Shadows Return by Lynn Flewelling Page B

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 Virйsse 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 Virйsse.
    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 Orлska 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.
    “Tell him that our wait is at an end.”
    He returned to the balcony, and the view of his half-deserted harbor, smiling to himself. “Two birds with one arrow. This will be most satisfying.”
    Supper was a subdued affair that night. After the dishes were cleared away Seregil brought out his harp and he and Alec sang for their friends. He watched Micum and Kari from the corner of his eye as he played a favorite love ballad. They sat close together on the settle, hands clasped, Kari leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder. The firelight caught the glints of silver in their hair and shadowed the lines on their faces, but Seregil could still see in them the young lovers he’d known.
    The price of exile, he thought. They’d all be dust before he grew old, if he lived out his span.
    He wondered how Nyal was going to cope, watching Beka age so quickly. He played on until the two little ones were asleep in their parents’ laps and Illia was dozing against Alec’s knee.
    “That’s enough for now,” he whispered, setting the harp aside.