Free Traitor's Moon by Lynn Flewelling Page A

indeed. “You have a better grasp of Aurënfaie politics than most, Raghar Ashnazai. Most outsiders think of us as a single, united land ruled by the Iia’sidra in place of a queen or overlord.”
    â€œOverlord Estmar understands that the eastern and western clans have different concerns. And that clans such as Bôkthersa and Bry’kha are looked on by many as troublemakers, too ready to mix with foreigners.”
    â€œThe same has been said of the Virésse. But there is a difference. The Bôkthersans are fond of foreigners, while we in Virésse …” He paused and looked directly at the Plenimaran for the first time, letting a hint of his power travel along the thread of their gaze. “We merely consider you—useful.”
    â€œThen we are of similar minds, Khirnari.” Ashnazai smiled coldly through his beard as he pulled a sealed document tube from his sleeve and laid it on the table. “According to my sources, Queen Idrilain is dying, though few outside the royal circle know of it. I do not think she will live long enough for Klia to complete her mission.”
    Ulan eyed the tube. “I understand Phoria is a worthy successor.”
    The envoy tapped the tube meaningfully with a ringed finger and smiled again. “So one might think, Khirnari, and yet there are certain rumors suggesting a rift between her and the queen. Rumors that even now my people in Skala are allowing to seep out into certain well-placed ears. Even without this information, there are some Skalans who do not welcome the idea of a barren queen. There are few enough rightful heirs as it is. Just the second sister, Aralain, and her daughter. And Klia, of course.”
    â€œThat would seem sufficient,” remarked Ulan.
    â€œIn time of peace, perhaps, but in war? So much death and uncertainty. Let us hope for Skala’s sake that their four gods guard these women lovingly, eh?”
    â€œI pray Aura may watch over their lives,” Ulan retorted, turning away to hide his revulsion; how easily these Tír turned to the expediency of assassination and outright murder. The brevity of their lives seemed to engender a brutal impatience abhorrent to the Aurënfaie mind.
    â€œI am grateful as always for your information and support,” he went on, still gazing out over the harbor. His harbor.
    â€œYou honor me with your trust, Khirnari.”
    Ulan heard the scrape of the chair and the rustle of a cloak. When he turned at last, Ashnazai was gone, but the sealed tube still lay on the table.
    Avoiding the chair the Plenimaran had occupied, Ulan eased painfully into the one opposite and stretched his aching legs. At last he opened the tube and shook out its contents: three parchments. One was a Plenimaran affidavit of sorts signed by someone named Urvay. The other two were Skalan court documents apparently having to do with the treasury. Each bore the signatures of Princess Phoria and the late Skalan Vicegerent, Lord Barien. One of these also carried the Queen’s Seal.
    Ulan read them all carefully, then again. When he’d finished he set them down with a sigh, wishing not for the first time that it was Skala or Mycena lying so close across the Strait of Bal, rather than Plenimar.
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    That night Ulan sat again on the balcony, this time entertaining three other members of the Iia’sidra. The meal had been cleared away and the wine poured. As was the custom, they sat in silence for a while, watching the waning moon climb the canopy of stars. Two of Ulan’s guests were there at his invitation. The third had surprised them all with her unexpected arrival.
    A fragrant breeze fluttered the ends of their sen’gai against their faces and lifted Lhaär ä Iriel’s thin silver hair, revealing the tracery of Khatme clan marks on her wizened neck behind her heavy jeweled earrings.
    Her arrival that afternoon was a mixed blessing.