More discord; no wonder Seregil never spoke of his past.

"What about Saaban? Seregil didn't know that he'd married Adzriel, but he seems quite happy with her choice."

"They knew one another before Seregil was sent away. Saaban and Adzriel have been friends for years. He's a man of great honor and intelligence, as well as possessing a keen gift for magic."

"He's a wizard, you mean?"

"As I understand your use of the word, yes. Quite a good one."

Alec was just beginning to mull over the possibilities this new insight presented when they were interrupted again and he was drawn away to answer the same few questions over and over: No, he had no memory of the Hazadrielfaie; yes, Seregil was a great man in Skala; yes, he was happy to be in Aurenen; no, he'd never seen any place like Sarikali. He was scanning the room for escape routes when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Come with me. There's something I need to do and I need your help," Seregil whispered, guiding him through a doorway and up a back staircase.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."-

Seregil smelled strongly of turab, but his steps were steadier than Alec would have expected. They climbed three sets of stairs, pausing on each level to inspect a room or two. Seregil could usually be counted on to hold forth at length, telling him more than anyone needed to know about the history of a place or thing. Tonight, however, he said nothing, just stopped to touch an object here and there, reacquainting himself with the place.

Alec had a talent for silence. Hands clasped behind his back, he followed Seregil down a winding third-floor corridor. Plain wooden doors opened off the passage at irregular intervals, each one no different from the last as far as he could tell. A small village could easily have put up in the place, or an entire clan.

Seregil halted in front of a door next to a sharp turning of the passage. He knocked, then lifted the latch and slipped into the darkened room.

It had been a long time since they'd burgled a house, but Alec automatically took stock of the place: no light, no smell of hearth or

candle smoke, no coverlet on the bed. The room was a safe one, not in use.

"Over here."

Alec heard the creak of hinges, then saw Seregil's lean form framed against an arch of night sky across the room. Drunk or not, he could move silently when he chose.

The arch let onto a small balcony overlooking the guest house.

"That's our room," Seregil told him, pointing out a window there.

"And this room was yours."

"Ah, yes. I told you, didn't I?" Seregil leaned on the stone parapet, face inscrutable in the moonlight.

"This is where you sat listening to the city dream," Alec murmured.

"I did considerable dreaming of my own. Wait here." Seregil went back inside and returned with a dusty feather tick from the bed. Wadding it against the wall, he sat down and reached for Alec, pulling him down between his legs with his back to Seregil's chest.

"There." He nuzzled Alec's cheek, holding him close. "Here's one dream come to pass, anyway. Aura knows, nothing else has turned out the way I thought it would."

Alec leaned back against him, enjoying their shared heat. "What else did you dream about, sitting here?"

"That I'd leave Bokthersa and travel."

"Like Nyal."

Alec felt rather than heard Seregil's ironic chuckle. "I suppose so. I'd live among foreign people, immerse myself in their ways for years and years, but always return here, and to Bokthersa."

"What would you do on your travels?"

"Just—search. For places no Aurenfaie had seen, for people I'd never meet by remaining at home. My uncle always said there's a reason for every gift. My skills with languages and fighting—he guessed that all added up to someone who was meant to wander. Looking back now, I suppose deep down I was hoping I'd find a place where I was something more than my father's greatest disappointment."

Alec considered this in silence for a moment. "It's difficult for you, isn't it? Being here, the way things are."

"Yes."

How could a single quiet word convey such pain, such longing?

"What else did you wish for, sitting here?" Alec asked quickly, knowing there was nothing he could do to assuage that wound; better just to move on.

A hand slid slowly under his jaw, cupping his cheek as lips

brushed his cheek. The touch spread a tingle of anticipation down his whole right side.

"This, tali. You," Seregil said, breath warm on his skin. "I couldn't see your face back then, but it was you I dreamed of. I've had so many lovers—dozens, hundreds maybe. But not one of them—" He broke off. "I can't explain it. I think some part of me recognized you that first night we met, battered and filthy as you were."

"In that distant foreign land." Alec turned to meet the next kiss with one of his own. How long before someone missed them and came looking?

Time enough.

But Seregil only pulled him closer, cradling him without any of the usual playful groping that preceded their lovemaking. They sat like that for some time, until Alec finally realized that this was what Seregil had come here for.

They fell silent again, and Alec felt himself slipping into a doze. He snapped awake again when Seregil shifted his legs.

"Well, I suppose we should go back down," Seregil said.

Alec rose awkwardly, still sleep dazed. The night air felt cold against his right side where he'd lain against him. The sudden loss of physical contact left him disoriented and a little melancholy, as if he'd absorbed Seregil's sorrow through his skin.

Seregil was looking at the guest house again. "Thank you, tali. Now when I look over here from there, I can remember this as more than just a place that isn't mine anymore."

They replaced the tick and were almost out the door when Seregil paused and turned back, muttering something to himself.

"What is it?" asked Alec.

Instead of answering, Seregil pulled the bedstead to one side and disappeared behind it.

Alec heard the scrape of stone against stone, followed by a triumphant cackle. Seregil popped into view again, holding up a grappling hook and rope.

"Where did that come from?" Alec asked, amused by his friend's obvious delight.

"Come see for yourself."

Alec climbed onto the dusty bed and peered over the edge. Seregil had pried up one of the polished stone floor tiles, revealing a dark space underneath.

"Did you make that hole?"

"No, and I wasn't the first to use it, either. The grapple was mine,

a later addition, and this." He lifted out a clear quartz crystal as long as his palm. "I found the loose tile by accident. These other things were already here. Treasures." A pretty box of Aurenfaie inlay work followed the crystal, and inside Alec found a child's necklace of red and blue beads and a falcon's skull. Seregil placed a painted wooden dragon with gilded wings beside it, then a small portrait of an Aurenfaie couple painted on ivory. Finally, with great care, he lifted out a fragile wooden doll. Its large black eyes and full-lipped mouth were painted on, but the hair was real—long, tightly curled ringlets of shining black.

"By the Four!" Alec touched a finger reverently to the hair. "Do you think this is Bash'wai?"

Still kneeling behind the bed, Seregil touched each object with obvious affection and nodded. "The doll is, and perhaps the necklace."

"And you never told anyone?"

"Just you." Seregil carefully replaced everything except the grapple. "It wouldn't have been special if anyone else had known."

Standing, he tilted Alec a crooked grin. "And you know how good I am at keeping secrets."

Alec uncoiled the grapple rope. It was still supple, and knotted every few feet for climbing. "It's too short to reach the ground."