Following Skalan custom, the main entrance was sealed and hung with an inverted shield. Incense billowed up from a brazier set on the doorstep. Strings of Aurenfaie prayer kites also fluttered from poles set into the ground, and from the windows and roof.

A low, droning song greeted them as they entered the main hall by a side door; six rhui'auros stood in a circle at the center of the room, chanting softly.

Klia was with Seregil, Adzriel, and Mydri, putting the final touches on a large prayer kite. Nearby several Bokthersan servants were busy constructing others. It looked as if they meant to festoon the whole house with them.

"What news?" Klia asked as they entered.

"All is well, my lady," replied Torsin. "The council will resume in five days."

Seregil dismissed the servants, then asked, "And what were your impressions?"

"That the Viresse already knew," Alec told him. "I can't explain it; it was just the way Ulan i Sathil watched us as we came in."

"I think he's right," Thero agreed. "I didn't dare chance brushing Ulan's mind, but I briefly touched that of Elos of Golinil. There was no surprise, only thoughts of Ulan."

"You did what?" Seregil gaped at the wizard in dismay. "Didn't I tell you how dangerous that could be?"

Thero spared him an impatient glance. "You didn't think I was dozing through all those long sessions, did you? I've been making a study of the lia'sidra members. Ulan i Sathil and the khirnari of Khatme, Akhendi, and Silmai have the strongest aura of magic about them. I'm not certain what the full extent of their skills may be, but I've sense enough to stay clear of them. Most of the others are far more limited—Elos of Golinil in particular. If Ulan has a weak point, it's his daughter's husband."

"If they did know, then perhaps you're right about having a spy in the house," Klia noted, frowning.

Adzriel looked up sharply, her face as solemn as her brother's. "I chose the staff for this house myself. They are above reproach."

Seregil shook his head. "That's not who I was thinking of."

25 NIGHTRUNNING

Skalan mourning was an austere affair, and fires, hot food, alcohol of any sort, lovemaking, and music were all strictly abstained from. A single candle was allowed in each room at night. Should the soul of the departed visit any of its loved ones, there must be nothing to distract it from its journey.

This was new territory for Alec, whose Dalnan upbringing dictated a quick burning and ashes plowed into the earth. He'd seen death often enough since he'd come south with Seregil, but his friend was neither Skalan nor one to adhere to custom. When Thryis and her family had been murdered, Seregil had set the inn ablaze as a pyre and sworn vengeance on their murderer, a vow Alec had himself carried out when he strangled Vargul Ashnazai. Seregil's grief for Nysander's death had been too deep and silent for mere ritual to encompass. For a time he'd almost stopped living himself.

This time, however, Seregil willingly observed the abstentions, sitting with Klia through the interminable visitations. Alec sensed genuine sadness in his friend, although Seregil said little.

It was Beka who finally drew him out. The three of them had gathered with Thero in the

wizard's room on the second night, passing the time in desultory conversation.

Thero was weaving the shadows cast by the candle into fantastic shapes against the wall. Seregil remained unusually quiet as he sat slouched in his chair, legs stretched out before him, chin on hand. Alec studied his friend's pensive face, wondering if Seregil was watching Thero's shadow play or lost to his own inner phantoms.

Beka suddenly nudged Seregil's foot with her own and raised her eyebrows in mock surprise when he looked up.

"Oh, it's you," she said. "And here I'd been thinking it must be Alec sitting there. No one else I know can keep quiet for so long."

"I was just thinking about Idrilain," he replied.

"You liked her, didn't you, Uncle?"

Alec Smiled, guessing that she'd used the familiar term to coax him out of his brown study; she called him «Uncle» only in private now.

Seregil shifted in his chair, clasping his hands over one updrawn knee. "Yes I did. She was queen when I came to Rhiminee, and did her best to find a place for me at court. It didn't work out, of course, but I might never have met Nysander if not for her." He sighed. "In a way, Idrilain was Skala to me. Now Phoria sits on the throne."

"Don't you think she'll rule well?" asked Beka.

Seregil's eyes met Alec's, acknowledging shared secrets. Then he shrugged. "I suppose she'll rule according to her nature."

The nature of the new queen proved to be a topic of prime interest to the Aurenfaie.

Adzriel had arranged a receiving room for Klia just off the main hall, mixing Skalan and Aurenfaie trappings. A tripod of headless spear shafts supported Klia's inverted shield. Censors clouded the air with the bittersweet vapors of myrrh and stop-blood weed, the soldier's field herb. Delicate Aurenfaie scrolls hung beside the room's three doors, painted with prayers directing the queen's soul onward should she come to visit her daughter and forget how to move on. An Aurenfaie screen of thin parchment blocked the window, except for a small hole by which the khi could come and go.

Another Aurenfaie touch was a small brazier by the door, where each guest cast a small bunch of cedar tips as they entered, an offering to the departed. The scent of it was said to be pleasing to the dead, but the living were soon well sick of it. By the end of each day a pall of smoke hung near the ceiling in a slow-roiling cloud. The

odor of it clung to clothing and hair and followed them to their beds at night.

Sitting beside Klia each day, Seregil wondered what the dead queen would make of the conversation if she did choose to visit.

Each visitor, regardless of clan or stance, began with the usual expressions of condolence but soon maneuvered their way to subtle inquiries about Phoria.

Alec reported similar interest. Every member of the Skalan delegation, even the Urgazhi riders, were suddenly thought to be authorities on the new queen's character. People who had not deigned to speak to Alec since his arrival now cornered him on the street. "What is this new queen like?" they all wanted to know. "What is her interest here? What does she want from Aurenen?"

Braknil and Mercalle had the most to say in Phoria's favor; they'd both fought beside her in their younger days and praised her bravery in glowing terms.

Lacking Seregil's connection to the royal family, Alec made himself useful helping Thero and Torsin greet their visitors in the hall and seeing that each dignitary was properly attended to as they waited for an audience with Klia.

He was so occupied on the third day when Rhaish i Arlisandin and his young wife arrived. He withdrew as Torsin and the khirnari launched into a hushed discussion, but Amali followed him and laid a hand on his arm.

"There's something I must share with you in private," she murmured, casting a quick glance back at her husband.

"Certainly, my lady." Alec led her to an unused room just off the hall.

As soon as he'd closed the door she strode to the far end, clasping her hands in obvious agitation. Alec folded his arms and waited. She hadn't spoken directly to him more than twice since their arrival in Sarikali.

"Nyal i Nhekai advised me to speak with you," she confided at last. "He says you are a man of honor. I must ask that no matter what you say to the request I am about to make, what I say will go no further than this room. Can you give me your word on that?"

"Perhaps it would be better if you spoke to someone with more authority," Alec suggested, but she shook her head.