The captain rose and bowed. “I fear not, my lords, though I’m sure her reasons were sound.”

Riagil seemed satisfied and the conversation soon turned to talk of rains and trade, births and horses.

As soon as the meal was over, Traneus took his leave and went to see his men settled for the night. Seregil and Alec lingered a while under the flicking lanterns, enjoying the autumn night and the last of the year’s night-blooming white flowers. A young woman fetched a harp, and Seregil obliged his hosts with some soft music, while Alec accepted a challenge to shoot against some of the young men who’d heard of his prowess with his Black Radly.

“It seems odd that the queen would not send you with a proper escort,” Riagil observed.

Seregil smiled over his harp, still playing. “I know the way, and too many Skalans would only slow us down.”

“I see. But you would perhaps not object if I sent a few riders with you, as well? As your host, I feel it is my duty. I’ve been meaning to buy more of your sis-” He paused and gave Seregil an apologetic look. “I mean to buy more of Bôkthersa’s fine horses. I’ll send my kinsman, Aryn í Arisei, and his servants to trade for me.”

Seregil bowed his head respectfully. “We would be glad of their company.”

They sat a while longer, then Yhali walked with them back to their room and bade them good night. She lingered a moment, clasping Seregil’s hand. “Welcome back, Seregil í Korit. To me, you will always have a name.”

Seregil swallowed around a sudden tightness in his throat. “Thank you, dear lady.”

When she was gone, Alec took out Thero’s yellow message stick and broke it in two, releasing the little burst of light. “I don’t know what difference it really makes, but I feel a bit easier with that done, and with some Gedre riders on the road, too.”

“So do I. I wasn’t looking forward to being on a lonely stretch of road with Phoria’s dog and his men.” Then he grinned as he cast a meaningful look at the safely locked chamber door and the broad, clean bed. “Things are looking up, all around, wouldn’t you say?”

CHAPTER 7 An Unexpected Shooting Party

ALEC WOKE SMILING the next morning, bathed in early sunlight and trapped under Seregil’s arm.

Seregil opened one eye. “Good morning.”

“Good morning yourself. Move off. You’re heavy.”

Seregil rolled onto his back and yawned. “We stink. Bath.”

Riagil found them there as they soaked, and introduced his young kinsman, Aryn. Alec covered himself as best he could with the sponge, blushing furiously. Both Gedre smiled and obligingly turned away a bit.

Seregil lounged at ease, uncaring as always, damn him.

“I mean to take the coastal route to Smuggler’s Pass,” Aryn told Seregil. “That’s the fastest route to Bôkthersa, though we may encounter some early snow in the pass.”

Seregil nodded. “Good. Give us time to dress and we’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

“Breakfast first,” Riagil insisted. “Yhali won’t forgive me if you don’t have a proper send-off. My apologies, Alec í Amasa, for disturbing you.”

Seregil held off until they were alone again, then threw a towel at Alec, laughing. “Tsk, such blushing! People will talk. Especially about that rather unfortunate mark I left there, under your left ear.”

Scowling darkly, Alec climbed from the tub, found a small mirror among the bath supplies, and examined the purpling love bite. “I hate it when you do that!”

“I don’t recall you-”

“Shut up!” Alec growled, fighting back a grin of his own as he wrapped himself in a towel.

“Well, at least we remembered to close the windows.” Seregil stood up from the tub, water streaming down his lean belly and thighs and dripping from the beginning of fresh arousal between his legs. He gave it an amused look, then glanced up at Alec. “It’s going to be a long ride to Bôkthersa.”

Laughing, Alec threw the dripping bath sponge at his head.

Aryn í Arisei and a small escort of Gedre horse traders joined them for the morning meal, and their hosts sent them on with a string of provision horses, letters of passage, and a packet for Adzriel.

They set out north along the arid, rocky coastline, heading for what the Gedre and Bôkthersans called Smuggler’s Pass. There were no farms here, just scattered fishing villages, and some goatherds. To the west, the jagged peaks of the Ashek range stretched into the distance like a great row of fangs for as far as the eye could see.

The Skalan soldiers were quiet at first, not knowing what to make of their unexpected companions, but the ’faie traders quickly won them over, practicing their Skalan on them, and acting as interpreters.

Traneus rode with Alec and the others at the front of the little column, and even he warmed up a bit, laughing at some long story Aryn was trying to tell him in broken Skalan.

Autumn had not yet taken hold along the coast. The trees still held their dusty leaves, and a few wildflowers still lingered on the wayside. Oxcarts laden with fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and cured meats rumbled past on their way to distant markets, interspersed with flocks of geese and sheep driven by children who smiled and waved to them.

“Smuggler’s Pass, eh?” asked Alec as they rode along. “I seem to recall you saying something about you and your uncle using that route.”

“On Traitor’s Moon nights.” Seregil smiled at the memory, and his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword. It had been a gift from that same uncle during their last visit, and the first Seregil had carried since Nysander’s death.

“I remember you from those days,” one of the older traders said, a man named Rien. “Your kinsman brought you out on the lantern boat to meet the Skalan traders.” He grinned at Alec. “He spoke better Skalan than any of us, even back then. It’s good to see you back here, Haba.”

Seregil winced a little at the old nickname, which meant “little black squirrel.”

Alec chuckled. “I thought only your sisters called you that.”

“My friends, as well,” Seregil admitted. “Don’t you go getting any ideas, though.”

“As you wish-Haba.”

They spent the first night in a fishing village, sleeping four to a bed in the crowded inn, and headed off again before the sun rose. Yawning, Alec ate his cold breakfast in the saddle.

Aryn led them west today, following a winding road up into the foothills. By midafternoon they reached the tree line, following a river that flowed down from the pass. From here, it was five days’ ride to Bôkthersa, in good weather.

The forest closed in around them, and the air grew noticeably cooler as the afternoon shadows slowly lengthened across the road. The riding was easy, the inn they were making for well within reach. The ’faie and Skalans talked and laughed, fast friends now.

“Your khirnari has lent us some fine horses, Aryn,” Traneus remarked, admiring the sprightly bay he’d been given. “Do you think he’d sell her to me when we get back?”

“Perhaps. You won’t find any better,” the young ’faie replied proudly. “They’re small, but they have spirit and-” He paused and consulted Seregil for the right word. “Aluia?”

“Endurance.”

“Yes, much endurance. Why would one ride any other?”

“In Skala, only the rich can afford them,” Alec explained, stroking the long silky white mane of his Silmai horse, admiring the way the mane and tail contrasted with her glossy black coat. Even here in Aurënen, they weren’t common, bred by only one clan. “This one is just like the one Princess Klia was buying, the first time I met her.” He noted the quick, sharp look Traneus shot him and feigned a mild look of surprise, thinking, I’m not ashamed to say her name in front of you, you bastard!

“I’m thinking of bringing a few horses back with me, too,” said Seregil, perhaps sensing the sudden tension between the two.