Traitor's Moon

ceiling as the embracing water drew out all the tensions and bruises of their journey.
    â€œBy the Light, I’ve missed this!” Seregil sighed as he stretched lazily, resting his head against the side of the pool.
    Thero’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the arrow wound on Seregil’s shoulder. The skin was still swollen, and an ugly purple bruise had spread darkly across his fair skin, reaching halfway to the small, faded circular scar at the center of his chest.
    â€œI didn’t realize it was that bad,” he said.
    Seregil flexed the shoulder nonchalantly. “It looks worse than it feels.”
    After a proper soak and scrub, the servants dried them and led them to thick pallets on the floor, where they massaged them from head to toe, kneading aromatic oils into every joint and muscle. Seregil’s attendant took special care with his bruised shoulder and was rewarded with a series of appreciative groans.
    Alec did his best to relax as skilled hands worked inexorably down his back toward portions of his anatomy he generally considered off-limits to anyone but Seregil. None of the others seemed to have any qualms about it, though, not even Thero, who lay growling contentedly on the next pallet.
    Take what the Lightbringer sends and be thankful
, Alec reminded himself, still striving to adopt Seregil’s avowed philosophy.
    Torsin joined them during the massage, lowering himself slowly into a chair beside them.
    â€œAnd how are you enjoying our host’s hospitality?” he asked, smiling down at Alec and Thero. “We Skalans may consider ourselves a cultured people, but the ’faie put us quite to shame.”
    â€œI hope they offer it everywhere we stay,” the wizard mumbled happily.
    â€œOh, yes,” Torsin assured him. “It’s considered a great disgrace for host or guest to neglect such niceties.”
    Alec groaned. “You mean if I don’t wash or use the proper tableware I’ll cause a scandal?”
    â€œNo, but you will bring dishonor on yourself and the princess,” Torsin replied. “The laws governing the behavior of our hosts are even stricter. If a guest is harmed, the entire clan carries the dishonor.”
    Alec tensed; there was no mistaking the veiled reference to Seregil’s past.
    Seregil rose on one elbow to face the old man. “I know you didn’t want me here.” His voice was level, controlled, but the knuckles of his clenched fists were white. “I’m as sensitive as you to the complications of my return.”
    Torsin shook his head. “I’m not certain you are. Riagil was your friend, yet you cannot have misread his reception today.” He broke off suddenly and coughed into a linen napkin. The fit went on for several seconds, bringing a sheen of sweat to the old man’s brow.
    â€œForgive me. My lungs aren’t what they once were,” he managed at last, tucking the napkin into his sleeve. “As I was saying, Riagil could not bring himself to welcome you. Lady Amali will not even speak your name, despite her support of Klia’s cause. If our allies cannot bear your presence, what will our opponents make of it? If it were up to me, I would send you back to Skala at once rather than risk jeopardizing the task our queen has set us.”
    â€œI’ll bear that in mind, my lord,” Seregil replied with the same false composure that had worried Alec earlier. Rising from the pallet, he wrapped himself in a clean sheet and left the room without a backward glance.
    Swallowing his own anger, Alec followed, leaving Thero to sort things out as best he could. He caught up to Seregil in the garden court and reached to halt him. Seregil shook off his hand and strode on.
    Back in their chamber, he tugged on a pair of doeskin breeches and used the sheet to dry his hair. “Come along now, make yourself presentable, my ya’shel,” he said, face still obscured.
    Alec crossed the room and grasped his wrist, pulling the cloth away. Seregil glared at him through a tangled mass of hair, cold fury burning in his eyes. Pulling roughly away again, he grabbed a comb and yanked it through his hair hard enough to pull out several strands.
    â€œGive me that before you hurt yourself!” Shoving Seregil down into a chair, Alec took the comb and set to work more gently, working out the knots, then settling into a soothing rhythm as if currying a high-spirited horse. Anger