Sebrahn regarded the doll for a moment, then tried to stuff it into his own sleeve as Mydri began her examination.
She ran cool fingers over the delicate new skin covering the wounds on Alec’s chest and throat. Then she went about feeling his pulse, listening to his heart and bowels, and clucking her tongue over the bruises on his arms. All the same, when she’d finished at last, she seemed pleased. “You’re healing faster than you have any right to, you know.” She glanced over at Sebrahn, who had given up on the sleeve idea and was staring at the doll again. “Whatever he did, it was powerful, and it’s clear he’s devoted to you.”
She pulled another doll from her sleeve and got Sebrahn’s attention. “Don’t I have a nice baby?” she asked, holding the doll against her chest and patting it gently. “Will you take good care of your baby, too?”
Slowly, Sebrahn copied her, cuddling his own doll. “Baby?”
“You see?” said Alec. “He does understand things.”
Mydri watched closely as Sebrahn brought the doll’s painted linen face up to his own, silvery eyes crossing a little as he studied it. “I’ve seen how he mimics what he sees you doing. Show him gentleness and he’ll be gentle.” She paused, still watching Sebrahn. “I doubt this change of appearance will hide him well enough. His aura sometimes extends beyond this room, and there are those in the house who can feel it.”
Alec waited for her to go on, to tell him she didn’t want him to go to Bôkthersa. Instead she surprised him with a smile that made the blue lines of the healer’s marks under her eyes tilt up. “Our family owes you a great deal, little brother, for all you’ve done for Seregil. There was so much pain in him at Sarikali. Yet even then I could tell that you’d given him back some of what Ilar í Sontir took from him, all those years ago. What was it like, meeting that man?”
“Seregil told you?”
“About how Ilar duped you with a false name, and the way he treated Seregil? Yes.”
Suddenly uneasy, Alec sat twisting the edge of the quilt between his fingers. “It was—strange.”
“It hurt, I’m sure. Both the betrayal, and Seregil bringing him with you.”
“Yes. I still don’t understand why he did that. Ilar treated him like filth once he had Seregil under his thumb, and he was nothing but trouble after we escaped.”
“But according to what Seregil told me, he helped you. Something about a secret way?”
“Well, yes,” Alec admitted. “But in the end he just ran away. We might as well have killed him.”
“Could you have done that, Alec í Amasa?”
He thought about it, then shook his head. “No. He was too pathetic and—well …”
“Let me tell you something that you’re probably too young to have learned yet. Love and hate aren’t so far apart.”
Alec shook his head, remembering. “Seregil told me he used to love Ilar, and now he loves me, but that there was no one else in between, among all the people he bedded. And I could tell that Ilar wanted to make things up with him.”
“And did Seregil let him?”
“No.” Alec didn’t want to think about his own jealousy and doubts. He didn’t want to remember the sight of Ilar naked and trying to kiss Seregil by the stream that day, or the way Seregil had appeared unable or unwilling to stop him.
Mydri smiled and patted his hand. “You can’t change his past, Alec. Neither can he. Let it go and turn your thoughts to the journey home. Now, please listen to your healer and stop throwing yourself around.”
When she was gone he disregarded her admonition and went back to the window seat, bored and wondering where everyone else was. Sebrahn climbed into his lap. The rhekaro still had the doll, and he picked curiously at it as he rested his head against Alec’s chest.
Alec rubbed his cheek against that cool, silken hair and stared out the window. It had finally stopped raining, but the sky remained dreary with low, dark clouds. The harbor beyond was nearly empty today; the fishermen were taking advantage of the break in the weather. Adzriel’s ship, a sleek caravel, rode at anchor like a dark swan.
“Bôkthersa!” he murmured with a thrill of excitement that swept away all the dark thoughts. He’d forgotten to ask if Adzriel would keep him locked away there.
That afternoon Seregil, his sisters, and Micum came to his room. Micum caught Alec’s eye and gave him a warning look. Seregil and the women looked like they’d been arguing. Seregil’s mouth was set in a stubborn line, and Mydri seemed furious.
Adzriel closed the door behind them and locked it.
Mydri was glaring at Sebrahn; it was as if their gentle conversation earlier had never happened. “Adzriel told me about the rhekaro’s true powers, Seregil.” She turned on Alec. “And you said nothing, either!”
“I meant for them to tell you once we were under way,” Adzriel explained, interceding for them.
Mydri was not mollified. “Adzriel, how can you possibly bring something so dangerous to our own fai’thast?”
“Seregil is our brother, in blood if not in name. Since Alec is his talímenios, he’s our responsibility, and through him, Sebrahn.” She gave her sister a stern look. “Whatever Sebrahn is, he’s theirs, and thus ours. Isn’t that so?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then it’s settled. They’ll be safe there, and can take what time they need to discover more about Sebrahn.”
Mydri stood up, angry now. “Adzriel, as your sister, and as a ranking member of the clan, I protest. I love these two as much as you do, but—”
Adzriel gave her a look that cut her off midsentence. “I don’t speak now as your sister, or his, but as your khirnari. And I say that it is safer by far to have this rhekaro within our control than to lose him to those who would use him for ill in the world. I have spoken!”
It was amazing to see Mydri cowed. Alec was a bit shaken himself, and Micum, too. No wonder Adzriel had been elected by her clan, in spite of her relative youth.
“As you wish then, Khirnari,” Mydri said, throwing up her hands. “I only hope you don’t come to regret your decision.”
So do I, Alec thought, sending up a silent prayer to Illior.
“So, what route are you planning?” asked Micum, deftly changing the subject.
“We’ll put in at Chillian and ride from there,” said Adzriel.
“We can cut the ride by half if we go north to Half Moon Cove and go by way of Smuggler’s Pass,” said Seregil. “I can travel that road home with my eyes shut.”
Home. Alec thought he caught a suspicious glitter in Seregil’s eyes and felt a small tightness in his own throat. If Adzriel meant all she’d said, then it was his home, as well.
CHAPTER 3
A Rude Awakening
ALEC DRIFTED off to sleep that night feeling less of an outcast. To the Bôkthersans he was family, rather than an unwanted guest. With Seregil beside him and Sebrahn curled at the foot of the bed, he drifted off into a deeper slumber than he had in days.
So it was a nasty shock when someone yanked him off the bed and onto the cold floor and stuffed something into his mouth. The shutters were open and by the faint moonlight he could make out several darkly dressed men, one of whom was holding a struggling Sebrahn. They’d stuffed a rag in the rhekaro’s mouth, which explained why Sebrahn wasn’t singing a killing song. In a way that was a relief, since Alec had no way of knowing if he’d kill only their assailants or everyone else within earshot, as well.
Seregil, naked and armed with one of the swords they’d brought from Plenimar, was fighting off two more men by the door.
How in Bilairy’s name did they get in without us or anyone else hearing them?
No sooner had Alec taken that in than the two men holding him dragged him to the open window and thrust him out feet first, keeping hold of his hands, and he found himself dangling above the cobbled courtyard. There was no question of pulling free—Bilairy’s Balls, he hated heights!