Traitor's Moon

break my neck one of those nights on the way back down.” He looked around a moment, then laughed outright. “One time six of us were up here, pissed as newts, when our lookout heard my father on his way up. We all went down the rope that night and hid out in my room until dawn.”
    Alec smiled but couldn’t quite suppress another jealous pang, especially at the mention of Kheeta. Tagging along after his nomadic father most of his life, Alec hadn’t had a real home or many friends. Thoughts of the rhui’auros flashed to mind, and he silently vowed that before this journey was over, he was going to learn whatever he could of his own missing past.
    Seregil must have sensed this roil of emotion, for suddenly he was close beside Alec again, pressing a turab-scented kiss to his lips. “It’s one of the few memories I have now that doesn’t hurt,” he offered.
    â€œShall we go down the same way we came up?” Alec asked, passing it off lightly.
    â€œWhy not? We’re practically sober.”
    Back on the balcony, Seregil gave the rope a neat flick that unseated the hook. Coiling it up again, he returned the grapple to its hiding place with the other toys.
    â€œLeaving it for the next child who discovers your secret cache?” Alec asked.
    â€œIt seems only right.” Seregil set the tile back in place and pushed the leg of the bed over it. “It’s good to know something around here hasn’t changed.”
    Alec pondered the toys hidden in the dark as they returned to the gathering. Somehow, they seemed to fit into the strange, complex mosaic of Seregil’s life, a tiny model of the treasure-strewn and equally hidden rooms they’d shared at the Cockerel, or the unexpected bits of his own past that Seregil doled out like precious relics.
    Or perhaps precious wasn’t the right term.
    It’s one of the few memories I have now that doesn’t hurt
.
    You never told anyone?
    Just you
.
    How many times had someone looked at him in surprise when he’d mentioned something Seregil had shared with him?
He told you about that?
    Humbled by this realization, he steered Seregil back to Kheeta and went off to find Beka.

12
T HE G REAT G AME B EGINS
    T he first round of negotiations began the next morning, and from the outset Seregil could see that it was going to be a laborious process.
    The Iia’sidra met in a stone pavilion overlooking the great pool at the center of the city. The original builder’s purpose for the broad, octagonal building was not known; inside, it was one huge, two-story chamber with a sweeping stone gallery. A temple, perhaps, although no one knew what gods the Bash’wai had worshiped. The eleven principal khirnari were already seated in open booths arranged around the hall’s central circle. The khirnari and their chief advisers sat in front; scribes, kin, and servants of various sorts were allotted seats behind them. Outside the circle and in the gallery above, members of the numerous minor clans had their own hierarchy. They might not vote in the Iia’sidra, but they did have a voice.
    Seated with Alec just behind Klia in the Skalan booth, Seregil gazed around the vaulted chamber, studying faces. He’d wondered how he would feel, attending the Iia’sidra for the first time as an adult. As he caught sight of Adzriel and her small entourage he decided the experience was not an altogether pleasant one. Säaban, who also acted as adviser, sat at Adzriel’s right, Mydrion her left. Seregil would have held a rightful place there, too. Instead, he sat on the opposite side of the council circle, wearing the clothes and speaking the words of strangers. Better not to dwell on that, he told himself sternly. He’d put himself here; now there was work to be done, honorable work for an honorable cause.
    Klia had once again displayed a considerable talent for appearances. Today she’d ridden to the council hall in full dress uniform, with two decuria for escort. Torsin and Thero flanked her like some living tableau of aged wisdom and youthful intellect. Anyone expecting a supplicant from a dying nation was in for quite a surprise.
    When everyone had settled, a woman stepped forward and struck a hollow silver staff against the floor. Its solemn chime reverberated around the stone chamber, commanding silence.
    â€œLet no person forget that we stand in Sarikali, the living heart of Aurënen,”