"This is the most people we've been around since we left Rhiminee," Alec remarked.

And I've missed this, Seregil thought, already straining his ears for interesting conversational tidbits. He suspected Alec felt the same. He'd already fallen into that unassuming manner that made him all but invisible in such gatherings, but his blue eyes were alert as those of a hound that sensed the chase at hand.

It was not difficult to linger unnoticed for a moment while Lhaar a Iriel expressed her continuing opposition to any lessening of the Edict to a sympathetic Haman, or to watch one of their host's kinsmen gently interrogating a Bry'khan woman as to her feelings about Aurenfaie mercenaries joining the war in the north.

Alec drifted away for a while, returning with Klia and word that some of the guests were not above grumbling at the extravagance surrounding them.

"I was standing near Moriel a Moriel a moment ago," he reported, pointing discreetly at the Ra'basi. Nyal was with her, gesturing animatedly in Beka Cavish's direction. "She told a Lhapnosan that what we're feasting on are the spoils that Viresse keeps for itself under the protection of the Edict."

"I've heard others say the same," murmured Klia. "Still, she's one I still can't read. Ra'basi benefits from the trade coming up the eastern coast by ship, even if it is only Viresse's crumbs. Yet she's made it clear more than once that the Ra'basi do not like being treated like some dependent clan." Her expression brightened as she glanced toward the main entrance. "Ah, but here are the Akhendi at last! I'd feared they wouldn't come."

"Rhaish i Arlisandin doesn't look very pleased to be back here so soon," said Alec.

"He has reason enough not to be," Seregil agreed. The khirnari

was pale and dour, though his greeting to their host and his wife seemed civil enough. His grey hair was windblown beneath his sen'gai, and he wore the same plain robe he'd had on at the morning's council.

"I'll sound him out," Klia said, going off to meet him. Seregil and Alec trailed behind her, picking up Thero along the way.

The crowd was thick. By the time they reached him, Rhaish had already been waylaid by Lord Torsin and the Gedre khirnari. Clasping hands with the envoy, Rhaish fumbled his reosu lantern, dropping it at Torsin's feet.

"Ah, the cost of age!" he groaned, shaking his head as he went stiffly down on one knee to retrieve it.

Klia and Thero both stepped forward, but the princess was quicker. Taking Rhaish's hand, she tried to help him up. The old man yanked his hand away with a gasp and staggered to his feet. Realizing it was Klia who'd tried to assist him, he bowed deeply. "Forgive me, my dear, I did not see you there," he said, embarrassment lending a little color to his cheeks.

"Where is your lady tonight?" Klia asked, looking around hopefully. "I've missed her."

"She's been weary these past few days and her women felt it would be best if she remained at home tonight," Rhaish replied quickly, still flustered. "She asked me to express her regards, and the hope of seeing you tomorrow if her condition permits. I won't be staying long myself."

"Of course not. It was good of you to make an appearance. I've been thinking Amali looked worn out these past few days. You know, there's a tea Skalan women drink back home to build them up during their pregnancy. My captain might know what's needed; her mother knows a good bit of midwifery." Chatting brightly, Klia slipped her arm through the khirnari's and drew him away in the direction of the iced wine.

" We have work to do," hinted Alec.

"I suppose so," Thero agreed.

Seregil raised an eyebrow at the wizard. "Anxious to throw your dignity to the wind, are you?"

Thero turned to study the banquet table. "I've been thinking about Nysander's old tricks. That flock of roast wrens has definite possibilities."

"Our host is a fastidious man, so try not to make too much of a mess."

In the early days of their acquaintance, Thero had been mortified

by his mentor's penchant for amusing magical tricks at parties. Now the young wizard attempted the same silliness with a sense of showmanship Seregil would never have credited him with.

Leaving the food alone for the moment, Thero began instead with the reosus. Approaching a group of Viresse children, he summoned several dozen of the little lanterns down from the boughs of a nearby tree and set them spinning in a circle above the children's delighted faces. When he had their attention, and that of some of their elders, he brought the lights down into a man-shaped formation and set it capering like a demented acrobat.

When a sufficient number of bystanders had turned to watch these antics, Alec and Seregil slipped out a nearby door and set off in search of the khirnari's private quarters.

Beka saw them go and watched to see if anyone followed. Satisfied that they were safe for the moment, she turned her attention back to Thero, who was now surrounded by a small crowd.

"I think your friend has lost his mind," Kheeta chuckled as he joined her.

"You should have seen his old master when he had a drop in," Beka replied, thinking wistfully of the pretty spells Nysander had concocted.

Some of the older 'faie seemed to share Kheeta's opinion. The khirnari of Akhendi stood next to Klia, looking doubtfully from the wizard to the princess, who was laughing gaily, as if Thero played the mountebank on a regular basis.

Sending the lanterns back to their branches, he proceeded to pull flowers and colored smoke from the ears of the rapt children gathered around him. It was rare to see Thero smile; rarer still to see him playful.

A familiar muffled cough distracted Beka. Turning, she saw Lord Torsin pressing a pristine handkerchief to his lips as his shoulders heaved. Hurrying to his side, she took his arm and offered him her wine cup. He drank gratefully and patted her hand. His own were cold.

"Are you unwell, my lord?" she asked, noting the fresh stains on the white cloth as he tucked it away in his sleeve.

"No, Captain, just old," he replied with a rueful smile. "And like so many old men, I weary sooner than I'd like. I believe I'll have a little stroll, then make my way home to bed."

"I'll send an escort with you." Beka gestured to Corporal Nikides, who stood nearby.

"There's no need for that," Torsin said. "I much prefer to see myself home."

"But your cough—"

"Has been with me a good long time." Torsin shook his head firmly. "You know how I enjoy my quiet walks under the stars here. With today's decision. ." He looked around sadly. "I shall miss Sarikali. Whatever the outcome, I doubt if any of us shall see it again."

"I'll be sorry if that is so, my lord," Beka said.

With a last bemused look at Thero, who was now coaxing a dragon-shaped pastry to life, the old envoy went to take leave of Klia and their host. Turning, Beka bumped into Nyal.

Weaving his fingers with hers, he raised her hand and pressed it to his lips. "I shall be very sorry to see you go. I've been thinking of nothing else since the vote was announced this morning. Our parting will be all the worse, knowing that you return to your war, talia."

It was the first time he had used the endearment, and the sound of it brought a rush of warmth to her heart and the sting of tears to her eyes.

"You could come with me." The words escaped before she could second-guess them.

"If they vote to lift the Edict, you could remain," he countered, still holding her hand.

The possibility hung between them for a moment, then Beka shook her head. "I can't abandon my command, or Klia. Not when every soldier is needed."

"This is what comes of loving a warrior." Nyal rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, studying the faded scars there.