Traitor's Moon

heavy seal ring on his sister’s slender finger. Prying the wax up with a thumbnail, he unfolded the sheet.
    Adzriel had tucked a few dried wandril flowers into the letter. Crushing the faded red petals between his fingers, he inhaled their spicy scent as he read.
    â€œWelcome home, dear brother,” the letter began, “for so I address you in my heart even if it is forbidden elsewhere. My heart breaks that I cannot yet claim you openly as kin. When we meet, know that it is circumstance that prevents me, not coldness on my part. Instead, I thank you for undertaking this most painful and dangerous task.
    â€œAsking for your inclusion was no sudden inspiration. The first glimmer of it was already in my mind during our all-too-brief reunion that night in Rhíminee. Aura’s blessings on Nysander’s poor
khi
that he told me of your true work. Take care for the safety of our kinswoman, and may Aura guard you until we embrace again at Sarikali. I have so much to tell you, Haba.—Adzriel”
    Haba
.
    The tightness in his throat returned as he reread the precious letter, committing it to memory.
    â€œAt Sarikali,” he whispered to the kites.

9
I NTO A URËNEN
    T he sound of small wings woke Seregil the next morning. Opening his eyes, he saw a chukaree perched on the windowsill, its green plumage shining like Bry’kha enamel work as it preened its stubby tail. He willed it to drop a feather, but it had no gift for him today; with a liquid trill, it fluttered away.
    Judging by the brightness of the window, they’d overslept. The distant jangling of harness warned that Beka’s riders were already making ready to go.
    Yet he lay quiet a moment longer, savoring the feeling of Alec’s warm body still wound contentedly around his own, and the comfort of a proper bed. They’d made good use of it, he thought with sleepy satisfaction.
    His fragile sense of peace slipped away all too quickly. The coat thrown carelessly over a chair caught his eye like an accusation, bringing with it the memory of Torsin’s words and those of Riagil. As the khirnari had so succinctly pointed out, life among the Tír had forced him to grow up far more quickly than the friends he’d left behind. He’d known more of death and violence, intrigue and passion than most ’faie twice his age. How many of the youngsters he’d played with had killed anyone, let alone the uncounted numbers he had in his years as Watcher, thief, and spy?
    He stroked the arm draped over his chest, smoothing the fine golden hairs. Most ’faie his age hadn’t even left the family hearth yet, much less made such a bond with anyone.
    Who am I?
    The question, so easy to ignore all those years in Rhíminee, was staring him in the face now.
    Sounds of morning activity grew louder outside their window. Sighing regretfully, he ran a finger down the bridge of Alec’s nose. “Wake up, talí.”
    â€œMorning already?” Alec mumbled blearily.
    â€œThere’s no fooling you, is there? Come, it’s time to move on.”
    The central courtyard was filled with people and horses. Urgazhi and Akhendi riders were busy loading a string of packhorses; others were gathered around smoking braziers where Gedre cooks were serving a hasty breakfast. Nyal clearly had his hands full, Seregil thought, watching the man with growing dislike.
    â€œIt’s about time!” Beka called, seeing them. “Klia’s looking for you. You’d better grab something to eat with us while you can.”
    â€œNo one woke us,” Seregil muttered, wondering if the slight had been intentional.
    Begging fry bread and sausage at the nearest brazier, he and Alec ate as they wandered among the riders, picking up details.
    Two of Mercalle’s six remaining riders, Ari and Marten, were remaining behind with Corporal Zir to serve as dispatch couriers, carrying messages that would come by ship from Skala. The others would do the same from Sarikali.
    Braknil was short a few riders as well; Orandin and Adis had been too badly burned at sea to continue and had remained aboard the
Zyria
for the return voyage.
    The remaining members of Urgazhi Turma seemed out of sorts.
    â€œDid you hear?” Tare grumbled to Alec. “We have to ride
blindfolded
parts of the way, for hell’s sake!”
    â€œIt’s always been that way for foreigners, even before the Edict,” Seregil told him. “Only