They shucked off their fleece coats in their bedchamber and Seregil led the way to a part of the house Alec hadn’t seen. He braced himself as they entered a sunny room, expecting a stern gathering glaring at him from behind a long table. Instead he found himself in a pretty room with warm pine wainscoting, pale green velvet furniture, and polished tea tables. Two ancient-looking women and two equally ancient-looking men were reclining at ease with Adzriel and Säaban, sipping tea and talking quietly together. They all looked up as Alec and Sebrahn came in, and some of the smiles faded.
Adzriel stood and took Alec’s hand. “I present my brother’s talímenios, Alec í Amasa of Kerry, and of the Hâzadriëlfaie line. And Sebrahn, his rhekaro, foretold by prophecy at Sarikali.”
“There’s no need to be so formal,” one of the women chided lightly. “Come here, Alec Two Lives. Don’t make an old woman get up, there’s a good boy.” She extended her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation Alec went to her and took it. “I am Zillina ä Sala, a great-aunt of the khirnari and her family. And this must be Sebrahn. May I touch him?”
Sebrahn was clinging to the edge of Alec’s tunic, but he didn’t flinch as Zillina stroked his hair and cheek.
“Well!” she said, sitting back and absently rubbing her hand. “I can see the dragon in him.”
The other three did the same, with varying reactions. Trillius í Morin yanked his hand back as if he’d been stung; Ela ä Yhalina sniffed Sebrahn’s hair and smiled; Onir í Thalir just shrugged.
“I see that he’s made of flowers,” Ela ä Yhalina told them. “Could you show us how it’s done?”
Alec pricked Sebrahn’s finger over a goblet of water and made one of the dark lotus blossoms. The rhekaro scooped it out at once and brought it to Ela, placing it on her knee.
It sank through the soft wool of her long tunic and trousers, and she let out a startled little cry as she flexed her leg. “By the Light, it’s true. It’s eased my rheumatism.”
In the meantime Sebrahn had made a second and placed it on her other knee. She flexed both legs, then leaned forward and kissed Sebrahn on the top of his head. “Thank you, dragon child of flowers, for your lovely gift.” She turned to the others. “There is power in him, and great danger, but there’s a kindness there, as well. From what Seregil has told us, he even seeks out the ill to heal them.”
“He does,” Alec assured her.
“That may be so,” Trillius í Morin said doubtfully, “but all I felt was death. And it’s still blood magic.”
“I felt nothing at all,” Onir í Thalir said, shaking his head.
“Perhaps each feels what he or she needs to feel, or perhaps expects?” wondered Zillina ä Sala. “I see the dragon in his eyes, but I see the child in the dragon, too. I’ve never heard of such a being in any of the writings.”
“Zillina is our greatest scholar,” Adzriel explained. “She’s studied at Sarikali and with the Khatme, as well.”
“Do you know anything about the Hâzadriëlfaie?” Alec asked, then politely added, “Great-Aunt.”
“Less than you, it would seem. The old story is that Hâzadriël had a vision and gathered only certain people from across the land to take away with her, never to be heard from again. As far as I know, they took their secret with them. But now, in this child of magic, I think I see their reason.” She took Alec’s hand in hers. Her skin was smooth and dry as vellum, but her eyes were warm. “What was done to create this child was evil, unnatural. This alchemy Seregil told us of sounds like some lesser type of necromancy. What happened to you, dear Alec Two Lives, was an abomination, and this rhekaro is an abomination—No, my dear, don’t give me such a scowl. You know in your heart that it is true. Such beings, the homunculi, are not natural. They are not meant to exist.”
It was true, and Alec knew it better than any of them. And yet he could not condemn Sebrahn as an abomination. It would be like cursing himself.
“Imagine if Hâzadriël’s followers had remained,” said Adzriel. “How many would have been taken and used to make these creatures for the benefit of their masters?”
“Or to be sold!” said Onir. “If these creatures can kill with a song and grant life to a corpse, then they are more valuable than gold or horses.”
Ela sighed as she rubbed her knees. “If only it stopped at healing. Perhaps then—But to bring back the dead?” She shuddered. “I mean you no offense, Alec Two Lives, but such a thing isn’t right, either. What was done to you goes against the flow of the world. What if some evil person had one of these creatures at his disposal, and would never die, but go on accruing power?”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t be alive? That I’m an abomination?” Alec asked, feeling a cold lump forming in his belly.
“No, not at all,” Ela replied, “but you have done something no one should do—come back through the gates of death.”
Seregil put an arm around Alec’s shoulders and a hand on Sebrahn’s. “No one asked Sebrahn to do that to Alec. Neither of us had any notion that his power could be that strong! Sebrahn just did it.”
“And it almost killed him, too,” said Alec. “If I hadn’t been alive to feed him, he would have just wasted away.”
“Ah yes, the feeding. It eats only blood?” asked Onir í Thalir.
“Only mine,” Alec explained.
The old man considered this. “If that’s the case, then I don’t see how these alchemists could create herds of them to sell, since they cannot be parted from their progenitor. They must have been the property of a small elite.”
“But there’s also the matter of Alec’s mixed blood,” said Zillina. “He’s not pure Hâzadriëlfaie. Who is to say that this rhekaro is exactly like one produced from a pureblood?”
“The alchemist did say that the two he made didn’t turn out as he expected, according to some book,” Alec explained. “They were supposed to have wings, and no voices. Sebrahn can’t fly, but he can speak.”
“Can he?” said Onir í Thalir. “Let us hear.”
Alec picked up a cup and held it out to the rhekaro. “What is this?”
“Cuuuuup,” Sebrahn rasped, barely loud enough to hear.
“And this?” Alec held out his dagger.
“Kniiiiiiiife.”
“Who am I?” asked Alec.
“Ahek.”
“And me?” asked Adzriel.
“Asreel.”
“You see?” she said to the others. “He speaks. He learns. He’s clearly very attached to Alec, and to Seregil, as well. And as far as we know, he is the only one of his kind. If he can be taught to use only his healing powers, then I say he will be an asset to this clan.”
“That is a very large ‘if,’ honored Khirnari,” mused Trillius í Morin. “I know what I felt, and it was death. He has killed before, and he will kill again.”
“And yet he heals, too—Uncle. Isn’t there balance in that?” asked Alec.
“The greater questions are what he is, and if someone can make more of them. If so, they must be stopped!” Onir insisted. “I think that only you two can find these answers, and you must!”
“You’re right, of course, Great-Uncle,” Seregil said. “We’re going to visit Tyrus í Triel.”
Zillina nodded approvingly. “That is a wise decision. Go quickly, and may Aura the Lightbringer protect you both.”
“Thank you, Great-Aunt.” Seregil bowed to her, then looked to Adzriel.
Adzriel nodded. “That is all, brothers.”
Alec bowed low, and Sebrahn copied him, drawing a few chuckles from the onlookers.
Once outside, Alec let out a gasp of relief.
Seregil threw an arm over Alec’s shoulders. “If they were going to throw us out, I’d have known it ahead of time. You did well.”
Alec was relieved, and glad, too, but his earlier revelation about Sebrahn continued to haunt him. It had been so much easier, before. Shaking off the sadness that came with it, he asked, “Where is this dragon man?”
“‘Dragon Friend,’ Alec. It’s a title of great honor. He’s a hermit, and lives up in the mountains.”