White Road

his twin, came forward and took his hands in hers. “Welcome home, brother.” And she kissed him on both cheeks.
    Seregil hugged her close, swallowing around the new lump in his throat. “Thank you, sister.”
    Shalar was somewhat warmer with Alec, taking his hand and admiring Sebrahn’s strange beauty. “What unusual eyes. But bare feet in winter?” she chided as she chafed the rhekaro’s feet between her hands. “Why, he’s like ice!”
    “He doesn’t like to wear shoes. And he doesn’t feel the cold,” Alec explained, and got a look of disapproval equal to any he’d seen from Mydri.
    Turning away, he saw that Akaien í Solun had his arm around Seregil now, laughing about something with Kheeta. Seregil had always been closemouthed about his past, especially in the early days. Since they’d become talímenios, he’d talked more, but not a lot. It was just his nature, and Alec had long since given up wishing he were different. Still, meeting this uncle at last, and witnessing the deep bond ofaffection between them, he wondered how Seregil could have put him out of his mind for so long.
    After seemingly endless introductions to kin and friends, Seregil led Alec through a warren of corridors to his old room, which Mydri had assured him was still his to use. It took a moment to remember the way, but he found it at last. Setting his pack down by the door, he looked around, trying to see it through Alec’s eyes. The bed was the same, with its golden oak headboard carved with pinecones and rabbits, and neatly made up with the colorful silk counterpane, a bit faded now and sweet with the scent of lavender and cedar. The same blue pitcher and basin were on the washstand, below the mirror he’d cracked playing a forbidden game of ball here with Kheeta one rainy day.
    Outgrown toys were gone from the top of the clothes chest and windowsills, but his books and scrolls were still on their shelves, and the sword rack stood under the window, holding the wooden blades he’d used, tutored by his father, Akaien, and various older cousins. They ranged from the first tiny one that had been put into his hands when he’d only just learned to walk, up to the scarred, deeply notched wooden long sword with which he’d beaten nearly every challenger. From the very beginning it had felt right and good to have a sword in his hand, and swordsmanship had become his first passion. His quick reflexes, determination, and rapidly developing skill had earned him the respect of his elders. All except for his father, of course.
    Alec closed the door and hugged Seregil. “Bilairy’s Balls, we finally made it!”
    Seregil laughed softly. “It’s certainly better than where we ended up last time.”
    Sebrahn was already at the window, standing on tiptoe to see out past the sword rack. Seregil picked the rhekaro up so he could see the empty garden outside, and the leafless trees that cast lacy, dancing shadows across the far wall over the bed at dawn. Seregil sighed, remembering himself being held the same way, in the strong loving arms of his sisters or uncle, when he was very small. That felt like someone else’slife now, and he supposed it was. Then strong arms embraced Seregil and Sebrahn together, and Seregil knew that Alec wouldn’t let him go until he was sure of his mood. Seregil turned and kissed him. “I’m fine. Lots of good memories here. I was a happy child, believe it or not. I had good friends, and kin who loved me.”
    “They still do and so do I, talí,” Alec said, looking far too serious. “This is your home.”
    Seregil shook his head with a soft laugh. “Home is wherever you are, talí. This is just someplace I used to live.”
    Alec’s arms tightened. “Don’t say that. I never had anyplace like this. It was just one inn or camp or tent after another, just my dad and me. You shouldn’t take any of this for granted.”
    “Duly noted.” Which was why they weren’t going to be staying here long; not while they had Sebrahn with them.
    When everyone was bathed and dressed in clean clothing, Seregil led them to the great hall at the center of the house, holding Sebrahn’s hand on one side and Alec’s on the other. Adzriel had made certain even the rhekaro had proper feasting clothes, and Alec had trimmed and braided Sebrahn’s hair and his own.
    “With his hair like that, you can really see the resemblance between you two,” Micum noted.
    “That’s why I did it,” Alec replied. “I want to