"It's beautiful. And this!" He smoothed a thumb over the unusual pommel, a large disk of polished Sarikali stone set in a steel bevel. "I've never seen anything like it."

No sooner had he said it, however, than he had the strongest sense that he had seen something very much like it, though he wasn't certain where.

"He said it came to him in a dream, a talisman to keep you safe and bring you luck," Mydri explained.

"Luck in the shadows," he murmured in Skalan, shaking his head.

" You know Akaien and his dreams!" Mydri said fondly.

Seregil looked up at her in surprise. "I'd forgotten."

He sheathed the blade and ran his fingers over the fine leather scabbard and long belt, fighting the temptation to put it on. "I'm not supposed to carry a weapon here, you know."

"You're not supposed to be leaving, either," Adzriel said with a catch in her voice. "With all Alec and Beka have told me, I was worried that you would not accept it."

Seregil shook his head, bemused. His hand had known this weapon from the instant he'd touched it; it hadn't occurred to him to refuse it.

"I promise you this." Unsheathing it again, he put the hilt in Adzriel's hand and set the point against his heart, leaning into it until it dented the front of his coat. "By Aura Elustri, and by the name I once had, this blade will never be drawn in anger against an Aurenfaie."

"Then keep your temper and protect yourself," Adzriel advised, handing it back. "What shall I say when they find you gone?" Seregil smiled crookedly. "Tell them I got homesick."

He hid the sword in the stable, then took the back stairs two at a time. Resisting the urge to look in on Klia one last time, he hurried to his room, taking care to inform several servants he met along the way that he and Alec were retiring for the night.

The bedchamber was in near darkness, lit only by one small lamp. The balcony shutters were closed tight. The tunic and trousers he'd stolen earlier lay on the neatly made bed, together with an Akhendi sen'gai.

"Alec?" he called softly, hastily changing his clothes.

"Over here. I'm just finishing up," a voice said from somewhere beyond the bed.

Alec stepped into the light, still toweling his wet hair. Seregil halted, unexpectedly moved by the sight of his friend wearing Aurenfaie clothing. It suited Alec, making him look more 'faie than ya'shel. He'd always had the slender build and carriage—Seregil had recognized that the first time he'd laid eyes on him—but somehow it was more apparent now. As Alec removed the towel, the resemblance became that much stronger. Thanks to a walnut-shell concoction they'd brewed up earlier, his yellow hair and brows were now as brown as Seregil's.

"Did it work?" Alec asked, running a comb through the wet strands.

"It certainly did. I hardly recognize you myself."

Alec pulled something from his belt—another sen'gai. "I hope you know how to wrap these things. I haven't had much luck and didn't dare ask anyone for help."

"A good thing, too. Where'd you get these?" Seregil fingered the brown-and-green-patterned cloth with misgivings. Wearing false colors was a crime.

Alec shrugged. "Off a laundry line this afternoon. I just happened to be in the right place with no one else in sight. 'Take what the god sends and be thankful, right? What are you waiting for? We've got to get moving!"

Seregil smoothed the cloth between his fingers again, then placed the midpoint across Alec's brow and began weaving the long ends around his head to form as good an approximation as he could manage of the Akhendi style. Tying the long ends off over Alec's tattooed ear, he stepped back and looked him over with approval. "The

Akhendi have enough ya'shel among them that you shouldn't draw much notice anyway, but you could pass for pure just as easily."

Even in this light, Seregil could see the faint blush of pleasure that darkened his friend's cheeks.

"What about you?" Alec asked, belting on his sword.

Seregil glanced down at the remaining sen'gai lying untouched on the bed. "No. If I ever do put on one again, it will be one I have a right to."

Thero slipped in and closed the door behind him. "I thought it must be time. Are you ready?"

Seregil exchanged a quick look with Alec, then nodded. "You go ahead and make sure the way is clear. We'll be right behind you."

The unlit stable yard appeared deserted. Thero stood a moment, then motioned for Seregil and Alec to follow. Sending a silent thanks to Beka, Seregil strode across to the stable.

Inside, a lone woman was saddling a horse with Aurenfaie tack by the glow of a lightstone. Two other horses, one Aurenfaie, one Skalan, were ready to go. She heard them come in and turned, pushing back the brim of her helmet.

"Bilairy's Balls!" Seregil growled.

It was Beka. She'd traded her captain's gorget for a dispatch pouch and wore the worn tabard of a common rider. Her long red hair was bound up tightly at the back of her neck.

"What are you doing?" Thero hissed, equally surprised.

"Going with them as far as need be," she whispered back, handing Alec and Seregil the reins of the Aurenfaie horses.

"You're needed here!"

"I've been wresting with that all day," she said. "This is a command decision. Right now, nothing is more important than stopping Korathan. Rhylin and Braknil can manage here until we get all this sorted out. And if we don't—well, it may not matter."

Seregil laid a hand on the wizard's arm, forestalling further argument. "She's right."

Frowning, Thero gave in. "I can shield you until you're out of the city," he offered, drawing his wand.

"No, you'd better not. There are too many folk around who'd smell your magic on us. We'll manage, with two of us—" He gave Thero the quick, subtle sign for "Watcher."

Alec saw and nodded at Beka. "Perhaps it's time we made it three? I think Magyana would approve."

"I believe she would," Seregil agreed. "A bit sooner than we'd planned, perhaps, but there's no doubt of her worth."

"You mean it?" Beka breathed, wide-eyed.

He grinned. The Watchers were a strange, fractured group—even he did not know who all the members were—but Beka had seen too much growing up not to have formed some ideas of her own.

"Do you understand what it means, Beka, to be a Watcher?" asked Thero.

"Enough," she replied, confirming Seregil's suspicions. "If it means serving Skala as Seregil and my father have, then I'm in."

"There's a great deal more to it than that, but we'll deal with that later," Seregil said, hoping she wouldn't have cause to regret this hasty decision during the dark days ahead. "Do it, Thero."

Thero pulled an ancient ivory dagger from his belt and set it spinning inches from Beka's face. This was the test of truth, and one that allowed for no mistakes. Beka stood unflinching, her gaze fixed on Thero.

The sight brought a lump to Seregil's throat. This same knife had belonged to Nysander. It had spun in front of his own face when he took the oath as a very young man. Years later, Alec had felt its threat and passed the challenge.

"Beka, daughter of Kari," Thero whispered. "A Watcher must observe carefully, report truthfully, and keep the secrets that must be kept. Do you swear by your heart and eyes and by the Four to do these things?"

"I do."

The knife tumbled harmlessly into Thero's outstretched hand. "Then welcome, and luck in the shadows to you."

Only then did she betray relief. "That wasn't so bad."

"That's the easy part," Alec told her, grinning as broadly as she was. "Now you're really in the middle of it."

Seregil felt his heart skip a beat as she turned to him, eyes full of quiet triumph. "Whatever comes, I'm with you."

"First the commission; now this. Your poor mother will never speak to me again." Seregil gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, then went to retrieve his sword from its hiding place in the hay.