White Road

sign of books of any size. He even lifted the rugs and felt under the beds for some secret hiding place under the floorboards, but there was nothing to be found.
    Moving on, he opened the door across from the occupied bedchamber, well aware, as he slipped inside, that any sound he made here was likely to be heard.
    This room overlooked the garden. The torches below cast enough light for him to see that it was a library, with a few half-filled bookcases against the walls, several armchairs, and a long table with unlit lamps on either end and several orderly stacks of books between them. Large books.
    Too easy
, he thought again, expecting any moment for armed guards to burst in. Going to the window, he unlatchedit and peered down. Fancy carved stonework looked like it offered enough purchase to climb down low enough to jump if he had to. With that settled, he turned his attention to the books.
    Ilar bit his knuckle to keep silent as he left the low divan and cautiously peered out between the heavy velvet curtains. It
was
Seregil. It must be. Certainty came when the shadowy figure drew a lightstone on a stick and held it between his teeth as he looked around the room. The sight of that illuminated face made the breath catch in Ilar’s throat and his heart pound. Seregil was dressed only in loose trousers and a shirt, with a slave collar around his neck. Had he been caught and enslaved again by some other master? And if so, what was he doing here like this? Ilar couldn’t think straight in his excitement. None of that mattered, anyway. Seregil was
here!
    Seregil was examining the books Ulan had set out, quickly paging through each one and setting it aside. There was no sound but the soft ruffle of the paper. Apparently not satisfied with what he found, he began searching the bookshelves, taking down only the larger books. This brought him closer and closer to the alcove, and Ilar began to feel lightheaded. All the old yearning came over him in full force and before he knew what he was doing, he parted the curtains and stepped out, revealing himself when Seregil was hardly more than arm’s length away. Seregil quickly backed away, shoving the lightstone under his shirt and drawing a knife in its place. Ilar knew he should raise the alarm, even at the risk of his life, but they both stood frozen, staring at each other in the faint light from outside. Then, before he gathered anything like coherent thought, Ilar sank to his knees, shaking with excitement and guilt, unable to make a sound.
    Seregil stared down at him, face lost in shadow now, though the knife blade still caught the light from the window. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.
    “I—” Ilar struggled to find his voice. “I am under the khirnari’s protection now. This—” he gestured weakly around the library. “It’s a trap. For you. And Alec.”
    Seregil looked around quickly again, but Ilar reached out a hand to him. “No, not unless I call out. And I won’t, I swear! Ulan has the books about the rhekaros and he needs—”
    “I
know
what he needs. Wait, did you say ‘books’? You mean there’s more than one?”
    “Yes. Three. And he was certain you would come looking for them, once he knew that you’d come back to Riga.”
    “He—? Never mind. Where are they?”
    “Take me with you!”
    “You said Ulan has offered you his protection.”
    “Please!” Ilar didn’t even know what he was pleading for, except that he wanted to be near this man, to somehow …
    “If only you’d forgive me!” he whispered, voice quavering as the tears came.
    Seregil’s manner softened a little. “Tell me where the books are, Ilar, and I’ll consider it. You already helped us once, and I haven’t forgotten that. But I need those books. They’re not here, are they?”
    “I’ll tell you, but only if you take me with you!”
    “How am I supposed to do that? You could no more get out the way I got in than fly!”
    “I know a way,” Ilar told him, desperate.
    “Another tunnel?”
    “No, a postern door with only one guard.”
    “And that’s where the trap really springs, is it?”
    “No! I swear by Aura,” Ilar exclaimed, forgetting himself.
    Seregil clapped a hand over Ilar’s mouth, then dragged him bodily back into the dark alcove, leaving just enough space between the curtains to see the door. An instant later Ulan’s man Tariel burst noisily in with sword drawn.
    Seregil still had an arm around him, and put his lips so close to