She ran until her lungs burned, using the sun as her guide. When she was satisfied that she'd left her pursuers behind, she paused to wash her bleeding foot in a stream, then slowly circled back to the place where the ambush had occurred, hoping to find some sign of who their attackers were.

Someone had been there before her, doing the same. A single set of footprints led from the road to the place where the ambushers had lain in wait, crossing their tracks and meandering in a way that spoke of a thorough search. The shape of the bootprint was familiar.

"Nyal," she whispered, resting her fingers a moment in one long footprint. The ground in front of her blurred, and she dashed the tears away angrily. She'd be damned if she'd weep for that traitor like some jilted dairy maid.

Following the tracks back to the road, she saw that he'd come back alone.

"Good for you, my friends!" she whispered, refusing to admit any other possibility than that Seregil and Alec had eluded him.

What she found next closed the dark fist of anger tighter around her heart. From here, Nyal had dashed off to track her.

Look for me in Sarikali, you son of a bitch! she thought, limping back into the trees.

46 A COLD WELCOME

Alec woke to the sound of waves slapping wood close to his head. Rising from his cramped place in the bow, he looked back past the sail and found Seregil at the tiller, scanning the horizon. He was a sorry sight, with his bruised face and filthy tunic. In this early light, he looked pale, drained of life.

Ghostly.

Alec secretly made a warding sign on his friend's behalf. Seregil glanced his way just then and gave him a tired grin.

"Look there," he said, pointing ahead. "You can just make out the Ea'malies there on the horizon. Keep an eye out for sails."

And so they did, through the morning and into the long afternoon. Their eyes burned from the glare, and their lips cracked from the salt and sun. They kept to a northeast course, using the distant islands as their guide as they tacked back and forth. Alec spelled Seregil at the tiller now and then, urging him to sleep, but he refused.

At last, as the sun slanted down toward the western horizon, Alec caught sight of a dark spot against the silver face of the sea.

"There!" he croaked, hanging over the side in his excitement. "Do you see it? Is that a sail?"

"A Skalan sail," Seregil confirmed, swinging the tiller hard. "Let's hope we get to her before nightfall. They'll never spot us in the dark, and we're too slow to chase them."

Over the next two hours Alec watched as the speck of color grew into the distant outline of a red-sailed Skalan warship. The vessel was taking the usual route used by the dispatch couriers.

"That's all it may be," Seregil fretted as they neared the vessel. "She's alone, not another ship in sight. By the Four, I hope we haven't been chasing the wrong one!"

Any fears they might have had about missing the ship in the dark were quickly allayed. The other vessel shifted course, heading directly for them.

"Looks like our luck is holding after all," Alec said.

As soon as they were within shouting distance they hailed the vessel and heard their greeting returned. Skimming in close to her side, they found a rope ladder hanging ready and the rail above lined with expectant faces.

"Take this," Seregil said, handing him a line. "I'll make this end fast. We don't want to lose this boat until we're sure this other is the right one."

The ladder swung crazily with the roll of the larger vessel, and Alec was dizzy and bruised by the time he'd fought his way up to the rail. Strong hands grasped him, pulling him the rest of the way. Then, to his considerable surprise, he was thrust forward and dragged to his knees.

"Hold on, just let me get—" He tried to rise, only to be pushed down again, harder this time. Looking around, he found himself hemmed in by armed sailors.

Seregil tumbled down beside him and was kicked flat when he tried to rise. Alec reached for his sword, but Seregil stopped him with a sharp look.

"We come in the name of Princess Klia and the queen!" he announced, keeping his own hands well clear of his weapons.

"Sure you do," someone growled.

The crowd parted for a black-haired woman wearing the salt-crusted jerkin of a Skalan naval commander.

"You're a long way from shore in that little bean pod of yours," she said, not smiling.

"We were sent by Princess Klia to intercept her brother, Prince Korathan," Seregil explained, clearly mystified by their hostile reception.

The commander folded her arms, unmoved. "Oh, were you? And where did you learn to speak Skalan so prettily?"

"At the court of Queen Idrilain, may Sakor welcome her spirit," Seregil retorted. He tried to rise and was shoved down again. "Listen to me! There isn't much time. I'm Lord Seregil i Korit, and this is Sir Alec i Amasa of Ivywell. We're aides to Princess Klia. There's been trouble and we must speak to Korathan."

"Why would Prince Korathan be on my ship?" she demanded.

"If not yours, then one close behind," Seregil said, and Alec was dismayed to sense his friend faltering. He looked around quickly, seeking an escape route and finding none. They were still hemmed in by the crew, and there were archers armed and ready along the rail, watching with obvious interest. Even if they did break free, there was nowhere to run.

"Let's see your proofs, then," the woman demanded.

"Proofs?"

"Letters of passage."

"Our journey was too dangerous to risk carrying anything written," Seregil retorted. "The situation in—"

"How convenient," she drawled, drawing an ugly laugh from the others. "It looks like we've caught ourselves a couple of dirty 'faie spies, lads. What do you say, Methes?"

The blond sailor at her side favored Alec and Seregil with an unfriendly look. "These fish are mighty small, Captain. Best to gut 'em and throw them back unless they can tell us a better story." He drew a long knife from his belt and signaled to several other men, who pinned Seregil's and Alec's arms. The one called Methes grabbed Seregil by the hair and yanked his head back to bare his throat.

"For hell's sake, listen!" snarled Seregil.

"We are who we say. We can prove it," Alec cried, struggling now for his life.

"No one knows Prince Korathan is coming," the captain told him. "No one could know, except spies. What are you doing here, Aurenfaie? Who sent you?"

"By the Light, stop this at once!" a man shouted from down the deck.

A middle-aged man dressed in the frayed robes of an Oreska wizard elbowed his way through the press. His long hair was touched with grey, and he had a burn scar on his left cheek. Alec couldn't recall the fellow's name but remembered seeing him around the Oreska and at court.

"Here's help at last," Seregil grunted.

"Stop, you fools!" the wizard cried again. "What are you doing?"

"It's just a couple of faie spies," the captain snapped.

The wizard stared hard at Seregil and Alec, then rounded on the captain. "This man is Lord Seregil i Korit, a friend of the Royal Family and of the Oreska House! And this, if memory serves, is his ward, Sir Alec."

The captain threw Seregil a dubious look, then motioned her men back. "Yes, those are the names they gave."

Seregil rose and dusted himself off. "Thank you, Elutheus. I'm relieved to find one sane person aboard. What are they up to, slaughtering Aurenfaie out of hand?"

"The queen's orders, I'm afraid," the wizard replied. "Captain Heria, I wish to question these men in my cabin. Please send down some food and drink. They look like they've had a hard time of it."

The wizard's cabin was a cramped, dark little kennel belowdecks, but he soon made them comfortable, clearing the cluttered bunk and sending for the ship's drysian to tend Alec's leg. Slumped on a stool, Seregil allowed himself to relax a little. Elutheus was a decent fellow who'd been a friend of Nysander's.