With a sudden sharp pang, he recalled his father bringing him here as a small child; it was one of the few positive memories he had of the man. Legends differed as to the Cup's origins, Korit had explained. Some said it was the gift of Aura's dragon to the first Eleven; others claimed that the first wandering band of 'faie to discover the city had found the Cup on its pillar already. Whatever the case, it had been here time out of mind, unmarred by centuries of use and weather, a symbol of Aura's connection to the 'faie, and of their connection to one another.

A connection I was cut away from like a diseased branch from a tree, Seregil thought bitterly, focusing at last on the faces of the Iia'sidra. Nine of this Eleven had spared his life, but they had also sealed his humiliation.

His father had been khirnari then, and ready enough to see atui served by his only son's execution. Adzriel stood in his place now, though Seregil could not meet her eye yet. The other new member of the council was the khirnari of Golinil, Elos i Orian. Ulan i Sathil stood nearby, dignified and staid, his lined, angular face betraying nothing.

Beside Adzriel stood Rhaish i Arlisandin of Akhendi. His long hair was whiter than Seregil recalled, his face more deeply lined. Here was one dependable ally, at least, if not a powerful one.

With an effort, Seregil forced himself to look back at his sister, who stood closest to the Cup. She saw him but looked quickly away. — know that it is circumstance that prevents me, not coldness on my part. As he stood here, outside the circle, the assurance she'd sent him could not fill the void in his chest. Fighting down the choking sensation that suddenly gripped him, he hastily looked away.

At Klia's signal, Seregil and the others dismounted. Unbuckling her sword belt, Klia passed it to Beka and strode into the stone circle with the assurance of a general. Seregil followed a few paces behind with Thero and Torsin.

The magic of Sarikali was strongest here. Beside him, Seregil saw Thero's pale eyes widen slightly as palpable waves of it enfolded them. Klia must have felt it as well, but did not hesitate or break her stride. Halting before the Iia'sidra, she spread her hands, palms up, and said in perfectly accented Aurenfaie, "I come to you in the name of great Aura the Lightbearer, revealed to us as Illior, and on behalf of my mother, Idrilain the Second of Skala."

Ancient Brythir i Nien of Silmai stepped forward, thin and dry as

a dead willow branch. As the eldest member of the Iia'sidra, he spoke for all.

"Be welcome, Klia a Idrilain Elesthera Corruthesthera Rhiminee, Princess of Skala and descendent of Corruth i Glamien of Bokthersa," he replied, lifting a heavy necklace of gold and turquoise from his own neck and placing it around hers. "May the wisdom of the Lightbearer guide us in our endeavors."

Klia returned the gesture, giving him her girdle of golden plaques enameled with the Dragon of Illior. "May the Light shine in us."

Adzriel took up the Cup of Aura and filled it at the water's edge. Graceful in her white tunic and jewels, she raised it toward the sky, then presented it first to Klia, then Lord Torsin, Thero, and finally, to Seregil.

Seregil's fingers brushed his sister's as he accepted the Cup and raised it to his lips. The water was as cold and sweet on his tongue as he'd remembered. As he drank, however, his eyes met those of Nazien i Hari of Haman, grandfather of the man he'd killed. There was no welcome for him here.

Alec sat on his horse and listened as Nyal quietly named the various khirnari; all eleven wore white clothing and sen'gai for the ceremony, making it impossible to distinguish one clan from another.

There was one face Alec knew without being told, however. He'd met Adzriel once, just before the war, and watched with a thrill of excitement as she offered her brother the moon-shaped cup. What must they be feeling, he wondered, being so close at last, yet having to maintain such reserve?

Others were not so careful to guard their expressions. Several people exchanged dark glances as Seregil drank; a few others smiled. Among the latter was the first truly ancient Aurenfaie Alec had seen. The old man was thin to the point of gauntness, his eyes deeply sunk beneath sagging lids, and he moved with the caution born of frailty.

"That's Brythir i Nien of Silmai," Nyal told him. "He is four hundred and seventy if he's a day, an uncommon age even for us."

Still wrestling with the ramifications of his own heritage, Alec found the prospect of such a life span vaguely alarming.

Turning his attention to the nearest bystanders, he noted the sen'gai of several principal clans, as well as a scattering of minor ones. Though many wore tunics, others wore robes and long, flowing coats. The sen'gai were also diverse in style. Some were simple

strips of loose-woven cloth; others were fashioned of silk and edged with small tassels or metal ornaments. Each clan had its own manner of wrapping them, as well, some simple and close to the head, others piled into elaborate shapes.

He was most pleased to discover a small group wearing the modest dark green of Bokthersa. One of them, a young man with an incongruous streak of white in his hair, suddenly looked his way, as if he'd sensed Alec's gaze. He regarded Alec with friendly interest for a moment, then turned to whisper to an older couple. The man had a long, homely face. The woman was dark-eyed, with a thin, severe mouth that tilted into a warm smile as she looked Alec's way. She had facial tattoos, as well, though nothing as elaborate as those of the Khatme; just two horizontal lines beneath each eye. She nodded a greeting. Alec returned it, then looked away, suddenly self-conscious. It seemed they'd already guessed who he was.

"That woman who just greeted you is Seregil's third sister," Nyal murmured.

"Mydri a Illia?" asked Alec, surprised. This woman bore little resemblance to Adzriel or Seregil. "What do those marks on her face mean?"

"She has the healer's gift."

"What about the other people. So you know them?"

"I don't recognize the younger man, but I believe the elder is Adzriel's new husband, Saaban i Irais."

"Husband?" Alec looked at the Bokthersans again, then back at Nyal.

Nyal arched an eyebrow at him in surprise. "You did not know of this?"

"I don't think Seregil knows," said Alec. He hesitated a moment, then asked, "Are there any Chyptaulos here?"

"Oh, no. Because of liar's escape, theth'sag has never been settled between them and the Bokthersans; the bad blood between the two clans is still very bitter. For the Chyptaulos to come here would also be seen as insulting Klia's lineage."

"Lord Torsin said Seregil's presence may have the same effect."

"Perhaps," replied Nyal, "but Seregil has the more powerful allies."

When the ceremony of greeting was over, the khirnari dispersed, disappearing with their kin down one of the many streets that fanned out into the city.

Adzriel accompanied Klia from the circle. As soon as they were outside the stones, however, she and Mydri embraced Seregil, clutching the back of his coat with both hands as if fearing he'd be

spirited away. Seregil returned the embrace, his face hidden for a moment in their dark hair. The other Bokthersans joined them, and for a moment he was lost from sight in the happy, chattering group. Saaban was introduced, and Alec watched as a look of amazement came over his friend's face, followed at once by a grin of delight. It appeared that Seregil approved of the match.

Klia caught Alec's eye and grinned. Beka and Thero were trying not to be too obvious as they strained for their first glimpse of Seregil's family.

"To see you here again!" said Adzriel, holding her brother at arm's length. "And you, too, Alec tali." Extending a hand, she drew him close and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. "Welcome to Aurenen at last!