Traitor's Moon

atui,” Seregil replied with a loose shrug.
    â€œShe also fears the effect you’ll have on the Iia’sidra,” Nyal said behind them.
    Seregil rounded on the eavesdropper with poorly concealed annoyance. “It seems to be the prevailing attitude.”
    â€œPrincess Klia’s success means a great deal to the Akhendi,” the Ra’basi observed. “I doubt she would judge your past so harshly if it did not pose a threat to her own interests.”
    â€œYou seem to know much about her.”
    â€œAs I told you, I am a traveler. One learns much that way.” Bowing politely, he wandered off into the crowd.
    Seregil watched him go, then exchanged a dark look with Alec. “Remarkable hearing that man has.”
    The gathering gradually tapered off as restless children disappeared into the shadows beyond the trees and their elders made their farewells to the Skalans. Released from social obligations at last, Alec had retreated to the company of Beka and her riders. When Seregil rose at last to take his leave, however, Riagil stayed him with a gesture.
    â€œDo you remember the moon garden court?” asked the khirnari. “As I recall, it was a favorite haunt of yours.”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œWould you care to see it again?”
    â€œVery much, Khirnari,” Seregil replied, wondering where this unexpected overture would lead.
    They walked in silence through the warren of dwellings to a small courtyard at the far side of the enclosure. Unlike the other gardens, where colored blossoms contrasted vividly against sun-baked walls, this place was made for the meditations of the night. It was filled with every sort of white flower, medicinal herb, and silvery-leafed plant, banked like drifted snow in beds along paths paved with black slate. Even under the waning crescent that rode the stars tonight, the blossoms glowed in the darkness. Overhead, tubular paper kites with calligraphy-covered streamers rustled on wires, breathing their painted prayers on the night breeze.
    The two men stood quietly awhile, admiring the perfection of the place.
    Presently Riagil let out a long sigh. “I once carried you sleeping to your bed from here. It seems not so long ago.”
    Seregil winced. “I’d be mortified if any of my Tír companions heard you say that.”
    â€œWe are not Tír, you and I,” Riagil said, his face lost for a moment in shadow. “Yet I see now that you’ve grown strange among them, older than your years.”
    â€œI always was. Perhaps it runs in the family. Look at Adzriel, a khirnari already.”
    â€œYour eldest sister is a remarkable woman. Akaien í Solun was glad enough to hand the title to her as soon as she was of age. But be that as it may, the Iia’sidra will still perceive you as a stripling, and the queen as a fool for employing you as an emissary.”
    â€œIf I’ve learned anything among the Tír, it’s the value of being underestimated.”
    â€œSome might interpret that as a lack of honor.”
    â€œIt’s better to lack the semblance of honor but possess it than to possess the semblance and lack the honor.”
    â€œWhat a unique point of view,” Riagil murmured, surprising Seregil with a smile. “Still, it has its merits. Adzriel brought favorable news of you from Rhíminee. Seeing you today among your companions, I believe her hopes are justified.”
    He paused, his face serious again. “You are a sort of two-edged blade, my boy, and as such will I employ you. Gedre has slowly withered since the Edict was imposed, like a vine whose roots are cut. It is the same for Akhendi, who shared in the trade through ourport. Klia must succeed if we are to survive as we are. Trade with the north must be reestablished. Whatever the Iia’sidra decides, let your princess know what Gedre will support her cause.”
    â€œShe has no doubt of that,” Seregil assured him.
    â€œThank you. I shall sleep more peacefully tonight. Let me leave you with this.” Riagil drew a sealed parchment from his belt and handed it to him. “It is from your sister. Welcome home, Seregil í Korit.”
    Seregil’s throat tightened painfully at the sound of his true name. Before he could reply, Riagil tactfully withdrew, leaving him alone with the soft rustle of the kites.
    He rubbed a thumb over the tree and dragon imprint in the wax, imagining his father’s