and wreath of wild roses.
    Alec had put on his best, as well, and the neck of his cloak wasfastened with a heavy silver and sapphire brooch. Klia had smiled when she caught sight of it; it had been a gift from her own hand, an unspoken gesture of gratitude for saving her life.
    Looking around, he saw with a sudden twinge of guilt that Seregil was standing alone. He held a single white bloom, absently twirling it by the stem between his long fingers as he watched the boats.
    Going to him, Alec stood close enough to touch shoulders and took Seregil’s free hand in his beneath the cover of their cloaks. Even after all their months of intimacy, he was still painfully shy about public gestures.
    â€œDon’t worry, talí,” Seregil whispered. “Gedre holds good memories for me. The khirnari is a friend of my family.”
    â€œI’ll have to learn who you are all over again,” Alec sighed, rubbing his thumb across the back of Seregil’s hand, loving the familiar play of bone and tendon beneath the skin. “Do you know the town well?”
    Seregil’s thin lips softened into a smile as he tucked the white flower behind his ear. “I used to.”
    The
Zyria
and the
Courser
glided into harbor like two storm-battered gulls and dropped anchor at two of the town’s remaining quays. Tumbled piles of stones stretching out into the water were all that remained of several others.
    Alec studied the crowd at the waterfront in awe. He’d never seen so many Aurënfaie in one place, and from a distance they all looked distressingly alike, even in their varying states of dress. Everyone seemed to have Seregil’s dark hair, light eyes, and fine features. They weren’t identical, of course, but the similarities threatened to blur into an indistinguishable whirl.
    Most wore a simple tunic and breeches and colorful red and yellow sen’gai. Seregil had spent a good deal of the voyage schooling the Skalans on the various combinations, but this was the first time he’d seen the actual headdress. They added a bright, exotic note to the scene.
    As he came nearer, however, differences began to emerge: He saw blond and ruddy hair scattered among the crowd, a man with a great wen on his cheek, a child missing a leg, a woman with a hunched shoulder. Still, they were all Aurënfaie, and beautiful in Alec’s eyes.
    Any of them could be blood kin to me
, he thought, and in that moment felt the first true stirrings of understanding. In this foreignplace he saw faces that resembled his own more than any he’d seen in Kerry.
    The
Zyria
docked beside the quay and the crowd fell back as the Skalan sailors ran out the plank for Klia. Following her with the others, Alec saw a bearded old man in Skalan robes awaiting them with several important-looking ’faie.
    â€œLord Torsin?” he asked, pointing him out to Seregil. He’d met the envoy’s niece several times in Rhíminee; she was a regular in Lord Seregil’s circle. Torsin, however, he’d seen only at a distance at a few public assemblies.
    â€œYes, that’s him,”