Traitor's Moon

her breathing had eased.
    Thero and Klia carried her to the cot at the back of the tent and tucked heated stones in among the blankets.
    Idrilain opened her eyes and looked wearily up at the others. Thero offered the cup again, but after a few sips she turned her head away. “This must be settled quickly,” she whispered.
    â€œYou have my word, Mother, but maybe Kor’s right,” Klia said, kneeling beside her. “I’ll look like a child to the Aurënfaie.”
    â€œYou’ll soon teach them otherwise. Korathan was the only other choice, but he’d frighten them to death.”
    â€œI understand. I just don’t know what I can do that Lord Torsin hasn’t tried already. He knows the ’faie better than anyone in Skala.”
    â€œNot quite everyone,” Idrilain murmured. “But Seregil would never go—not with Korathan—”
    â€œSeregil?” Klia looked up at Magyana, alarmed. “Her mind’s wandering! He’s still under ban of exile. He can’t go back.”
    â€œYes, he can—at least for the duration of your visit,” Magyana told her. “The Iia’sidra has agreed to his temporary return as your adviser. If he will go.”
    â€œYou haven’t asked him?”
    â€œIt’s been nearly a year since he and Alec were last heard from,” said Thero.
    Magyana laid a hand on Klia’s shoulder. “Fortunately, we know someone who can find them. Don’t you think that red-haired captain of yours would welcome a journey back to Skala?”
    â€œBeka Cavish?” Klia smiled slightly, understanding. “I believe she would.”
    Korathan and Aralain had accompanied Phoria back to her tent, where she sat silently over her wine, waiting for word from her spy.
    Korathan paced restlessly, chewing on some thought he was not yet ready to share. Aralain huddled in a fur robe beside the brazier, nervously clasping and unclasping her soft, ineffectual hands.
    Since childhood Phoria had despised Aralain’s timidity and reliance on others. She’d have ignored her completely if Aralain had not been the only one who’d managed to produce an heir to the throne. Her eldest, Elani, was now a tractable girl of thirteen.
    â€œI don’t understand why you’re so opposed to this plan of Mother’s,” Aralain said at last, arching her brows in that annoying way she had when she wanted to be taken seriously.
    â€œBecause it will fail,” Phoria snapped. “The Aurënfaie insulted our honor with their Edict of Separation. Now we’re giving them another opportunity, and at the worst possible time. When we most need to appear strong, we’re seen running for help from those leastlikely to give it. Their refusal will almost certainly cost us Mycena.”
    â€œBut the necromancers—?”
    Phoria gave a derisive snort. “I haven’t met the necromancer yet that good Skalan steel can’t deal with. We’ve grown too dependent on wizards. These past few years Mother’s been ruled more and more by them—first Nysander, and now Magyana. Mark my words, this fool’s gamble is her doing!”
    Phoria was nearly shouting by the time she’d finished and was pleased to see Aralain properly cowed. Kor had stopped pacing, too, and was watching her warily. Womb mates they might be, but she never let him forget who held the power. Satisfied, she forced a thin smile and went back to her wine. A few minutes later, a soft scratching came at the tent flap.
    â€œCome!” she called.
    Captain Traneus stepped inside and saluted. The man was only twenty-four, considerably younger than most of her personal staff, but he’d proven remarkably close-mouthed, loyal, and eager for preferment—a most useful combination—and she’d groomed him as a second set of eyes and ears. In turn, he had amassed a useful cadre of informants.
    â€œI kept watch as you ordered, General,” he reported. “Magyana returned to the queen’s tent under cover of darkness. I also heard the voices of two men inside: Thero and the drysian.”
    â€œCould you hear what was said?”
    â€œSome of it, General. I fear the queen’s health is worse than we’ve been led to believe. And Commander Klia is having doubts as to whether she is equal to the task the queen has set for her.” He paused, shifting uncomfortably under Phoria’s probing