White Road

with patterns of embroidery at the neck and cuffs.
    The clan house stood on a hill overlooking both town and water. Beyond it, the forest closed in again, thick and dark. Protected by water and mountains, the rambling clan house sprawled across the high ground, windows glinting and smoke rising from scores of chimneys.
    “Welcome home, Haba,” Adzriel said, leaning in the saddle to clap Seregil on the shoulder. Alec was the only one who noticed the brief flash of pain in his lover’s grey eyes before the forced smile appeared again. The closer they came to this place, the more tension Alec felt along the talímenios bond, though Seregil was keeping up a bold front, as usual; he’d said next to nothing about his feelings about coming back here. Even after all this time, Alec had to rely on the bond and intuition. Fortunately he could read Seregil like a scroll. He might not always know the cause, but he knew what Seregil was feeling, especially when he was unhappy or fearful. The latter was a rare occurrence, but that’s what Alec was picking up now. He caught Seregil’s eye again and gave him a reassuring smile. Seregil gave him a nod and a hint of a smile, then turned his face for home.
    Word spread and people shouted and waved to their returning khirnari from rooftops and street corners. Adzriel led the way through the central square, where the ancient temple of Aura stood, its walls brilliant white against the darker buildings, its carved lintel painted silver and blue.
    As they neared the outer gates of the clan house, it looked to Seregil as if the entire household had turned out to meet them. Adzriel’s husband—tall, plain Säaban—was in the forefront, and another tall man was with him, the sight of whom made Seregil’s heart beat so hard it hurt and his eyes sting. It was his uncle.
    Adzriel waved to her husband, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.
    “And mind you call him Säaban, and not by his formal name or ‘sir,’ as you did in Sarikali,” he overheard Mydri reminding Alec. “He’s kin.”
    “I don’t imagine he liked me dragging you away from home again, sister,” Seregil said to Adzriel, adding with a small grin, “Unless you two are already a settled old married couple.”
    “I still know how to cut a switch, Haba,” she retorted without so much as a sidelong glance.
    Micum burst out laughing. Seregil actually blushed, but suddenly his heart felt lighter.
    Alec let out an ill-concealed snicker and whispered, “Sorry, I was just imagining her chasing the Rhíminee Cat around with a switch.”
    “I can count on one hand the times she made good on that threat,” Seregil retorted with a grin.
    Adzriel laughed. “I’ve always said I should have beaten you more.”
    “You’re probably right.”
    To his surprise, old friends and relatives crowded in around his horse as soon as they reined in at the gate. As he’d expected, his other two sisters weren’t among them. But his uncle was, and Akaien smiled and waved to him as if he’d only been gone a few days. He hadn’t changed much. He was tall and dark like Seregil’s father, but with a ready smile and warmth in his grey eyes that Seregil had seldom felt from Korit í Solun.
    Kheeta’s mother, Aunt Alira, was the first to embrace him when he dismounted. “It’s about time you came back, you rascal!” she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. She made a show of feeling his arms and shoulders. “And skinny as ever!”
    “You haven’t changed a bit either, Auntie,” he replied, hugging her tight.
    “And this must be the golden-haired lover I’ve heard so much about,” she said, looking Alec’s way just as he lifted Sebrahn down, then staring as she saw the rhekaro’s eyes. Her fingers twitched as if she resisted making a warding sign.
    Alec hitched Sebrahn up on one hip. Sebrahn clung to him like a porie, his large eyes alert and darting from face to face.
    Not an auspicious beginning.
    And what if he starts singing?
    But then Akaien was right there in front of him and all other thoughts fled as he grabbed Seregil in a fierce hug. For just an instant Seregil was surprised that he was nearly as tall as his uncle. Akaien’s arms were as hard and wiry as ever from his smithing work, and his large hands scarred and stained. Seregil could smell lingering traces of smoke in his hair.
    “Uncle!”
    “My boy!” Akaien pulled back and looked at him. “Look at you, Seregil, still the image of your mother.”
    “Just the