Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [128]
“That bastard!” he hissed. “How was he with you?”
“He had me at his mercy, and he enjoyed it.”
Alec thought he caught just the slightest hint of uncertainty in his lover’s voice. “Did he force you—”
“You saw what they did to him. But if that had been what it took to get to you, I would have, without a second thought.” Seregil pulled him close again. “Would you have hated me for that?”
Alec looked deep into his own heart. “No,” he murmured, and felt Seregil’s sigh of relief.
“Besides, I attacked him the first chance I got,” Seregil added, clearly pleased at that. “After that, he knew I’d kill him the minute he let his guard down. Whatever else Ilar is, he’s no fool. Come on, now. We’ve got to find someplace to lie up before the sun rises.”
“How far to the Strait?”
“I’m not sure, but if we turn south tomorrow, we’re bound to strike it.”
“And then?”
Seregil gave him a crooked grin. “We take what the Lightbearer sends. Hopefully in the form of a nice swift little boat, eh? Luck in the shadows, Alec. It hasn’t failed us yet.”
“And in the Light,” Alec murmured, hoping the Immortal in question was listening.
As they moved on, Seregil half expected Alec to drop the rhekaro and attack Ilar again.
Instead, when Ilar fell behind, Alec resumed their earlier conversation. “So, who do you think betrayed us to Yhakobin in the first place? The queen, or Ulan í Sathil?”
“I don’t know. Maybe both. But having had a good long time to ponder the matter, I’d say that if the queen was looking for an excuse to cast doubt on her sister’s loyalty, our disappearance with the only missive might be a good starting point.”
“What about Prince Korathan? Would he do something like that to you?”
Seregil frowned. “I wouldn’t have said so, but who knows? If things are really that bad, there isn’t much point in going back to Skala.”
“Do you think Micum knows we’re in trouble yet? Thero must have figured out there was something wrong when the messages didn’t come.”
“We don’t know that they didn’t get them, Alec. Whoever caught us might have figured the sticks out and used them. There’s no way of telling. It’s just us, talí. We’re on our own.”
Alec shrugged. “Well, we’re free, and we’re together. That’s a start.”
Seregil’s grin was all the answer he needed.
CHAPTER 39
Thero Turns Nightrunner
LED BY THERO’S sightings, he and Micum entered Virésse as travelers and lost themselves in the crowds of one of the seedier dock wards. They soon located the tavern with the dragon and serpent sign—a low, dirty place frequented by Skalan and Plenimaran sailors, Zengati traders, and other rough sorts. There were no ’faie there, apart from the proprietor—a one-eyed Golinil clansman named Wharit. He was as dirty and disreputable as his clientele, distinguished only by his lack of facial hair and his filthy brown-and-white sen’gai. The barmaids and potboys were all foreigners, as were the whores plying their trade there.
Micum stopped just inside the door and wrinkled his nose at the stink of smoke and unwashed bodies, then said softly, “This isn’t quite how I pictured Aurënen.”
“Virésse port is a meeting place for all sorts.”
Micum adjusted his sword belt for the benefit of anyone taking his measure. “That’s all right, then. I know how to act here.”
They sat down at a small table and Micum called for a pitcher of turab from a passing barmaid, holding up a silver half-sester piece and giving her a rakish smile. The woman’s smile was bright and false as brass, but she brought them their beer and settled on Micum’s knee.
“You got the sound of a Skalan, my dear,” she purred, eyeing the silver piece. She had a Riga accent and dark, sharp eyes.
Micum tucked the coin between her ample breasts and squeezed her thigh, while Thero looked on with poorly concealed surprise. “I’m a long way from home, my girl, and always glad to see a pretty face.