Traitor's Moon

past.
    â€œWhat about Säaban? Seregil didn’t know that he’d married Adzriel, but he seems quite happy with her choice.”
    â€œThey knew one another before Seregil was sent away. Säaban and Adzriel have been friends for years. He’s a man of great honor and intelligence, as well as possessing a keen gift for magic.”
    â€œHe’s a wizard, you mean?”
    â€œAs I understand your use of the word, yes. Quite a good one.”
    Alec was just beginning to mull over the possibilities this new insight presented when they were interrupted again and he was drawn away to answer the same few questions over and over: No, he had no memory of the Hâzadriëlfaie; yes, Seregil was a great man in Skala; yes, he was happy to be in Aurënen; no, he’d never seen any place like Sarikali. He was scanning the room for escape routes when he felt a hand on his arm.
    â€œCome with me. There’s something I need to do and I need your help,” Seregil whispered, guiding him through a doorway and up a back staircase.
    â€œWhere are we going?”
    â€œYou’ll see.”
    Seregil smell ed strongly of turab, but his steps were steadier than Alec would have expected. They climbed three sets of stairs, pausing on each level to inspect a room or two. Seregil could usually be counted on to hold forth at length, telling him more than anyone needed to know about the history of a place or thing. Tonight, however, he said nothing, just stopped to touch an object here and there, reacquainting himself with the place.
    Alec had a talent for silence. Hands clasped behind his back, he followed Seregil down a winding third-floor corridor. Plain wooden doors opened off the passage at irregular intervals, each one no different from the last as far as he could tell. A small village could easily have put up in the place, or an entire clan.
    Seregil halted in front of a door next to a sharp turning of the passage. He knocked, then lifted the latch and slipped into the darkened room.
    It had been a long time since they’d burgled a house, but Alec automatically took stock of the place: no light, no smell of hearth orcandle smoke, no coverlet on the bed. The room was a safe one, not in use.
    â€œOver here.”
    Alec heard the creak of hinges, then saw Seregil’s lean form framed against an arch of night sky across the room. Drunk or not, he could move silently when he chose.
    The arch let onto a small balcony overlooking the guest house.
    â€œThat’s our room,” Seregil told him, pointing out a window there.
    â€œAnd this room was yours.”
    â€œAh, yes. I told you, didn’t I?” Seregil leaned on the stone parapet, face inscrutable in the moonlight.
    â€œThis is where you sat listening to the city dream,” Alec murmured.
    â€œI did considerable dreaming of my own. Wait here.” Seregil went back inside and returned with a dusty feather tick from the bed. Wadding it against the wall, he sat down and reached for Alec, pulling him down between his legs with his back to Seregil’s chest.
    â€œThere.” He nuzzled Alec’s cheek, holding him close. “Here’s one dream come to pass, anyway. Aura knows, nothing else has turned out the way I thought it would.”
    Alec leaned back against him, enjoying their shared heat. “What else did you dream about, sitting here?”
    â€œThat I’d leave Bôkthersa and travel.”
    â€œLike Nyal.”
    Alec felt rather than heard Seregil’s ironic chuckle. “I suppose so. I’d live among foreign people, immerse myself in their ways for years and years, but always return here, and to Bôkthersa.”
    â€œWhat would you do on your travels?”
    â€œJust—search. For places no Aurënfaie had seen, for people I’d never meet by remaining at home. My uncle always said there’s a reason for every gift. My skills with languages and fighting—he guessed that all added up to someone who was meant to wander. Looking back now, I suppose deep down I was hoping I’d find a place where I was something more than my father’s greatest disappointment.”
    Alec considered this in silence for a moment. “It’s difficult for you, isn’t it? Being here, the way things are.”
    â€œYes.”
    How could a single quiet word convey such pain, such longing?
    â€œWhat else did you wish for, sitting here?” Alec asked quickly, knowing