"Is that why you never told me about it?" Alec asked. The residual mood left by the nightmare, together with some lingering irritation over his first introduction to the place, lent an unexpectedly sharp edge to the words.

Seregil glanced over at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean all those weeks we were in the city and you never once mentioned it. Not until you could spring it on me as another of your little tests."

"Don't tell me you're still mad about that?"

"I guess I am," muttered Alec. "You do it all the time, you know—not telling me things."

"Illior's Fingers, Alec, all I've done for the last two months is tell you things. I don't think I've ever talked so much in my life! What haven't I been telling you?"

"About Wheel Street, to begin with," Alec shot back. "Having me break in like a thief and then throwing me into the middle of that party—"

"But I explained all that! You're not going to tell me now you weren't proud of yourself once the shock wore off?"

"It's not that." Alec struggled to put his warring emotions into words. At last he blurted out, "I'd just like to have had some say in the matter. Now that I think of it, I haven't had much of a say in anything since we met. After all we've been through? Bilairy's Guts, Seregil, I saved your life!"

Seregil opened his mouth as if to answer, then silently nudged Scrub into a walk.

Alec followed, still angry but aghast at his outburst. Why was it that strong emotions always seemed to take him by surprise?

"I suppose you're justified in thinking that," Seregil said at last.

"Seregil, I—"

"No, it's all right. Don't apologize for speaking the truth." Staring down at Scrub's neck, Seregil let out an exasperated sigh.

"It was different when we first met. You were just someone who needed help and might prove momentarily useful. It wasn't until after Wolde that I was sure about bringing you south with me."

"After Wolde!" Alec turned to face him, anger rising again. "You lied to me? All that talk out there on the Downs of Skala, and me being a bard?"

Seregil shrugged, still not looking up. "I don't know, I guess so. I mean, it sounded good to me at the time, too. But I didn't really know how suitable you were until that burglary in Wolde."

"What would you have done if I wasn't "suitable"?"

"Left you somewhere safe with money in your pocket, and then disappeared. I've done that often enough, with people I've helped. But you were different, and so I didn't do that."

Alec was surprised by an eerie sense of connection as their eyes met; heat like a gulp of brandy sprang up in his belly and spread out from there.

"So yes, I lied to you a little at first," Seregil was saying. "Think of how many strangers you've lied to since you hooked up with me. It's the nature of our work. Since Wolde, though, I swear I've been as honest with you as I could be. I wanted to tell you more, prepare you, but then the sickness came on." He paused.

"In your place, I doubt I'd have been as faithful. Anyway, after Wolde and the ambush in the Folcwine Forest I began to think of you as a friend, the first I'd made in a long time. I'd assumed you understood that, and for that assumption I beg your kind forgiveness."

"There's no need," muttered Alec, embarrassed.

"Oh, I think there is. Damn it, Alec, you're as much of a mystery to me as I probably am to you. I keep forgetting how young you are, how different we are. Micum and I were almost of an age when we met. We saw the world with the same eyes. And Nysander! He always seemed to know my thoughts before I did myself. It's so—so different with you! Blundering around the way I do, I seem to end up hurting you without even realizing it."

"Not so much," Alec mumbled, overcome by this unexpected openness. "It's just that sometimes it seems as if—as if you don't trust me."

Seregil gave a rueful laugh. "Ah, Alec! Rei phцril tцs tуkun meh brithir, vri sh'ruit'ya."

"What's that?"

Seregil held out his poniard hilt first to Alec. "Though you thrust a knife at my eyes, I will not flinch," was he translated. "It's a solemn pledge of trust and I give it to you with all my heart. You can take a stab at me if you want."

"Do you just make those things up?"

"No, it's genuine, and I'll swear ten others just as dire if it will convince you I'm sorry."

"Maker's Mercy, Seregil, just tell me about Wheel Street!"

"All right, Wheel Street." Seregil slipped the knife back into his boot. "It all started after I'd failed with Nysander. I ran off and lived rough for a few years. That's when I learned thieving and all that. When I came back, I saw at once how I could keep myself nicely employed with the intrigues of the Skalan nobility. I had to establish myself somehow, but that didn't prove too difficult. My checkered past, together with my status as Queen's Kin, the novelty of being Aurлnfaie, and my new skills as a thief and general busybody—"

He spread his hands comically. "That all pretty much guaranteed success in Rhнminee society. Posing as the reformed exile, Lord Seregil soon established a reputation as a sympathetic listener, a reliable buyer

of drinks, a willing roisterer, and a holder of no strong opinions on any subject. Altogether, a person of little consequence and therefore the man everyone talks to."

"I got to be quite a favorite among the younger nobles, and through them I managed to pick up valuable information. After that it wasn't hard to spread the rumor that Lord Seregil, charming as he was, didn't always keep the best company. Word soon trickled out into the right circles that I could sometimes aid in the hiring of a certain discreet but shady character who would carry out any sort of silly undertaking for the right price."

"The Rhнminee Cat?"

"Exactly. Nysander was the only one who knew my secret. I've been more use to him as a spy than I ever was as an apprentice. Even back then, though, I liked my freedom too much to play the noble role all the time. So I bought the Cockerel and fixed up some rooms there. Nysander found Thryis for me. Cilia couldn't have been much older than Illia—"

"Yes, but Wheel Street?" insisted Alec, wanting to hear the end of the tale before dark. Once Seregil made up his mind to explain something, he tended not to leave out any details.

"Sidetracked again, am I? Well, as time went on the young nobles I'd rooked around with settled down and had young nobles of their own. Aurлnfaie or not, I was expected to do the same. To maintain the confidence of those I depended on, I had to give some outward sign that I was of their ilk. I began by investing in shipping concerns and managed to do fairly well. Small wonder, really, considering the sort of information I was privy to. Aside from the money, my supposed business concerns give me ample excuse to be away for the better part of the year.

"Unfortunately, the charade has grown rather cumbersome. If I didn't love Rhнminee so much, I might just kill off Lord Seregil and start over again somewhere else. What it all boils down to for you, though, is that Sir Alec of Ivywell has a lot of educating ahead of him."

"I'll be an old man with a beard to my knees before I've learned half what you expect me to know!"

Seregil gazed out over the sea a quizzed look on his face. "Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much indeed."

They spent that night at the Pony, a respectable wayfarers' inn, then set out again at dawn under a clear sky. By late morning they reached the southern end of the isthmus that linked the Skalan peninsula to the mainland to the north.

Jutting up from the sea like a blanched backbone, the land bridge was scarcely five miles wide at any point. The road ran along the crest of it and Alec could see water on either side: the Osiat steely dark, the shallow Inner Sea a paler blue.