Traitor's Moon

involved, I suppose. Violence is forbidden, but trespassers can be made to feel quite unwelcome. I stay clear of Haman tupa and you and your companions will do well to do the same, especially when you’re alone. The Khatme aren’t much for visitors, either.”
    At the Vhadäsoori they left their horses outside the circle of stones and entered on foot. Alec paused beside one of the monolithic figures, pressing a palm to its rough surface. He half expected to feel some magical vibration, but the stone was silent beneath the cool morning dew.
    â€œYou did not have a proper welcome the other day,” Kheeta said, going to the moon-shaped chalice that still stood on its pillar. “All who come to Sarikali drink from the Cup of Aura.”
    â€œIs it left here all the time?” Alec asked, surprised.
    â€œOf course.” Kheeta dipped up water from the pool and presented it to him.
    Alec took it in both hands. The narrow alabaster bowl was perfectly smooth, its silver base untarnished.
    â€œIs it magical?” he asked.
    The Bôkthersan shrugged. “Everything is magical in some way, even if we cannot perceive it.”
    He drank deeply, then handed it back to Kheeta. “Don’t you have any thieves here in Aurënen?”
    â€œIn Aurënen? Of course. But not here.”
    A city without locks and without footpads and thieves?
Alec thought skeptically. That would be magic indeed.
    They spent the rest of the morning exploring. There were hundreds of tupas, counting those of the lesser clans, so Alec concentrated on those of the Eleven for the moment. Kheeta was a talkative guide, pointing out clan markers and points of interest. One hulking dark structure looked very much like another until he named it as a temple or meeting place.
    Alec found himself studying his companion as well. “Does Seregil seem much changed to you?” he asked at last.
    Kheeta sighed. “Yes, especially when he’s dealing with the Iia’sidra or your princess. Then again, when he looks at you, or makes a joke, I see the same old haba.”
    â€œI heard Adzriel call him that,” Alec said, pouncing on the unfamiliar word. “Is it like ‘talí’?”
    Kheeta chuckled. “No, haba are small black—” He paused, searching for the Skalan word. “Squirrels? Yes, squirrels, that live in the western forests. They’re everywhere in Bôkthersa, feisty little creatures that can chew their way into the tightest bale, or will steal the bread from your hand when you’re not looking. Seregil could climb like a haba, and fight like one when pushed to it. He was always trying to prove himself, that one.”
    â€œTo his father?”
    â€œYou’ve heard about that, have you?”
    â€œA bit.” Alec tried not to sound too eager. This wasn’t the sort of information he’d been sent to gather, but he wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass.
    â€œWell, you’ve met Mydri, so you can see the difference. Seregil and Adzriel were the only ones of the four who took after their mother. Perhaps things might have been different for Seregil if she’d lived.” Kheeta paused, frowning at some unpleasant memory. “There are those in the family who say it was Korit’s guilt that kept father and son at odds.”
    â€œGuilt? For what?”
    â€œFor Illia’s death in childbirth. Most Aurënfaie women bear only one or two children, but Korit í Solun wanted a son to carry his name. Illia obliged him out of love, having daughter after daughter until she was past her prime. The last birthing was too much for her, or at least that’s how I’ve heard it.
    â€œThe raising of Seregil fell to Adzriel, and a good thing, too. What finally happened with that bastard Ilar—” Kheeta spat vehemently over his horse’s flank. “Well, there are those who laid the blame as much on his father as on Seregil. I tried to tell Seregil as much last night, but he won’t listen.”
    â€œI know what you mean. It’s best to leave certain subjects alone.”
    â€œAnd yet he became a great hero in Skala.” Kheeta’s admiration and affection for Seregil was evident. “And you, as well, from what I hear?”
    â€œWe got through some bad times with whole skins,” Alec replied vaguely, not in the mood to extol their exploits like some bard’s tale.
    He was spared the trouble. As