"He's right," Beka said, raising a cup of drugged wine to her father's lips. "It's not proper, him being alone now."

"I know. I've been thinking that all afternoon," Alec whispered miserably. "But I don't know what to do for him, what to say. We all loved Nysander, but not like he did. And then he had to be the one to—"

Reaching out, Micum closed a hot, dry hand over Alec's. "His heart is broken, Alec. Follow your own."

Alec let out a heavy sigh and nodded. Climbing the rocks, he walked over to where Seregil still sat on the rock, face lost in shadow.

"It's turning cold. I thought you might need this," Alec said, taking off his cloak and draping it over his friend's shoulders. Seregil mumbled a thank you, but didn't move.

Feeling desperately awkward, Alec rested a hand on Seregil's shoulder, then slid an arm around him. He'd half expected Seregil to shrug it off, or finally weep, but not the black waves of emptiness he felt, leaning there beside him. Something intrinsic in Seregil had fled or died; it was like touching a statue, a scarecrow.

A fresh trickle of tears inched down Alec's cheeks, but he didn't move, just stayed there, hoping

Seregil would draw some comfort from his nearness. His tongue felt like a dead thing in his mouth. Words were dead leaves lodged in his throat. What was there to say?

A breeze stirred, sighing through the forest at their backs, mingling its sound with the rhythmic surge of the waves. An owl sailed by close enough for Alec to hear its wings cutting the air. Its hooting call drifted back to them through the darkness.

They remained like this for some time before Seregil finally spoke, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry, Alec. Sorry for everything."

"Nobody blames you. You did what you had to, just like the rest of us."

Seregil's short, angry laugh was startling after such silence. "What choice did I have?"

They sailed the following morning, heading north along the coast. Still running with stolen canvas, the Green Lady again raced unchallenged through enemy waters, though she caused something of a stir at Nanta until Rhal showed his commissioning papers.

They lay in port for two days while Rhal refitted the sails and took on fresh stores.

Beka found a drysian to tend Micum's wounds and Seregil's, then set about making her own preparations for departure. She and her riders were duty-bound to find their regiment. By the second day Braknil and Rhylin had rounded up sufficient horses and supplies, as well as word that their regiment was stationed a few days ride to the north.

Rhal had given over his cabin to the survivors of Nysander's Four and Micum lay on the narrow bunk, his leg swathed in linen bandages. Sitting down beside him, Beka pushed her long braid back over her shoulder.

"Word around the city is that the Plenimarans have been pushed behind their own borders for the moment," she told him. "We'll ride northeast until we find Skalan troops, then start asking directions from there."

Micum clasped her hand. "You take care of yourself, my girl. This war is far from over."

Beka nodded, her throat tight. "By the Flame, Father. I don't like to leave you, but I have to get back. I sent some of my people on ahead before we met up with you and I've got to see if they made it."

Micum waved aside her concern with a smile.

"I've been talking with your Sergeant Braknil and some of the others. From what they say, you're a good officer and a brave fighter. I'm proud of you."

Beka hugged him tight, feeling the familiar roughness of her father's cheek against her own. "I had the best teachers, didn't I? I just wish—"

"What?"

Beka sat back and wiped a hand across her eyes.

"I always thought, once I had some experience on my own, that maybe Nysander would, you know, find use for me the way he did with you and Seregil."

"Don't you worry about that. There'll always be enough trouble in the world to keep our kind busy. None of that dies with Nysander. I'll tell you, though, it's Seregil I'm worried about."

Beka nodded. "And Alec, too. You can see what it's doing to him, having Seregil so silent and sad. What's happened with them?"

Micum lay back against the bolsters with a sigh. "Poor Alec. He cares so much for Seregil he doesn't know what to do about it, and now this. And Seregil's hurting so deep I don't know if any of us can help him."

"Perhaps he has to help himself." Beka rose reluctantly. "You get Valerius to see to that leg when you get back. I still don't like the look of it. And take my love to Mother and the girls. Send word of my new brother when he's born."

"You keep yourself in one piece, you hear?"

Beka kissed him a last time, then hurried above.

Seregil was standing alone by the rail.

As they clasped hands, he turned her palms up to look at the faded traces of the symbols there.

"You've got your father's heart as well as his hair," he said with a ghost of the old smile. "Trust either one of you to show up when you're least expected and most needed. Luck in the shadows, Beka Cavish, and in the light."

"Luck to you, too, Seregil, and the Maker's healing," Beka returned warmly, relieved to see even this small break in his sorrow. He'd scarcely spoken since they'd set sail. "Bring Father safe home again."

Alec was waiting for her by the longboat. Putting her arms around him, Beka squeezed him tight and felt the embrace returned.

"Take them to Watermead, both of them," she whispered against his cheek. "Stay there as long as you need to. Poor Nysander, I can't believe he'd ever have wanted things to turn out like this."

"Me neither," Alec said, still holding her by the arms as he stepped back.

He looks so much older, Beka thought, seeing the depths of sadness in his eyes.

When Nanta had slipped away to the horizon Alec went below. Seregil was sitting on the end of Micum's bunk.

"I found something for you in Nanta before we sailed," Alec said, handing Seregil a cloth-wrapped parcel. Inside was a small harp, like the one he'd carried in Wolde.

"It's nowhere near as good as yours, I know," Alec went on quickly as Seregil folded the wrappings back and touched the strings. "But I thought it might—Well, Micum is still in pain and I thought maybe if you played for him it might give him some ease."

A white lie, perhaps, but it did the trick.

Micum gave Alec a knowing wink as Seregil propped the instrument on his knee and plucked out a few tentative notes.

"It's a fine instrument. Thank you," Seregil said, not looking up. He plucked out a few searching chords, then swept the strings, releasing a glissando of plaintive notes.

Thero came in to tend Micum's leg and stayed awhile to listen. Seregil didn't sing, but plucked out tune after tune, the music mournful and soothing.

Micum slipped into a peaceful doze and Alec sat quietly in the corner, watching Seregil's face as he played on through the afternoon. His expression betrayed little. The mantle of silence remained in place.

Seregil's spirits seemed to rally somewhat during the voyage back to Rhiminee. He spoke more freely, though not of Nysander or the Helm.

Never of those. He walked the deck with Alec and Thero, ate sparingly with neither relish nor complaint, and played the harp by the hour, covering his own pain a little by easing Micum's.

Micum and Thero took heart at these small changes but Alec, who shared a pallet with Seregil on the floor of Rhal's cabin, knew how he trembled and groaned in his sleep each night. An intuition uncomfortably like the one that had dragged him back to the Cockerel that fateful night kept him by Seregil's side as much as possible. The man he'd known for so long was gone, leaving in his stead a quiet stranger with distance behind his eyes.

Alec sat alone with Micum the afternoon of their fifth day out from Nanta. Micum was dozing, his face pale and haggard against the bolsters. The harp lay at his feet where Seregil had left it after soothing him to sleep. There's continued ministrations had kept rot from setting into Micum's leg, but the little cabin was stifling with the flat, heavy odor of unhealthy flesh.