"How do you mean?"
"Klia served Skala well. What's happened here, the progress we won, that was her doing. If she hadn't won them over the way she did, nothing you or I could have done would have made the difference."
"Are you here to make sure I don't steal my little sister's glory?"
"No, my lord. I didn't mean to belittle what you've accomplished."
"Ah, I'll sleep better, knowing that," Korathan muttered, refilling his cup.
Undeterred, Seregil plunged on. "I'd like to know whether the decision to keep Klia in Aurenen came from you or Phoria."
"What business is that of yours?"
"I'm Klia's friend. Phoria doesn't want her back, does she? She's succeeded where Phoria wanted her to fail, and turned you to her side in the bargain."
"It would be better if no one else ever heard you say these things," Korathan replied quietly, his pale eyes icy.
"They won't," Seregil assured him. "But Phoria must have known what she was doing when she sent you. It takes time to outfit that many warships, and time to get them here. This was no spur-of-the-moment venture. She didn't mean for Klia to come home."
"You're not a stupid man, Seregil. I've always known that, no matter how you played the wastrel with the other young bloods. So I know that you understand the risk you're taking, saying this to me, the queen's brother."
"Klia's loyal, Korathan. She has no designs on her sister's throne. I think you believe that, too, or you wouldn't have come here to help her," Seregil nodded.
Korathan tapped the side of his cup, considering. "It was Klia's idea to stay, as it happens, though I was happy enough to grant her request."
"Thank you, my lord." Seregil rose to go, then held his cup up
again. "To the continued good health of all Idrilain's daughters, and their daughters after them."
The prince touched his cup to Seregil's, not smiling. "I'm the queen's man, Lord Seregil. Don't ever forget that."
"Not for a moment, my lord."
The Skalans spent their last evening in the city as they had their first, feasting with the Bokthersans under a rising moon.
Sitting there in his sister's garden, Seregil searched his heart for some regret, but for once sadness eluded him. He could come back, at least as far as Gedre, and for now that was enough. His thoughts were already turning to Rhiminee.
As they rose to take their leave at last, Mydri drew him and Alec aside. "Wait, my dears. Let the others go. We must make our own farewells."
When she and Adzriel returned from seeing the others off, the older woman was carrying a long, familiar bundle.
"I hope you manage to hang on to it this time," Adzriel said, giving him back his sword. "Riagil left it with me when he brought you back."
Mydri placed a smaller package in Alec's hands, and he unwrapped it to find a long hunting knife. The grip was made of some dark, reddish wood and inlaid with bands of horn and silver. "Only members of our clan own such knives," she told him, kissing him on both cheeks. "You are our new brother, no matter what your name may be. Take care of Seregil until he comes back to us."
"You have my word," Alec told her.
Seregil and Alec were crossing the short distance to the guest house when a slender, robed figure stepped from the shadows across the street. The woman wore the hat and robes of a rhui'auros, but Seregil couldn't make out her face.
"Lhial sends you a gift, Seregil of Rhiminee," she said, and tossed something that glittered softly in the moonlight.
He caught it and recognized the slightly rough feeling of glass against his fingers.
"Such clever hands," the woman said, laughing as she vanished.
"What is it?" Alec asked, fishing a lightstone from his belt pouch.
Seregil opened his hand. It was another of the strange orbs, but
this one was as clear as river ice, allowing him to see the tiny carving it held—a dragon with the feathered wings of an owl.
"What's that?" Alec asked again.
Yours to keep. Yours to discard, little brother.
"A reminder, I think," Seregil said, pocketing it with care.
58 RUINS
Seregil stood alone at the ship's prow, watching as the distant outline of Rhiminee's citadel slowly resolved against the dawn-tinted sky. Fog lingered over the harbor, set aglow here and there by a few early lamps in the Lower City.
The sound of feet on the deck above had woken him. Leaving Alec still asleep, he'd gone up alone, thankful for a few moments to himself for this homecoming.
The harbor was as flat as a mirror inside the moles and crowded with warships and merchant carracks riding at anchor. It was so still at this hour that Seregil could hear the rumble of wagons on their way up the walled road to the Sea Market, and the crowing of cocks on the citadel. Closer at hand, a cook on a nearby man-of-war beat on a kettle to summon his shipmates to a hot breakfast. The scents of porridge and fried herring hung on the air.
Seregil closed his eyes, picturing familiar streets and alleyways, wondering what changes the war had brought.
Caught up in his thoughts, he let out a startled grunt when a warm hand closed over his on the rail.
"It looks peaceful enough, doesn't it?" Alec said, stifling a yawn. "Suppose there's any work left for us to do?"
Seregil recalled his last conversation with Korathan. "I imagine we'll find something."
They'd sent no word ahead of their arrival, so no one was at the docks to meet them. As soon as their horses were led off the ship, they set out for Wheel Street.
What remained of the Lower City looked just the same, a maze of customs houses, crooked streets, and filthy tenements. But as they rode on, they saw that whole sections along the waterfront had been razed to make room for supply markets and corrals. Soldiers were everywhere.
In the Upper City, the Sea Market was already busy, but there were fewer goods in the stalls than Seregil remembered.
The wealthy Noble Quarter was the least changed. Servants were abroad on their morning business, laden with market baskets. Trees laden with summer fruit arched their branches invitingly above the colorful tiled walls that shielded the villa gardens. A few trespassing dogs and pigs chased one another across the street. Children's laughter echoed from an open window as they rode by.
Wheel Street lay on the fringe of this quarter and was lined with more modest houses and shops. Seregil paused across the street from the house he'd called home for more than two decades. The grapevine mosaic over the door was as bright as ever, the stone stairway below neatly scrubbed and swept. Here he could only be Lord Seregil. The Rhiminee Cat lodged elsewhere.
"We could just send word that Lord Seregil and Sir Alec were lost at sea," he muttered.
Alec chuckled, then walked across the street and climbed the stairs. With a sigh, Seregil followed.
It had never mattered how long he was gone—three weeks or three years. Runcer kept the place unchanged, ready for his return.
The door was still locked for the night, so they knocked. After a few moments a young man with a long, vaguely familiar face answered.
"What's your business here?" he demanded, taking in their stained traveling clothes with obvious suspicion.
Seregil sized him up, then said, "I must see Sir Alec at once."
"He's not here."
"Well, where is he?" Alec demanded, falling in with the game.
"He and Lord Seregil are away on queen's business. You may leave a message for them, if you wish."
"I do," Seregil told him. "The message is that Lord Seregil and
Sir Alec have returned. Get out of the way, whoever you are. Where's Runcer?"
"I'm Runcer."
"Runcer the Younger, maybe. Where's old Runcer?"