and constant—no brilliant flashes or crests. Closing his eyes, he endured the bath, endured being lifted out and swathed in a soft blanket. He let himself drift off, away from the massive throbbing in his head.

"I should fetch Mydri," Olmis was saying, his voice already faint in Seregil's ears.

"I don't want anyone else seeing him like this. Not his sisters, especially not the princess. This never happened," Alec told him.

Well done, tali, Seregil thought. Idon't want to have to explain it, either, because I can't.

Seregil awoke propped up in a soft bed. Squinting up in confusion, he made out the play of firelight on rippling gauze hangings overhead.

"You slept all day."

Moving only his eyes, Seregil found Alec in a chair close beside their bed, a book open across his lap.

"Where—?" he rasped.

"So you fell, did you?"

Snapping the book shut, Alec leaned forward to place a cup of water to Seregil's lips, then one containing a milky sweet concoction that Seregil fervently hoped was either a painkiller or swift poison. He had to lift his head slightly to drink, and when he did, hot wires of pain drew taut in his neck and throat. He swallowed as quickly as he could and sank back, praying he didn't vomit it back up. That would involve far too much movement.

"I told everyone you came down with a fever in the night." This time there was no mistaking Alec's tightly reined anger.

Something fell into place in Seregil's addled brain. "I wasn't out spying without you." He longed for some of the previous night's hysteria to buoy him, but it was long gone, leaving him flat and depressed.

"What, then?" Alec demanded, pulling back the blankets. "Who did this to you, and why?"

Glancing down, Seregil saw that his ribs were expertly bandaged, the bands just tight enough to ease the pain and help the cracked bones to knit. The rest of his naked body was covered with a truly impressive array of bruises of varying sizes and shapes. The acrid stink of urine had been replaced by the cloying aroma of some herbal salve. He could see the greasy sheen of it on his skin.

"Nyal bound you up," Alec informed him, replacing the bedclothes with hands far more gentle than his tone. "I waited until the others left for the day, then brought him up. No one else knows about this yet, except Olmis. I told them both to keep quiet. Now, who did this?"

"I don't know. It was dark." Seregil closed his eyes. It wasn't too great a lie, really; he'd known only one of them by name, the khirnari's nephew Emiel i Moranthi, and Kheeta had hinted at bad blood between him and Alec, though he'd refused to elaborate.

If it's vengeance you 're after, tali, don't bother. The scales are still too heavily laden in the Hamans' favor.

Once his eyes were closed, he found it hard to open them again. The milky liquid evidently was a painkiller and he welcomed its dulling influence.

After a moment he heard Alec sigh. "The next time you feel the need to go out for a 'fall, you tell me, understand?»

"I'll try," Seregil whispered, surprised by the sudden sting of tears behind his eyelids.

Warm lips brushed his forehead. "And next time, wear your own damn clothes."

At Alec's insistence, Seregil's «fever» lasted through the following day.

"I'll go keep an eye on Torsin and the Viresse," Alec told him, ordering Seregil not to stir from bed. "If anything of interest actually happens, I'll bring you every detail."

Truth was, Seregil was in no condition to argue the point. A short trip to the chamber pot had been an exercise in pain in more ways than he wanted to think about, though he'd managed it by himself. He was pissing blood, and thanked any gods still listening that Alec wasn't nursemaid enough to check. He'd have to speak to the slop boy, tell him to keep his mouth shut. Hell, he'd pay him if he had to. He'd survived worse treatment and there was no sense in worrying Alec any more than he was already.

Left alone for the day, Seregil lapsed back into sleep for a time, only to awaken in a panicky sweat to find Ilar bending over him. He braced to roll away, only to hit a solid wall of pain.

He fell back with a strangled moan and found himself looking up instead at Nyal. From the look on the Ra'basi's face, his waking expression hadn't been a welcoming one.

"I came to check your dressings."

"Thought you were—someone else," Seregil croaked, fighting down the hot nausea welling at the back of his throat.

"You're safe, my friend," Nyal assured him, not understanding. "Here, drink some more of this."

Seregil sipped gratefully at the milky draught. "What is it?"

"Crushed Carian poppy seed, chamomile, and boneset leaf boiled in goat's milk and honey. It should ease your pain."

"It does. Thanks."

Seregil could feel the effects already, just blunting the edges. He stared up at the ceiling while the Ra'basi gently checked the bindings around his chest, asking himself what the hell he had been thinking, handing himself over to the Haman like that. Mortification wrenched at his heart as he thought of what would be made of his absence from the Iia'sidra chamber. His attackers would have better sense than to brag about committing violence on sacred ground, but rumors might already be leaking out along the fretted network of gossip that underlay any large gathering. That aside, he'd virtually abandoned his responsibilities and left the burden on Alec.

"Madness," he hissed.

"Indeed. Alec is still very angry with you, and rightly so. I never took you for a stupid man."

Seregil managed a weak chuckle. "You just don't know me well enough."

Nyal frowned down at him, suddenly devoid of sympathy. "If that little night encounter had happened so much as a pace outside the boundaries of Sarikali, your talimenios might be mourning you right now."

Ashamed, Seregil looked away.

"What, no laughter at that? Good." Nyal produced a steaming sponge from somewhere below Seregil's line of vision and set about cleaning him.

"I didn't know you were a healer," Seregil said when he trusted himself to speak again.

"I'm not, really, but one picks up all sorts of skills, traveling."

Seregil studied the other man's profile. "We do, don't we?"

Nyal glanced up from his task. "That sounded almost friendly, Bokthersa."

"You'll get into trouble calling me that."

Nyal gestured sloppily with the sponge. "Who's to overhear?"

Seregil acknowledged the barb with a grin of his own. "You're a

nosy bastard, and an easterner. Not to mention the fact that you're the lover of a young woman who's the closest thing to a daughter I'll ever have. The combination makes me nervous."

"So I've noticed." Nyal gently turned Seregil over to spread fresh salve on his back. "A spy, am I?"

"Perhaps, or maybe just a balance to my presence."

Nyal eased him back down, and Seregil looked him in the eye. Incredible eyes, really, clear and seemingly guileless. Strange that he hadn't noticed them before. No wonder Beka—

He was wandering, he realized. "So are you?»

"A balancing factor?"

"A spy."

Nyal shrugged. "I answer to my khirnari, like anyone else. What I've told her is that what your princess says in private is no different than what she says to the Iia'sidra."

"And Amali a Yassara?" Aura's Fingers, had he said that aloud? Nyal's potion must be having more of an effect than he'd thought.

The Ra'basi merely smiled. "You're an observant man. Amali and I were once lovers, but she chose to accept the hand of Rhaish i Arlisandin. But I still care for her and speak with her when I safely can."

"Safely?"

"Rhaish i Arlisandin loves his wife very much; it would be unworthy of me to be the cause of discord between them."

"Ah, I see." Seregil would have tapped the side of his nose knowingly if he could have raised his hand that far.