Don't I look the ragged outcast? he thought, giving the glass a humorless smile as he combed his fingers through his hair.
Behind him the side door opened and for a moment another face was reflected next to his, the two images so similar, yet worlds apart. When had his eyes grown so wary, the lines around his mouth so harsh?
"Seregil, my brother." Her pure, unaccented Aurenfaie washed through him like cool water.
"Adzriel," he whispered, embracing her. The scent of wandril blossoms rose from her hair and skin, blinding him with memories. She had been both sister and mother and suddenly he remembered what it had been to be a child, smelling her special scent as she comforted him or carried him home from some moonlit festival. Now she felt small in his arms and for a long moment he could do nothing but cling to her, his throat tightening painfully as he blinked back four decades of unshed tears.
Adzriel stepped back at last, still holding him by the shoulders as if afraid he'd disappear if she didn't.
"All these years I've carried the image of that unhappy boy looking down at me from the deck that awful day," she gasped, her own tears flowing freely. "O Aura, I missed seeing you grow into a man! Now look at you; wild as any Tirfaie and wearing a weapon in the presence of your kin."
Seregil quickly unbuckled his sword belt and hung it over a nearby chair. "I meant no offense. It's like another limb to me here. Come, sit down and I'll try to remember how civilized people act."
Adzriel stroked a hand through his unkempt hair.
"And when were you ever civilized?"
Sitting down next to him on a divan, she drew a small bundle of scrolls from her tunic. "I have letters for you from our sisters and your old friends. They haven't forgotten you."
More memories held at bay pressed in, and with them a pang of long suppressed hope. Swallowing hard, he examined the heavy silver bracelet of rank on her wrist. "So you're a member of the lia'sidra now. And an envoy, too. Not bad for someone who hasn't seen her hundred and a half birthday yet."
Adzriel shrugged, though she looked pleased. "Our family's tie to Skala may be useful in the coming years. Idrilain welcomed me as a kinswoman when we arrived, and spoke highly of you. From what little your friend Nysander i Azusthra had time to tell me, I gather you've been of some service to her?"
Seregil studied her face, wondering how much Nysander had said about their work. Little enough, evidently.
"Now and then," he told her. "What did your companions make of that, I wonder, Seregil the Traitor praised by the Skalan Queen? I remember old Mahalie a Solunesthra, but who's the other?"
"Ruen i Uri, of Datsia Clan. And you needn't worry about either of them; they're both moderates, and good friends of mine."
"And you're here because of Plenimar?"
"Yes. All recent reports indicate an alliance being attempted with Zengat and there can only be one reason for that."
"To keep Aurenen too busy defending her western borders to ally with Skala. But if the Plenimarans had just left things alone, wouldn't the Edict of Separation have done their work for them?"
"There's been considerable progress against the Edict since you left. The recent discovery of our kinsman Corruth's body—well, you can imagine the effect that has had in the lia'sidra."
Seregil watched her again; no, she didn't know the part he'd played in that, and his oath as a Watcher prevented him from telling her. "Total uproar, I hope," he said with a smirk. "All those years of accusing every Skalan in sight of foul play. Old Rhazien's faction must be choking on their own isolationist rhetoric."
Adzriel chuckled. "Nothing so dramatic, but it has tipped the scales a bit for those of us who want to renew the old alliances. With Petasarian gone and his successor, young Estmar, already rumored to be the puppet of his own generals and necromancers, I don't think we can afford to stand alone any longer."
"Adzriel?" He hesitated, knowing what he must ask next, but dreading the answer. "Does this have anything to do with why you've been allowed to see me?"
"The lifting of your banishment, you mean?" Adzriel smoothed a thumb over one of the jewels in her bracelet. "Not officially. The time isn't right. Not yet."
Seregil jumped to his feet, clenching one hand against his side where his sword usually hung.
"Bilairy's Guts, I was a child. Willful, misguided, guilty as hell, but still a child. If only you knew what I've done since then." We found their precious Lord Corruth, Alec and I! The words burned his throat. "I know the Skalans, their culture and politics, their language, better than any envoy."
"Yes, but whose interests would you be representing?" Adzriel's level gaze stopped him in his tracks.
"So I'm to sit idle here while the Zengati boil out of the hills and descend on Bokthersa once again?"
Adzriel sighed. "I hardly think you'll be idle, not when the might of Plenimar is pounding against your shores and their armies roll across Mycena to batter at your northern borders. And mark my words, it will come to that before it's over. I understand your pain, my love, but you've spent more than half your life here." She paused. "I sometimes wonder if things haven't worked out for the best, somehow."
"My being exiled, you mean?" Seregil stared at her. "How can you say that?"
"I'm not saying I'm glad you were taken from us, but in spite of all the loneliness and pain you must have known, I wonder if life among the Tirfaie doesn't suit you better? Truly now, could you ever be content to sit under the lime trees at home, telling tales to the children, or debating with the elders of the Bokthersa Council whether the lintel of the temple should be painted white or silver? Think back, Seregil. You were always restless, always demanding to find out what lay over the next hill. Perhaps there's some purpose in it."
Rising, she took his hands in hers. "I know you've paid for your mistakes. Believe me, I want your exile lifted, but you must be patient. Changes are coming for Aurenen, great ones. Make your stand here for now, in this dangerous, wonderful land of yours. What say you, my brother?"
Still frowning, Seregil muttered, "Silver."
"What?" asked Adzriel.
"Silver," Seregil repeated, looking up with the crooked grin that had always won her over. "Tell the elders of the Council I said the lintel should be silver."
Adzriel laughed, a wonderful, radiant sound. "By Aura, Father was right! I should have beaten you more. Now where is this Alec i Amasa Nysander told me of? He interests me greatly."
"You know about Alec?" Seregil said, surprised.
"More than he does himself, it would seem," Adzriel chided.
Seregil gave her a chagrined look. It seemed Nysander had packed a great deal into a short conversation.
If Nysander hadn't been with him in the gallery, Alec would have been hard-pressed not to eavesdrop. As it was, he could hear a steady murmur of voices from beyond the door where Seregil had gone.
After what felt like an interminable length of time, the door opened and Seregil came back into the gallery, accompanied by the young Aurenfaie woman.
His air of anguish was gone, erased by an almost sheepish grin.
Alec knew before his friend spoke who she must be. Her lips were fuller and had none of the hard set of Seregil's, but the beautiful grey eyes were the same, with the same expression of appraising intelligence.
"This is my eldest sister, Adzriel a Illia Myril Seri Bokthersa," said Seregil.
"Adzriel, this is Alec."
What little Aurenfaie Alec knew deserted him.
"My lady," he stammered, making a passable bow.
The woman smiled, holding out her hands for his. "My people seldom use such titles," she said in heavily accented Skalan. "You must call me Adzriel, as my brother does."