"No, my lord."

"There'd better not be."

Setting his cup aside, Korathan turned to the others. "Since you all seem to know what my original orders were, let me make clear to you where we stand now. If Alec and Seregil hadn't brought the news they did, I'd have carried those orders out. I make no apologies for that. I'm the queen's brother, and the queen's man. However, I will confess relief at the way things have turned out. I only hope I can be as convincing as Seregil was that this is a wiser course of action. The best way to do that is to carry out the mission my mother gave you: secure that northern port, and establish a reliable source of horses, steel, and provisions. As Vicegerent of Skala, I will parlay for those as soon as we get this business with Seregil out of the way. I don't pretend to understand this Iia'sidra of theirs, or how they function without a ruler. I know only that Skala has no time to waste in idle palaver."

Rhaish i Arlisandin's unexpected death delayed Seregil's trial until late morning. Alec paced the corridors and stable yard, unable to settle to anything. At last, however, he and the others set off for the

Iia'sidra again. Klia had again insisted on attending, and Thero stayed close beside her litter as she was carried through the streets.

No crowd greeted them today. Their footfalls echoed loudly as they filed into the chamber and took their place with the Bokthersans. The galleries were empty except for a few robed rhui'auros and scattered spectators. The Eleven were not yet in their seats.

One sight held his attention above all others, however, and set his heart hammering against his ribs.

A lone figure lay facedown in the center of the dark stone floor, arms stretched out to either side. It was Seregil. Alec knew him without needing to see the face hidden by the dark hair.

He was clad in a plain white tunic and trousers and lay utterly still, hardly seeming to breathe. Kheeta and Saaban flanked him like grim specters.

"Courage, Alec," whispered Beka, guiding him to his seat.

Atui, Alec thought, steeling himself. No one would say today that the talimenios of the Exile dishonored him with unseemly behavior.

Seregil had lost track of how long he'd lain there. Adzriel brought him to the Iia'sidra a few hours after sunrise. The stone floor was still cold from the night then, and the chill seeped up through his thin clothes, sapping the warmth from his muscles.

He'd lain on wet grass last time, in his father's own fai'thast. Insects had come and gone across his skin, and the turf had tickled his face as it drank his tears.

His face and chest hurt from pressing against the cold stone, and his muscles were soon twitching from the strain of keeping still. But he did not move, just listened to the distant sounds from outside.

In Bokthersa, he'd listened to the mocking whispers of children and young faie. It hurt worst when he recognized the voices of friends.

Here, it was so quiet that he could hear people passing by in the street. From the bits and pieces of conversation he caught, he knew that Rhaish's death had been discovered, and smiled with aching cheeks and dry lips as news of the man's guilt filtered in to him.

Bilairy's Balls, his back ached. His knees and shoulders throbbed, and the points of his hipbones felt like they were cutting through the skin. His neck and forehead throbbed with the effort of not crushing his nose against the floor, and at last he chanced rocking his head just enough to transfer the agony to a cheekbone. To

move any more than that would force his guardians to deal with him, and he couldn't bear to bring that down on Kheeta and Saaban, who stood unmoving somewhere nearby. The scabs on the back of his left hand began to itch, and he flexed his fingers in a vain effort to quell the irritation.

Sometime later something skittered across the back of that hand. A dragonling, his overtaxed imagination suggested hopefully. He squeezed his eyelids shut tighter as whatever it was investigated the side of his nose, then allowed himself a quick peek. A green beetle scuttled busily away, its back gleaming like fine enamel work as it entered a nearby patch of sunlight.

No dragons for him today.

He'd thought it would be a relief when the Iia'sidra finally began, but it wasn't. Without opening his eyes, he knew that people were walking close to him as they entered, some pausing to stare down at his exposed back. It was awful, the weight of those eyes upon him, worse than it had been all those years ago in Bokthersa.

Ihadn't spent a lifetime avoiding notice then, he thought dully. His heart was pounding now, shaking him a little with every driving beat. Could they see? He pressed his palms to the floor and silently prayed for the trial to begin.

The shuffling of feet continued for some minutes, and he could hear people settling in, conversing among themselves. Someone was talking about the fresh caneberries they'd had for breakfast. Further away, Ulan i Sathil was talking of trade routes and weather. No one spoke his name. He lay like a forgotten pile of clothing in the center of it all, quivering under the weight of all those accusing stares. The beetle's patch of sunlight touched his fingertips, reminding him of how cold the rest of his body was. His pulse sounded like a bellows in his ears.

Please, Aura, let them begin!

At last, he heard the solemn chime of the Iia'sidra bell. Still facedown, he pictured a face for each successive voice as the Iia'sidra commenced his trial.

"Adzriel a Iriel," said Brythir. "A man of your clan has broken the laws of teth'sag laid against him."

"Seregil, once Seregil i Korit of Bokthersa, lies before you. Let the charges be heard." It was good to hear his sister's voice, fix the direction in his mind's eye. Alec and the Skalans would be there, too, seeing this. The thought made his cheeks burn.

"I speak for the Iia'sidra," Brythir continued. "Seregil i Korit has defied the conditions of his return. He has left the sacred city under cover

of night. He has taken weapons and used them against fellow Aurenfaie. He has put on Aurenfaie garb and passed as a spy among us."

He heard the sound of chair legs creaking, then Nazien took up the litany. "Seregil i Korit has broken the ban of exile laid against him for the murder of my kinsman, Dhymir i Tilmani Nazien."

His father's long-forgotten voice snarled at the back of his mind. He has a name, the man you killed!

Yes, my father, I've never forgotten it.

Footsteps approached, and strong hands hauled Seregil up to his knees.

"Courage," Kheeta whispered.

Seregil kept his hands on his thighs, head bowed. He was facing the Silmai elder, but could see Adzriel and the others from the corner of his eye. Korathan was there, and Klia on her litter. For the moment, he was thankful not to see Alec.

He hadn't let himself weep then, facing his kin with grass clinging to his face and clothes under that clear Bokthersan sky. He'd wanted to, but he fought the tears down until they were so far gone he didn't see them again for years.

"Seregil i Korit, you have heard the charges against you, acts which being proven bring shame upon the whole clan of Bokthersa. How do you answer?"

His throat was dry, his voice rusty as a crow's, but he faced his accusers unflinchingly. "I was cut off from my clan. You know me now as Seregil of Rhiminee, the Exile, and as the Exile, a servant of Klia of Rhiminee, I acted. Nothing I have done can bring shame upon Bokthersa.

"As Exile, I have done all you said and take all shame upon myself. I returned here of my own will to face you and make myself accountable for my deeds. I broke teth'sag, Honored One, but not out of evil intent."