CHAPTER 5 Lovers and Enemies

AS THEY RODE back to Wheel Street, Alec finally asked the question that had been niggling at him for days now. “Why does the queen dislike you so much?”

Seregil gave him a smile that was patently false and shrugged. “Who knows why Phoria does anything?”

Alec sensed the evasion but guessed this was something Seregil didn’t want to talk about in public, so he let it go until they reached the house. Micum and Kari were waiting anxiously for them, as expected, and Seregil soon put their minds at rest. He waited until Kari and the girls went off to the kitchen to see about the midday meal before telling Micum of Phoria’s orders regarding the Watchers.

“That vindictive woman!”

“What are you complaining about? I thought you were well out of all that, sitting by the hearth with your babes playing around your feet.”

“I don’t know,” Micum mused sadly. “I’ve always thought I might have another journey or two in me. To be honest, I get a bit restless sometimes, missing the old days. With you two back, and now Thero, I thought maybe…” He tapped his boot with the tip of his cane. “I might not be able to cover so much ground on foot anymore, but I can ride as well as ever, and there’s nothing wrong with my sword arm.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Seregil. “We’ll miss you, you know, but I don’t think I dare go back and ask Phoria if you can go with us.”

Micum laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask you to put your head in the bear’s mouth again so soon, anyway. There’s all the winter planting and work to be done, and I wouldn’t feel right, leaving it all to Kari.”

“It never used to stop you,” Seregil pointed out.

Micum glanced over at Kari, who’d come back with Gherin in her arms and Luthas swinging from her skirts. “Well, maybe it should have.”

The morning ride had cleared Alec’s head, but the night’s rest had been too short. They shared a late breakfast with the Cavishes, then retired upstairs to sleep a little while Runcer began packing for their journey.

Seregil kicked off his boots and stretched out on top of the coverlet with his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes.

Alec lay down beside him, head propped on one hand, and shook him by the shoulder. “So are you going to tell me the real reason you and Phoria don’t like each other or not? I’ve hardly seen you two together, but when you are, it’s like two tomcats in an alley. I think it’s more than just the Leran business.”

Seregil threw an arm across his eyes. “Later, talí. I’m exhausted!”

“No. Now.”

Seregil said nothing, and just when Alec began to suspect that he was pretending to be asleep, Seregil sighed deeply. “It goes back long before your time, or Thero’s. And it’s more a matter of her hating me. I don’t care much about her at all.”

“But why?” Alec pressed. “Klia likes you, and Prince Korathan, too.”

Seregil let out a wry little snort. “Ah, well, you’ve hit on it, haven’t you?”

“Korathan? Why would Phoria care if her brother likes you? Is she jealous?”

“Mmm.”

Alec recognized another evasion. He poked Seregil in the shoulder again. “So?”

“Let it go, Alec. It’s long past.”

Once upon a time, Alec would have obeyed. “Tell me!”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Obviously.”

Seregil dropped his arm and rubbed a hand over his face. “All right then. Korathan and I? We were lovers.”

Alec gaped at him. This was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Really?”

“We were both very young and it didn’t last long. Phoria caught us together and that was the end of it. But she’s never forgiven me.”

Alec was still trying to take it in. “You? And Korathan?”

“I warned you that you wouldn’t like it.”

Alec stretched out beside Seregil, leaving a little more space between them than usual. It had always been difficult, knowing that Seregil had bedded hundreds of men and women before he’d come along-and more after, too, for that matter. It was harder still when he learned their names and faces, and that so many of them, like Lady Kylith or the courtesan Eirual, were still good friends. And now it was Prince Korathan, whom Alec had always admired.

“When was this?”

Seregil stared up at the gauzy silk canopy. “Not long after I came to court. Korathan was always very kind and I was still reeling from-well, you know.”

Ilar í Sontir, thought Alec. Seregil always had a hard time speaking of the seducer who’d cost him his family, his name, and his homeland. Alec had stored the name and the story in his heart, the one time Seregil had told him the sordid tale. He looked over at Seregil, gauging the worry in his lover’s grey eyes.

“Why did Phoria care if you two were-together?” he asked at last.

“Because she’s owned her brother from the womb. Twins often have a strong bond. And some a bit too strong, if you take my meaning?”

“You’re not serious!”

Seregil shrugged. “Rumors have been floating around for years. And neither of them have ever married, have they?”

“But she had Lord Barieus as a lover. She mourned him like a husband when he died.”

“True, but he’s the only one I know of. Korathan doesn’t always sleep alone, but from what I’ve heard, never with anyone who matters. No, he’s devoted his whole life to Phoria and will until he dies.”

“So she hates you for something that happened, what, almost forty years ago?”

“If there’s one thing Phoria excels at, talí, it’s holding a grudge.”

Seregil was relieved when Alec finally let the subject drop, but it was some time before he could get to sleep. He hated that singular sort of silence Alec pulled around himself when the subject of Seregil’s previous liaisons came up. Alec was normally the most reasonable and easygoing of men; but on this one topic he always grew troubled, though he wouldn’t say much about it. All Seregil could do was avoid the subject. He made no apologies for his past, but he hated causing Alec pain. He wanted nothing more right now than to pull the stubborn young man into his arms and apologize, but Alec had turned his back and seemed to be asleep.

Seregil lay awake a long time, watching the sun slowly pass across the window.

Far across the Osiat, the khirnari of Virésse sat on his balcony, enjoying a late breakfast with his eldest daughter as he watched that same sunlight dance on the waves in the harbor below. There were fewer ships there these days, and fewer still that hailed from Skala. The three great merchantmen at anchor near the harbor mouth flew the standards of Plenimaran houses; that land had always been a good friend to Virésse.

Ulan í Sathil was an old man and not easily startled. He didn’t flinch when a tiny, pale green orb of light suddenly winked into existence inches from his face. He recognized the bit of Orëska magic, but not the sender’s color.

“Would you excuse me, my dear?” he said.

“Of course, Father.” Saliana withdrew, used to her father’s ways. She could be trusted to say nothing of the odd messenger.

Ulan reached out one long finger and touched the spark, marveling as always that it had neither heat nor any form. He might not know the sender, but he knew the voice that spoke the message as the light disappeared.

“I have watched and waited as you instructed, Uncle. I have it from the lips of one in the great palace that the golden prize flies south to Gedre tomorrow, on lark’s wings, and with him the nameless one.”

“Ah, I knew you could not long keep away,” Ulan murmured. He went to the balcony door and shook awake the young page dozing on his stool.

“Wake up, Mikiel, I have a task for you. Go to the house of Kiran Ashnazai and tell him to come to me at once.”

“What shall I say, Khirnari?” the boy asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.