For a moment all he could hear was the sawing of crickets and the breeze. Then Khiria and her sister Sabriel stepped forward and each took a sen’gai from the basket. Turning to face the others, they skillfully copied the style Seregil and Alec used. Willow came forward, took two sen’gai, and gave one to Vhadä. Then she tied hers on like a kerchief.

“Until I learn the fancy way,” she announced, and was greeted with cheers.

Two lines formed as every man, woman, and child queued up to accept a sen’gai. Those who knew how to tie it helped those who didn’t, and within half an hour they looked like a proper clan.

“Your next task will be to elect a khirnari and form a clan council, but that can wait for another day,” said Seregil. “Tonight is for celebrating, so more music and more turab!”

The dancing and merriment went on through the night, and the turab flowed like a river. By dawn everyone was unconscious on the grass or had gone off to bed, except for the guests of honor, Micum, and the doctor. Sitting together on a table, they watched the sun rise.

“Are you sad to be going?” asked Kordira.

“We’ll come back this time next year, if not sooner. They want to have a Founders’ Day feast,” Alec said. “But I think the estate and village are in good hands.”

“You’ve done a very fine thing here.”

Seregil shrugged. “We got them started. It’s up to them to make it work.”

The doctor smiled. “They will. I’ve a mind to take on a few students here. I can’t be doctor to the whole island, after all.” She paused. “There are those who won’t be pleased to see a clan here.”

“Will they make trouble?” asked Micum.

“It’s hard to say. At least the new governor is on their side. And I’ll keep an eye on things for you, too.”

Seregil leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ve said it before. You’re a useful person to have around.” He smiled and offered his hand. “And the first Plenimaran I’ve ever called friend.”

Chapter 30: Mourning Night

SEREGIL and Alec leapt over the low cottage garden wall into the next snowy little yard, ducked under a clothesline, and over the next wall, but the three bluecoats were still close behind them. Seregil was reasonably certain that in their dark clothes and black silk masks there wasn’t much chance of Alec or him being recognized at this time of night, especially here in Cirna, but getting caught would be embarrassing, if not disastrous. That was always the risk of burgling the house of someone who knew you, especially someone who loathed you as much as did elderly Duchess Tria—a regrettable past conquest of his misspent youth.

He grinned behind his mask. The higher the risk, the more the zest.