A Strange and Ancient Name by Josepha Sherman

shivered, and caught his cloak more tightly about himself. Serein’s odd, odd curse . . . What rumors had he heard? What secret whispers that the witchly consort’s father had been other than human?
    The prince shivered again, all at once feeling very young and very, very alone, aching for someone in whom he could confide, someone who wouldn’t use whatever he might confess as fuel against him.
    Alliar. If ever there was a friend who could be trusted . . .
    But Alliar had vanished for a time, in the manner of that restless wind spirit. Hauberin didn’t begrudge his friend the need for privacy, and of course the being would be back eventually. But until then he must be alone, and live with loneliness and—
    “Oh, enough!”
    The prince turned sharply in the direction of that terrace with the mountainous view. All this maundering self-pity was surely the result of too little sleep. The cold air should clear his mind.
    Hauberin stopped short, feeling a twinge of annoyance because someone was already out there on the terrace.
    Eh, but that someone was slim as a statue, sleekly golden against the darkness: Alliar!
    The being was perched casually on the very corner of the balustrade, staring dreamily out into the night, sharp, beautiful, sexless profile softened by a faint smile. One leg was curled bonelessly under, the other bent at the knee, arms wrapped around it, chin resting on it; Alliar apparently quite comfortable and at ease in that precarious pose.
    Hauberin hesitated, afraid to startle his friend while the being was so delicately poised on the edge of a sizeable drop. But a moon-moth large as his hand brushed his arm, wings flickering softly silver as it fluttered off, and he started involuntarily, not quite stifling a yelp. The faint sound was enough to alert keen-eared Alliar, who uncoiled back onto the terrace and around to face him in one lithe, wild-eyed leap.
    “Hauberin!” The being laughed softly in relief. “For a moment I thought you were a Night Gaunt.”
    “Oh, thank you!”
    Alliar grinned. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But . . .” Wide golden eyes studied the prince, and the grin faded. “What’s wrong? No, don’t try to deny it. I’ve only been away for a short time, but there’s been such a change in you . . . And your eyes are so very weary.”
    “I . . . simply haven’t been able to sleep.”
    “Phaugh! I can see that. But I think that’s a symptom, as the healers would say, not the disease.” The being slipped silently to Hauberin’s side. “I’m not Ereledan, you know, or Charailis, or—”
    “Oh, Li. You know I trust you.”
    “Well?”
    Hauberin shook his head. “You were never meant to bear the weight of—of flesh-and-blood emotions.”
    “Don’t patronize me. Do you think wind-children have no emotions?”
    “Not normal wind—ae, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
    He could have struck himself at the shadow that passed over his friend’s face. “It’s true,” the being said levelly. “It wasn’t till I . . . became flesh-and-blood myself that I could fully understand certain things. Fear. And hate.”
    “Li, I—”
    “And love, and friendship. Those two you taught me. Come now, what troubles you?”
    Hauberin stared into the earnest golden gaze, then glanced quickly away. “Serein,” he admitted.
    “Serein! But it’s been nearly . . . Surely you don’t still regret his death?”
    “Yes. No. Ach, wait. Li, the man was part of my life. Even if I did hate him for most of it. I can’t that easily forget him, or that he’s dead, or that mine was the hand that . . .” But Hauberin couldn’t finish that. “No, Li. I’m not a hypocrite. If I hadn’t . . . if he hadn’t died, he would have killed me.”
    “Then why let a dead traitor—oh, don’t look at me like that, that’s exactly what he was. Why let a traitor haunt your thoughts?” The glowing eyes narrowed warily. “Unless he really is haunting you . . . ?”
    Serein’s