“I thought I’d find you here.”

He had heard Alira enter the library, the sound of her footsteps treading softly past rows of shelved books, drawing him from what had been a somber review of the day. She hesitated before taking a seat, no doubt testing his mood. That she found it acceptable surprised him, but he could not have been more thankful. Hers was the only company he would have tolerated just then. He was finding his own deplorable.

“I’m sorry I was so long,” she said, settling in a lushly upholstered chair the color of toasted nutbread. “Unfinished business.”

The spicy scent of curried esri and oiled leather betrayed her. While he had cleaned vomit off his boots and listened to Veryl interrogating Tycho about Shirahnyn cuisine and never once mentioning the j’thirrin, Alira had accompanied the rangers back along the river, even after both he and her father had bid her not to go. They might as well have told the moons not to rise. She brushed a strand of hay from her sleeve, pausing a moment to tidy a fallen wisp of hair. The clasp holding back her messy braid released, and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, a silken auburn wave. The buckle, gold and silver filigree set with starbeads and rare black marathis, ricocheted off the arm of her chair, spinning in the air. He caught it mere inches from the floor.

“Another hidden talent, I see. Thank you.”

Her kindness was more than he deserved after his display of temper earlier, but he was thankful for it. For her. Her pale green eyes shone like gemstones in the lamplight. If she knew he had been avoiding her deliberately since what by necessity had been a late dinner, she hid it well.

“Is it well with you?” She put up her hand. “Don’t answer that. Foolish question.”

“For a foolish man?”

“You’re a lot of things, Gareth. A fool is not one of them.”

His given name, always, and not the one he had chosen for himself. His mother did the same. As had Larissa Kyncaid. He forced himself to heed Alira.

“Just an idiot?” he asked, harkening back to her earlier admonishment. He poured her a glass of wine from the decanter on the hearthside table. He had been contemplating the benefits of getting mildly drunk for several hours already.

“You have your moments.”

He raised his glass in a silent toast. Don’t we all.

“You’re quite sure you’re all right? That wasn’t like you, earlier. At least,” she amended, “not a side of you I’m accustomed to seeing.”

It wasn’t a side of him he was accustomed to anyone seeing. “I will endeavor to prevent it from happening again.”

“I understand the Lighting was rather spectacular in Tyrian this year. I wish I could have been there.” When he laughed, she said, “You know what I mean. After the fact, Father was beside himself, but he was in no condition to travel.”

“He seems better,” Aralt hazarded.

“It comes and goes. He has been more himself since spring arrived.”

He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, but mere words could not convey how he truly felt. It was like watching the sun burn out to see so brilliant a life pass into shadow. He reached for her hand and lifted his glass.

“To many more years.”

“To many more,” she agreed, but she barely touched her glass to her lips before setting it aside. “It took you long enough to explain why you wouldn’t be joining us for the Festival. I read the letter you sent at winter’s end three times before I could quite believe what you were implying about Lian Kynsei in Tyrian.”

“I’m sorry I was so cryptic. It seemed advisable. Not that I was able to keep the secret for long.”

“One couldn’t.” Her nose wrinkled when she smirked. “It was quite poetic. Verin was jealous.”

That had been for her benefit. His missives to her brother and the other leaders of the Northern Alliance he had chosen to contact had been less lyrical. Not that he had reported much. For a boy who talked too much, Lian revealed very little.

“Tycho—”

Case in point. The wine glass chimed when he set it on the table. He sank back in his seat and examined the bottle the steward had delivered while he had retired long enough to bathe and don a clean set of clothes. Verin’s, if he wasn’t mistaken. The jacket was a little tight. Four-year, he noted on the wine bottle, from a vineyard in his homeland, no less. Not the best year for the vines, but a peace offering from Veryl, meant to placate him after their heated debate over their Shirahnyn guest, whom the old man kept confusing with one of his favored physicians.

“You don’t like him.”

Damn straight. “Did your father send you to persuade me otherwise?”

Her nose wrinkled again. “As if anyone could change your mind about anything.”

“You’d stand a better chance than most.”

“Not, apparently, about this.”

He toasted her. The wine still did not taste very good.

“Do you know what I think?”

“Not always,” he said absently.

That gave her pause, but before he could clarify, her words passed through him like a knife. “I think you’re jealous.”

He nearly spat his wine. “I am not…jealous. Why would I be jealous? Of that Shirahnyn? That’s absurd.”

“What, then?” She leaned forward, scrutinizing him. Lying to those eyes was going to be difficult. That he was even contemplating lying to her irritated him. “There’s something far more wrong here than him simply being a Shirahnyn. I’ve never seen you so—”

“Vigilant?”

“Hostile.”

“I’m not…” But he was and there was no denying it. Nor could he lie to her. Not to Alira. Not if he was going to ask her to marry him. He crossed and uncrossed his arms. Finally, he said, “He was at Kyrrimar. Think about that. And on the riverboat, he allowed one of the shadow assassins to escape.” At least that was what he thought he had seen. Tycho had offered no further explanation. “Why is it so difficult for anyone to accept that I don’t trust the man?”

“Perhaps because kavsa Lian does. He made it very clear earlier.”

He had indeed—an impassioned if almost delirious speech in front of a bewildered assembly of chancellors and clergy too polite to interrupt his gibbering. When Lian sat down on the floor, overcome with exhaustion, and began speaking in a Shirahnyn dialect, Aralt had carried him out himself to spare them all unintended embarrassment. The fire in his hands had yet to fully dissipate.

“So, he trusts him. That doesn’t mean I do—and doesn’t mean Veryl shouldn’t do what he feels is prudent. Until we know more, the man shouldn’t be roaming around like an honored guest.”

“Lian’s word means nothing to you?”

He looked up sharply. “I haven't killed him yet.”

“For simply being a Shirahnyn?”

He let silence be his answer.

She ran one finger around the rim of her glass but did not pick it up. “That’s harsh, even for you. By that reckoning, any man that hails from Raemynn, like Russ Munro, would be a lunatic and a drunkard.”

He laughed. She had walked into that one on her own. She swatted his arm. Hard.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Oh, you make me mad when you do that!”

“Do what?” he asked, incredulous. Why did women always see things invisible to men? Trying to figure out what snide expression he had let slip through would have been futile at that point. He opted for an apology and hoped it didn’t sound as empty as he currently felt. He took another sip of wine. “Russ is missing.”

“Not the first time. Or is this different? Are you worried about him?”

“Not yet.” He rolled his shoulders, trying not to wince and hoping not to tear out the seams. Perhaps a military uniform would have been a better choice for fit—no matter that everything in the wardrobes predated the time of his birth. “Where’s your brother? Back in the city?”

“Didn’t Father tell you? Mesil of Draemonna awarded the honor of hosting the Grand Meeting to Harlyk. It’s to be held in conjunction with his birthday celebration.”

“What? That’s only a week away.” He had anticipated months of preparation on Mesil’s part, enough time for him to accompany Lian to Askierran and return in time for the summit.

“Verin left yesterday in Father’s place—just hours before we got word about the Aurora. You should have been notified before you ever boarded.” She rubbed her forehead. “Did you at least bring your invitation? Apparently, they’re not letting anyone into the city without one.”

“I’m not on the guest list,” Aralt told her. “But you must have been.”

She pursed her lips. “Half the Alliance was, and rumor has it he extended invitations to a dozen domains and kingdoms between here and Askierran. No doubt he would have invited the kavistra himself if…if there…”

“If there was one?”

“If he knew there was one,” she corrected him. “But I’d advise against it. Believers are receiving a cold welcome in Ardael. Oh, excuse me. In Harlydael.”

“Harlydael? That’s what they’re calling the capital now? He’s renamed half the parishes in the domain.”

“And the rivers. Mostly after himself. We aren’t sure, but the clergy here believe that he’s imposed sanctions on the Brethren of St. Alvis. They’ve held firm, but not a few travelers have come through the valley to Faerkirke with stories. The Faith has rather fallen out of favor since Harlyk and his uncle took control of the domain. He had the audacity to issue another marriage proposal and suggested they add a wedding on his ridiculous river barge to the schedule.”

Aralt choked on his wine.

“I had to decline,” Alira went on airily, producing a handkerchief from a pocket. “As did my father, with considerably more expletives. The envoy barely made it out of the house. You should have seen his hat! It looked like he had a fancy chicken sitting on his head. Verin had to slip away before the gloaming to keep Father from following. He was rendezvousing with Elon of Enarra a few days early to discuss tactics.”

“Indeed.”

“And no doubt tour the breweries. They expected you to join them.”

“You didn’t go,” he observed.

“To that little ninny’s birthday party?” Alira gave a haughty sniff. “He isn’t worth my time. Besides, we knew you had to still be on your way, even if Harlyk did not.”

“You’ll start a war,” he said, swirling the wine around in his glass; his head began to swirl with it. He had slept little over the past few days. Here, sitting deep in his chair, his belly full of good food, Alira beside him, it was all he could do to force his heavy eyelids to stay open.

“He wouldn’t dare raise a finger against us. He has no access to a seaport except through our domain. I didn’t really have a choice, to be honest. Attending would send him mixed messages, and someone had to be here to keep Father from saddling up an esri and setting out for Ardael with his sword in one hand and a copy of the Four Books in the other. I told him the combination might give the wrong impression, but you know Father,” she said, sighing. She leaned forward and tapped him on the nose. “Harlyk might have left you off the birthday guest list, but he can’t bar you from the Meeting, Aralt of Tyrian. Will you go?”

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Not with Lian in tow, he wouldn’t, especially if the rumors of Believers being ill-received were true. He said as much.

“No, no, you can’t take him…. Then again, maybe that’s exactly what they need. Wake up a few old fools and put Harlyk in his place. He seems to think he owns the entire Kraeleen Valley country. He’s been damming up rivers on our western borders just to have a place to float his party barge. We received ‘notice’ that his engineers have begun diverting one of the aqueducts that supply the midlands. Without it, an entire region of farmland will run dry come summer. Beyond that, one of his ‘advisers’ is proposing that ‘Harlydael’ be made the capital of the Alliance, based on some archaeological evidence of it being the resting place of the Ark. Can you imagine!”

Aralt assured her that he could not. Nor did he much care. That part he kept to himself, but he was happy to listen to her talk. It kept him from further foolishness.

“Verin and I agreed there were too many issues to address for us both to remain here, but he never would have left if he’d known about shadow assassins. You don’t think they were in danger, do you?” The tremble in her voice made it clear just how much she feared for her twin brother’s safety.

He reached for her hand again, stroked her fingers. Her green eyes were like harvest moons. “I think they have one purpose.” Kill Lian. Or capture him. He wasn’t sure which. “And Tycho’s no different. He was in Tyrian and never said a word about Lian. Now I’m to treat him like a bosom companion? I think not.”

She pulled her hand away. “Setting your appalling prejudices aside, has it occurred to you that you might owe this man Lian’s very life?”

That time he made no effort to mask his disdain. “I’ve no reason to believe that. Shirahnyn in the North are a gift to no one.”

She appeared thoughtful, weighing her words. They fell like a hammer. “Gareth, you can’t blame every Shirahnyn you meet for Kynlan’s death.”

It was all he could do to keep the gravel from his voice. “I only blame one.”

She touched his hand, her fingers points of warmth conveying her compassion. “You lost them both within so short a time, Kynlan and Lian. And then your father. You don’t know what to do.”

If anyone else had said that to him, he would have refuted their words and introduced their noses to a wall. He lifted his glass to his lips. “I’ve been receiving plenty of counsel.” Most of it unsolicited.

“Not the sort you want?” she guessed. “Not the sort you need. Whatever it is, you can talk to me—”

“No.” His heart twisted to say it. “No, I don’t think I can. Not…about this.”

“What is that?” she asked, laying a hand to the side of his face, turning it toward her. He leaned into her touch. “I haven’t seen that in your eyes in a long time. No, don’t look away. He’s done this to you? This one man? Woken up all the demons you deny still haunt you? Surely Tycho’s too young to have been involved in what happened to you. The age of majority among the Shirahnyn—”

“—means nothing to lonn Tirehl,” he assured her. Nor the age of his victims. “They took him, Alira. They took him from his home in Kyrrimar, and you know as well as I do what Shirahnyn do to prisoners. Three years. Think about that.”

Alira blinked at his words, the color rising in her cheeks. Aralt only lifted an eyebrow in response. Let her imagination conjure the unsavory possibilities for a while. His brain was full to the point of vomiting.

Her fingers slipped away from his face. “You think he hurt Lian.”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“He didn’t,” Lian said. When he had their full attention, he repeated it. “He didn’t.”