through Seregil's crime. He approached them with cautious civility and was greeted with the same by most, if only for the sake of Brythir's hospitality, or perhaps their interest in Alec.

If the weight of being a novelty was wearing on his companion, Alec gave no sign. Despite their long absence from the salons of Rhiminee, the lessons Alec had learned there still served him well. Modest, quiet, quick to smile, he moved among the guests as easily as water among stones. Trailing in his wake, Seregil watched with a mix of pride and amusement as various guests clasped Alec's hand a moment too long, or let their gaze wander a little too freely.

Stepping back, Seregil imagined seeing his friend, his talimenios, through their eyes: a slender, golden-haired young ya'shel utterly unconscious of his own appeal. It wasn't just his looks that struck people, either. Alec had a gift for listening to people, a way of focusing on whomever he was conversing with that made them feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. It didn't matter if that person was a tavern slopper or a lord, Alec had the touch.

Pride gave way to a wave of sensual hunger, reminding him that they hadn't done much more than fall asleep together since Gedre, and that it had been lean times for almost two weeks before that. Alec looked his way just then and smiled. Seregil hid his own grin behind the rim of a wine cup, suddenly glad of his full-skirted Skalan coat. Talimenios could be a tricky thing in public.

The tenor of the gathering changed subtly with the arrival of the Haman. Keeping to the background, Seregil watched as Klia greeted Nazien i Hari and his entourage. Surprisingly, the man greeted her cordially, clasping her hands and presenting her with a ring from his own finger. She did the same, and the two fell into conversation as Brythir looked on benevolently.

"What do you think of that?" Alec exclaimed softly, coming up behind him.

"Interesting. Perhaps even encouraging. After all, it's me the Haman hate, not Skala. Why don't you wander over for a listen?"

"Ah, there you are!" Klia smiled as Alec joined her. "Khirnari, I don't think you've met my aide, Alec i Amasa?»

"How do you do, honored sir?" Alec said with a bow.

"I have heard of him," Nazien replied, suddenly cool. Clearly, the man knew who he was and detested him on principle. With a single, subtle glance, the Haman dismissed him as thoroughly as if he'd

ceased to exist. More amazing still, Klia seemed not to have noticed the slight.

Alec stepped back a pace, feeling as if the breath had suddenly been sucked from his lungs. It was his Watcher training that kept him there with Klia, listening, when every instinct counseled a hasty retreat.

So he hovered, studying the faces of the Haman beneath their yellow-and-black sen'gai as he pretended to listen to a nearby conversation. There were twelve Haman with Nazien—six men, six women, most of them close kin with the same dark, sharp eyes as their khirnari. Most chose to consider Alec invisible, though one, a broad-shouldered man with a dragon bite on his chin, spared Alec a challenging glare.

Alec was about to go when Nazien mentioned something about the Edict.

"It is a complex matter," the khirnari was saying to Klia. "You must understand, there was a great deal more to it than Corruth's disappearance. The exodus of the Hazadrielfaie centuries before was still fresh in the minds of our people—the terrible loss."

Alec inched closer; this was in line with what Adzriel had told them the night before.

"Then, as trade grew with the Three Lands, we watched as more 'faie disappeared to northern lands, mingling their blood with the Tir," Nazien continued. "Many of our clan mingled with yours, losing their ties with their own kind."

"Then you feel a 'faie belongs in Aurenen and nowhere else?" asked Klia.

"It is a common sentiment," Nazien replied. "Perhaps it is difficult for a Tirfaie to understand, as you find those like yourselves wherever you travel. We are a race apart, unique to this land. We are long-lived, it is true, but we are also, in Aura's great wisdom, slow to breed. I do not say that our lives are more sacred to us than those of the Tir are to you, but our attitude toward such things as war and murder is one of greater horror. I think you will be hard-pressed to convince any khirnari to send their people off to die in your war."

"And yet if you would only allow those who wish to go," Klia countered. "You must not underestimate our own love of life. Every day I am here more of my people die for want of the help you could so easily give. It is not honor we fight for, but our very lives."

"Be that as it may—"

They were interrupted by a call to the banquet. The light was failing

quickly now, and torches were lit around the garden and in the street below. Klia and Nazien went to join their host. Alec moved off, looking for Seregil.

"Well?" asked Seregil as they took their seats on a couch near Klia's.

Alec shrugged, still smarting from the Haman's treatment. "Just more politics."

The entertainment began with the feast. A horn sounded and a dozen riders on Silmai blacks appeared from around the corner of a distant building. The horses' harnesses and girth straps were hung with tinkling gold and turquoise ornaments, and their streaming white manes and tails shone like combed milkweed silk.

The riders, men and women both, were equally exotic. Their long hair was bound tightly back into a club at the back of their necks, and each wore a silver crescent of Aura on their brow. The men wore short kilts dyed the turquoise blue of their clan and tightly belted with gold. The women wore tunics of similar design.

"They're ya'shel, too, aren't they?" Alec asked, pointing out several riders with golden-tan skin and curling black hair.

"Yes. Some Zengati blood, I'd say," Seregil told him.

Riding bareback at breakneck speeds, the performers leaped from one mount to another and rode standing on their horses' backs, their oiled limbs shining in the firelight. As one, they clapped their hands, and swirling masses of colored lights unfurled from their fingertips like banners, then were woven into patterns by the intricate drills they executed. The Skalans clapped and cheered. Standing guard behind Klia, Beka's riders cheered the loudest of all.

When the performers had finished and retired, a single rider took the field. Dressed like the others, he cantered out and saluted his audience, gripping his mount's sides with long, lean-muscled legs. His skin was a golden tan, his hair a cascade of long black curls.

"My youngest grandson, Taanil i Khormai," Brythir announced, beaming at Klia.

"And the banquet's main course, I suspect," murmured Seregil, nudging Alec with his elbow.

As Taanil set off on his first circuit of the grassy riding area, the khirnari leaned closer to Klia. "The skills of my grandson are not limited to riding. He is a fearless sailor, and a student of languages. He speaks your tongue quite flawlessly, I'm told. He would welcome the opportunity to converse with you."

I'll bet, thought Seregil, grinning behind his wine cup.

Coming down the field at a gallop, Taanil gripped his mount's girth strap and vaulted from side to side over its back, then went into a handstand, his lean body straight as a spear. The sight drew more than a few admiring sounds from the Skalan contingent.

The young Silmai joined Klia on her couch after his ride and charmed them all with his tales of sea trade and horsemanship.

When he left to perform again, Klia leaned over to Seregil and whispered. "Am I being courted?"

Seregil gave her a wink. "There's more than one way to forge an alliance. Marrying off a youngest grandson is a small price to pay for a new trade ally, wouldn't you say?"