"But I forgot," he said, eyes narrowing. "You're not keeping the best company these days."

"He certainly isn't," one of the swimmers remarked, climbing from the pool. He strode up to them, his face set in a disdainful frown.

Alec tensed, recognizing him by the dragon bite on his chin. This was no servant. He'd been with the Haman khirnari last night at the Silmai banquet.

The Haman stood a moment, eyeing them with distaste. "A Bokthersan, a Tirfaie." His gaze came to rest on Alec. "And the Exile's garshil ke 'menios."

Alec understood only half the phrase—garshil meant "mongrel" — but that and the Haman's tone left no doubt that it was a calculated insult.

"This is Emiel i Moranthi of Haman, the khirnari's nephew," Nyal warned in Skalan.

"I know who he is," said Alec, keeping his tone neutral, as if he hadn't understood the insult.

Kheeta had no such reservations. "You should choose your words more carefully, Emiel i Moranthi!" he snarled, stepping closer.

Alec laid a hand on his arm, then said in Aurenfaie, "He can use what words he likes. It's of no concern to me."

His antagonist's eyes narrowed; none of the Haman had bothered chatting with him the night before and no doubt assumed he did not speak their language.

"What's going on?" Beka muttered, sensing trouble.

"Just a few insults between clans," Alec said evenly. "Best to walk away."

"Yes," Nyal agreed, no longer smiling as he urged the glowering Kheeta back the way they'd come. But Beka was still eyeing the naked man.

"It was nothing," Alec repeated firmly, snagging her by the sleeve and following.

"What's the matter, too frightened to join us?" Emiel jeered.

It was Alec who wheeled around and, against all better judgment, strode back to face him. With the same bravado he'd once used staring down back-alley toughs, he crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side, slowly scanning Emiel from head to foot until his would-be adversary shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"No," Alec replied at last, raising his voice for all to hear. "I see nothing here that frightens me."

He sensed the attack coming and jumped back as Emiel lunged for him. The Hainan's companions caught at him, dragging him back. Alec felt hands on his arms, too, but shook them off, needing no restraint. Somewhere behind him, Beka was cursing pungently in two languages as Kheeta restrained her.

"Remember where you are, all of you," Nyal warned, shouldering in between them.

Emiel hissed softly between clenched teeth, but fell back. "Thank you, my friend," he sneered, though his gaze never left Alec. "Thank you for not letting me soil my hands with this little garshil ke'menios."

With that, he sauntered back toward the pool.

"Come away," Nyal urged.

The skin between his shoulder blades prickled and he tensed, expecting any moment for the Haman to change their minds and renew the fight. Aside from a few jeers and muttered insults, however, the defenders of the pool let them go in peace.

"What was that he called you?" Beka asked again as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Nothing that matters."

"Oh, I can see that! What did he say?" Beka demanded.

"I didn't get all of it."

"He called you a mongrel boy whore," Kheeta growled.

Alec could feel his face burning and was glad of the shadows.

"I've been called worse," he lied. "Let it go, Beka. The last thing Klia needs is the head of her bodyguard getting into a brawl."

"Bilairy's Balls! That filthy son of a—"

"Please, Beka, you mustn't say such things aloud. Not here," said Nyal. "Emiel's behavior is understandable. Seregil murdered his kinsman, and by our reckoning, Alec is kin to Seregil. Surely it's not so different among your own people?"

"Back home you can knock somebody's teeth in without starting a war," she snapped.

Nyal shook his head. "What a place this Skala must be."

Alec caught a hint of motion out of the corner of his eye just then and slowed, peering into the darkness between the pillars. Perhaps the Haman hadn't been put off so easily after all. He caught a hint of an unfamiliar scent, heavy with musk and spice. Then it was gone.

"What is it?" Beka asked softly.

"Nothing," he said, though instinct warned otherwise.

Outside, it was raining harder than ever. Curtains of mist anchored the clouds to the rooftops.

"Perhaps you should ride back with us," Kheeta suggested.

"I suppose so," Beka agreed. Accepting the Bokthersan's outstretched hand, she swung easily up behind him.

Alec kicked a stirrup free for Nyal. The Ra'basi reached to accept a hand up, then stopped to examine the Akhendi charm dangling from Alec's wrist. The little bird carving had turned black.

"What happened to it?" Alec asked, peering at it in surprise. A tiny crack he hadn't noticed before marred the tip of one wing.

"It's a warning charm. Emiel ill-wished you," Nyal explained.

"A waste of good magic, if you ask me," Kheeta muttered. "It takes no magic to read the heart of a Haman."

Alec pulled out his dagger, intending to cut the charm free and toss it into the bushes.

"Don't," Nyal said, staying his hand. "It can be restored so long as you don't destroy the knots."

"I don't want Seregil seeing this. He'll know something happened and I hate lying to him."

"Give it to me, then," the Ra'basi offered. "I'll get one of the Akhendi to fix it for you."

Alec plucked the lacings free and handed it to him. "I want your word, all of you, that Seregil won't hear about this. He has enough to worry about."

"Are you sure that's wise, Alec?" asked Kheeta. "He's not a child."

"No, but he does have a temper. The Haman insulted me to get at him. I'm not going to play their game for them."

"I'm not so sure," Beka said, more concerned than angry now. "You keep your distance from them, especially if you're alone. That was more than bluff and bluster just now."

"Don't worry," Alec said, forcing a grin. "If there's one thing I've learned from Seregil, it's how to avoid people."

14 MYSTERIES

Thero envied Beka the headache that had released her from the day's duties. As negotiations rambled on, the wizard grew increasingly restless. Most of the day's speeches were hollow posturing, currying favor with one side or the other. Stories and grievances from centuries past were trotted out and argued. Apparently there was no shame in napping during these interludes; a number of onlookers up in the gallery were snoring audibly.

Thunderstorms descended on the city soon after midday, throwing the Iia'sidra chamber into lamp-lit gloom. Cold winds swept in through the windows, carrying rain and leaves. At times thunder drowned the voice of the speaker on the floor.

Chin on hand, Thero watched the lightning illuminate rippling sheets of rain lashing down outside. It brought back memories of his apprentice days in Nysander's tower. Sitting at the window of his chamber on summer afternoons, he'd watched the barbed white bolts spike down over the harbor and dreamed of capturing that power, channeling it through his hands. To control something that could destroy you in an instant—the thought had made his pulse race. One day he'd blurted out his idea to Nysander, asking if it could be done.

The older wizard had merely given him a look of kindly forbearance and asked, "If you could control it, dear boy, would it be as beautiful?"

The response had seemed nonsensical to him at the time, he thought sadly.

An especially long, bright flash lit the Iia'sidra just then, transforming the window he'd been staring at into an oblong of weird blue-white brilliance. Thero saw the black outline of a woman framed there, as if in a doorway.