Seregil stared down at him, face lost in shadow now, though the knife blade still caught the light from the window. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.
“I—” Ilar struggled to find his voice. “I am under the khirnari’s protection now. This—” he gestured weakly around the library. “It’s a trap. For you. And Alec.”
Seregil looked around quickly again, but Ilar reached out a hand to him. “No, not unless I call out. And I won’t, I swear! Ulan has the books about the rhekaros and he needs—”
“I know what he needs. Wait, did you say ‘books’? You mean there’s more than one?”
“Yes. Three. And he was certain you would come looking for them, once he knew that you’d come back to Riga.”
“He—? Never mind. Where are they?”
“Take me with you!”
“You said Ulan has offered you his protection.”
“Please!” Ilar didn’t even know what he was pleading for, except that he wanted to be near this man, to somehow …
“If only you’d forgive me!” he whispered, voice quavering as the tears came.
Seregil’s manner softened a little. “Tell me where the books are, Ilar, and I’ll consider it. You already helped us once, and I haven’t forgotten that. But I need those books. They’re not here, are they?”
“I’ll tell you, but only if you take me with you!”
“How am I supposed to do that? You could no more get out the way I got in than fly!”
“I know a way,” Ilar told him, desperate.
“Another tunnel?”
“No, a postern door with only one guard.”
“And that’s where the trap really springs, is it?”
“No! I swear by Aura,” Ilar exclaimed, forgetting himself.
Seregil clapped a hand over Ilar’s mouth, then dragged him bodily back into the dark alcove, leaving just enough space between the curtains to see the door. An instant later Ulan’s man Tariel burst noisily in with sword drawn.
Seregil still had an arm around him, and put his lips so close to Ilar’s ear that it sent a shiver through him. “Get rid of him!” The arm fell away and a hand pressed firmly between Ilar’s shoulder blades.
Quaking with fear, Ilar emerged from the alcove, careful not to leave any gap in the curtains.
“What are you doing in here?” Tariel asked in surprise.
“I—I was just—” He took a shaky breath. “I fell asleep while I was reading. I must have cried out in a dream.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Reading with no lamp?”
“I was sleepy, so I lay down in the alcove … It must have gone out.”
Tariel shook his head. “You should go back to your room before you take a chill.”
“I’m not tired, and I want to read some more,” Ilar told him, gathering a little courage now that his ruse had worked.
“Suit yourself, then,” the man said, sheathing his sword. “But see you don’t rouse the house with your dreams.”
As soon as he was gone, Seregil pulled him back into the alcove and put his lips to Ilar’s ear again. “You did well. How did you know that I was coming?”
Ilar nearly blurted out the truth, but suddenly he didn’t want to confirm what Seregil had no doubt already discerned for himself. Torn between his loyalty to the khirnari who’d saved him and the man he dreamed of every night, he couldn’t get any words out at all.
But Seregil read his silence. “That was Ulan’s footpad the other day, wasn’t it? So the khirnari guessed I was coming at some point, and put you here to watch for me. But why you?”
“No one else knows about them,” Ilar told him. “The books.”
“So he’s protecting his dirty little secret. It wouldn’t do for his people to learn of things like rhekaros, and how they’re made, would it?”
Ilar shook his head.
Seregil suddenly reached out in the dark and cupped Ilar’s cheek with one hand—as close to a tender gesture as Ilar had had from him since they’d met again in Yhakobin’s house. “But you saved me instead—again,” he said gently. “Tell me where the books are, and we’ll go.”
Ilar’s heart leapt. “They’re in the khirnari’s room.”
“Bilairy’s Balls!” Seregil muttered, taking his hand away. “Of course they are.”
Ilar caught it and pressed it back to his cheek. “I won’t run away this time. I won’t be any trouble!”
“All right, but you have to tell me where in his room.”
Ilar’s heart swelled with hope. “Locked behind a hidden panel in the casework at the head of the bed. I can show you!”
Seregil was glad the darkness hid his pitying smile as he placed his left hand on Ilar’s shoulder. “Thank you. I won’t forget this. And I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? For—”
Seregil struck him a controlled blow to the chin, then caught him as Ilar went limp and held him a moment, shocked at how thin the man was, and how pathetic; nothing like the vindictive creature who’d tormented Seregil in the alchemist’s house. He felt nothing for Ilar now except pity, and perhaps a touch of guilt for playing him so dirty this time—especially after he’d kept Seregil secret from the guard just now.
The second time you’ve risked yourself to help me, damn it! What in Bilairy’s name do you want from me?
Forgive me! Ilar’s voice whispered in his mind.
Standing there in the darkness, Seregil weighed all the help Ilar had been—tonight and when they’d escaped from Yhakobin’s house—against the sight of Alec hanging facedown in the alchemist’s cage. By Ilar’s own admission, he’d put Alec there.
“Forgive?” Seregil whispered. “No.”
Placing the unconscious man on the divan at the back of the alcove, he quickly bound him with the drapery cords and gagged him with a clean handkerchief he found in Ilar’s sleeve. Seregil left him there with the heavy draperies drawn shut and moved silently across to the door. The guard had obligingly left it slightly ajar and he was able to open it just enough to see that the corridor was once again empty. The sounds of a dice game came up the stairway.
The street wasn’t as deserted as Alec had hoped. A few drunken revelers happened by, but they were too blind with liquor to notice them. Not so with the night watchman who came by a few minutes later. He said something to Micum, sounding suspicious, but Micum reassured him somehow.
“Come on, you lazy lot,” he growled at Alec and Rieser. “It’s time we found our inn.”
They went up the street a little way, giving the watchman time to move on, then led the horses into an alley and left Rieser there to guard them while he and Micum kept watch for Seregil. It was cloudy tonight; Alec couldn’t see the stars to judge how long Seregil had been gone, but it felt too long now.
Seregil paused in the hallway just long enough to snuff out the nearest night lamp. Then, bracing himself for a sudden dash, he carefully opened Ulan’s chamber door and slipped inside.
There was no night lamp, a fact Seregil was instantly grateful for when he heard the rustle of bedclothes and an old man’s whispered, “Who’s there? Urien?”
“No, Khirnari, just Ilar,” Seregil whispered back, trying to match Ilar’s slightly tremulous timbre.
“What is it, dear fellow? Why aren’t you on watch?”
Seregil took a cautious step forward, following the sound of the man’s voice. “I thought I heard something.”
There was more rustling and the creak of the bed ropes as Ulan sat up. “Why didn’t you alert Captain Urien?”