"If I wanted wealth or position for a female relation of mine, I wouldn't strive to make her Khethyran's Queen," Ancith put in waspishly. "He hardly understands the deference due his own blood, much less that of the mother of his heirs. Besides, if I wanted to kill someone with poisoned food at this Court, I would use a slow poison—one a taster wouldn't detect in time. Do you suppose someone was trying to scare her? Or that she was trying to scare someone? Was she entertaining anyone, Ghorran? Do you know?"
Rhydev looked at Ancith with a smile of approval. "Excellent reasoning, my dear. But Celave lacks the requisite—mmm—ruthlessness to sacrifice one of her beloved dogs in such a manner. Was she alone, Ghorran?"
"There is a rumor," the bodyguard said carefully, "that she was entertaining Arre of Kalledann."
Rhydev's eyes widened. "What?! Oh dear. I see I shall have to revise a number of—mmm— assumptions." As he considered the matter, he picked up Ancith's empty cup, refilled it and handed it to him. Their fingers touched as the cup changed hands, and Rhydev cast a lingeringly sensual glance over the younger man's face and form. "Suddenly, it sounds as though someone within the Queen's household was trying to—mmm—dispose of the foreign bitch. But how, then, did it go awry?" He looked at Ghorran. "Any theories?"
The man shook his head. "None of the Queen's ladies was close enough to hear their conversation. I've tried to envision a number of scenarios, but I can't figure out how the dog got the candy."
"Remember," Ancith put in, "she's the Emperor's foreign witch. Perhaps her magic warned her against the poison."
"Or Owl Ghytteve did," Ghorran added.
"He's no Ghytteve—and he's a charlatan," Ancith insisted.
"Now, my dear, you mustn't let your dislike influence your rational assessment. I think it is likely that he has enough genuine power to be—mmm—an impediment to our interests, and if that's the case, we ought perhaps to apply our minds to the question of how to rid ourselves of him."
"What's wrong with a stiletto between the ribs?" Ancith demanded.
"Well, there's the small problem of the assassin not getting skewered first by the formidable Ghytteve bodyguards."
"I could do it; they'd hesitate with me. I am Cithanekh's brother, after all."
"Now, think, my sweet," Rhydev said with exaggerated patience. "How would you get away afterwards? Much as I want to eliminate your brother Cithanekh's lowborn lover, a stratagem that trades your life for his is one I will not—mmm—countenance."
"I don't think he is as skilled as you do, Rhydev, but in any case, we could—well—expose him, or discredit him. It would be a start, surely."
"Indeed yes, my clever treasure; but how to—mmm—accomplish it?"
"I don't know what did happen in their interview, of course, but do you think you might persuade your cousin Celave to drop a few hints that Owl poisoned the stuff himself and warned the foreign bitch to impress the Queen?"
Rhydev's eyebrows rose and he smiled with slow pleasure. "My, my, my; you are learning. That's elegant, Ancith, and vicious." He took Ancith's cup away from him and set it down before he pressed a lingering kiss into the younger man's palm. "Beautiful," he murmured, "and clever—it makes you—mmm—irresistible. Ghorran, see whether you can't arrange some—mmm—corroborative evidence."
"Very good, my lord," the man said as he let himself out.
Before the door had even closed, Rhydev had taken Ancith into his arms and begun to unlace his shirt. Their lips met and the world receded on the tide of desire. It took Rhydev several moments to realize that someone was tapping insistently at the door. He gently disengaged his mouth and said with some asperity, "What? Can't it wait?"
The door opened and Ghorran returned. "Forgive me, my lord. This arrived from the Emperor." He set the creamy envelope down beside the coffee pot. "I thought it might be important."
"Thank you. That will be all, Ghorran."
The bodyguard departed. As Rhydev reached for the letter, Ancith ran his hand tantalizingly up the inside of Rhydev's thigh.
"Read it later, Rhydev," he murmured.
But Rhydev had already opened it. "Damn," he spat.
"What?"
"The Emperor has invited us—both—to a reception tomorrow."
"It's an honor, isn't it?" Ancith asked, puzzled.
"I thought we were being—mmm—discreet. He's not supposed to know you're here."
"I've been careful," Ancith said. "Rhydev, I swear I have been. You're not angry with me, are you?"
Rhydev reined in his irritation and smiled his languorous smile. "How could I be angry with you? It just surprised me; I'm not sure I'm ready to—mmm—share you with the Court." He ran a possessive hand lingeringly down the length of the younger man's body. "I couldn't bear to lose you," he murmured against his ear.
"No fear of that," Ancith sighed, and lifted his face to be kissed.
Chapter Seventeen—Ambush
Arre arrived at the Ghytteve complex just as Owl and Lynx were coming out, on their way to see Kerigden. She fell in with them cheerfully.
"Perfect timing," she greeted them, "if I do say so myself. I was hoping to catch you before you left. Did your meditations yield any fruit?"
"Yes."
"Well?" she pressed, before she noted the weariness and strain in the Seer's face. "Never mind. You can tell us both at once if it's easier."
"Good. It is—easier, I mean."
"I talked to Kheth. The Dreaded Reception is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon."
"Yes. We got our invitations. Do people ever refuse?"
Arre snorted. "No. We know that Kheth is the most reasonable of men, but he is still the Emperor, and no courtier will take chances with his favor."
Owl sighed. "Then I suppose I'd better not plan to set a precedent."
Arre frowned, concerned. "You are tired. Are you sure you're all right?" She shot a glance at Lynx. "What happened this afternoon?"
Lynx shrugged and shook her head.
"Just let me tell it once," Owl said. "Please."
At the Palace gates, Lynx summoned a sedan chair. Arre's concern ratcheted up another notch when Owl made no objection. The chair bore them efficiently to the steps of the Windbringer's Temple. As Lynx paid the bearers and instructed them to wait, Arre took Owl by the elbow and guided him up the steps. A priest of the Temple greeted them and took them to Kerigden's chamber.
The High Priest was lying as they had left him, motionless and pale beneath the light covers. Owl, aware of Lynx and Arre's mental presence, touched Kerigden's thoughts. To their alarm, Kerigden's mindtouch was inchoate, formless—very different indeed from his usual strong presence.
Kerigden? Owl nudged him gently.
A long moment passed before Kerigden made any discernable response. Owl? Arre? And Lynx?
Yes, we're here, Owl assured him. I found some things out today. I thought I'd better tell you what I learned.
Yes.
Owl related his encounter with the Windbringer. It took less time, mind to mind, than it would have to explain aloud. He could feel the others' astonishment and unease, but they offered neither comment nor question until he had related the whole.
Bodywalking, Lynx said, the overtones of disgust strong in her mind voice. It is like an ancient tale brought to life. And what possessed Talyene to wager with Vasgrifallok? None of the lore credits him with any respect for honor or fairness. What did the Firelord promise, that could tempt her?
It was Arre who answered. I asked her about it, once. She told me that she argued with her brother over hopeless causes. They wagered that she could not prove that loyalty, idealism and determination could triumph against self-interest, power, privilege and ruthlessness. He chose the proving ground: the court of Bharaghlaf; and she the players: a hente of Slum children. And the stakes are that if she loses, she relinquishes any right to the hearts of the people of the Bharaghlafi Empire; if he loses, he forfeits his right to their power.
Lynx drew a sharp breath.
You sound so matter-of-fact, Arre. Doesn't it worry you to be gladiators in the gods' arena?
Worrisome or not, there's nothing I can do to change the situation. No matter who sets the course, we still have to run the race.
I suppose so, Lynx agreed.
There was a moment's silence before Kerigden spoke up. So. It would seem that there are three ways to break the binding that holds me: risk our enemies' trap and retrieve the cage of brambles, this xhi'essiss; find and kill Hassyth; or in some way trick or suborn Thyzhecci. Which do you recommend, Owl?
I think we should only move directly against Hassyth as a last resort. The Windbringer did not make it sound as if we had much chance of killing an Adept of such power and experience. It seems as though an attempt to retrieve the xhi'essiss is most likely to play into their hands, although that fact alone doesn't make it impossible. On the surface, it looks like it might be wisest to start with Thyzhecci. I've only met her a few times; I don't know her well. Where are her vulnerable points likely to be, Kerigden?
The same things, I suppose, that got her into Hassyth's clutches in the first place: her ambition, greed and envy. I wish I thought it were possible to appeal to her better nature, but I'm not convinced she has one. I have a hard time imagining what blandishments could convince anyone that it was just and proper to trade a child's life for power—but whatever they were, perhaps we can work on them as well. She is greedy for power, filled with pride of place. Do you suppose we can threaten her in those areas enough to break her hold?
Perhaps, Owl said. It's certainly worth considering. The Emperor has included her on the guest list of one of his Dreaded Receptions. Perhaps we can use the opportunity to explore the possibilities. In the meantime, I don't think we should abandon the chance that we might simply find the xhi'essiss. If we could determine for certain where it was kept, possibly Ferret or one of her associates could…liberate…it for us. He shared the image of the room and its window with the others.
The ogive windows do call to mind the Dark Lady's complex, Kerigden mused. But without a view out the window, it's hard to guess which building it is—or which floor. The place is a warren—much larger than ours.
We must remember, too, Arre said, that there are many rooms. I think I'll take a stroll, tomorrow morning, through the Upper Town to see if I can't find a building with similar architecture. It would probably be easier for Ferret to scout a town house than the heart of Thyzhecci's realm.
Good point, Owl put in. He sounded tired again, causing Arre to fix him with a shrewd, assessing eye.
I think, she said, it's time we were going. Your Healer said we shouldn't tire you, Kerigden, and Owl looks like he's had about all he can take. I'll stop in after my architectural survey in the morning—and we'll let you know anything the Dreaded Reception unearths.
Kerigden and Lynx concurred, and even Owl didn't respond with any of his acid observations about mothering. That alone worried Arre far more than she wanted to admit.
"Do you think," she said, as they made their way down the steps of the Temple toward the waiting chair, "you and Cithanekh could feed me dinner? The Emperor is entertaining the Ambassador from the Federated States—who frankly can't decide if he abhors me more for my Kellande training or my flagrant impropriety."
"Of course we'll feed you," Owl told her. "Though from what I've read about the Federated States, your Kellande training should seriously outweigh considerations of mere impropriety."
One of the bearers held the heavy curtains of the chair out of the way as they clambered in; it fell shut as they settled themselves. The bearers lifted the chair smoothly and set off.
"I heard," Lynx said, "that the Amartan Ambassador cornered Cithanekh at some state function and lectured him for half the evening—in rather less than idiomatic Bharaghlafi—about the dangers of accursed sorcerers."
"Who told you that?" Owl asked.
"Yrhenne. She said she heard it from one of Mylazhe Ambhere's people, who had watched the whole scene to see whether Cithanekh's mask of perfectly courteous attention would slip at all."
"Did it?"
"No. She said there was a bad moment when the Ambassador confused the words for 'eternal' and 'decadent' and spent ten minutes expounding upon all the pitfalls which beset one's 'immoral soul.'"
Owl raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps we should add the so-honorable Ambassador to the Dreaded Reception's guest list."
"Bad idea," Arre laughed. "He has no sense of humor and the Hierarch of Amarta is already half convinced of the necessity of a holy crusade against his southern neighbors and Kalledann."
Owl spread his hands. "Sorry. It was a joke; I must be too tired to manage humor." Suddenly, the whiff of an unexpected odor brought his head up. Lynx! His uneasy observation snapped into her mind.
Lynx stealthily nudged the curtains apart far enough to peer out. We're not headed back to the Palace, she told the others. We're nearly to the tanneries. Keep talking while I think what to do.
At her words, images streaked across Owl's inner vision: four bearers waiting in the shade near the Windbringer Temple while a well-dressed man counted coins into their hands; the chair abandoned; then four different men—men better fed and far better muscled—taking their places in the shade. He passed the images to his companions under the cover of their continuing conversation.
"You do look tired, Owl," Arre went on. "Should I worry?"
"Arre, no. So I'm tired. Perhaps Cithanekh and I have better things to do at night than sleep."
"That's probably another sore point with the Amartan Ambassador. They don't approve of men with men," Arre remarked, while she sent a mental query. How many of them are there, Lynx?
"Why should the Amartans care who sleeps with whom in Bharaghlaf?" Lynx contributed aloud. The four bearers and at least two others. Are you armed?
"Sleep is hardly the issue," Owl put in and Arre laughed.
I've a dagger and a throwing knife, she told Lynx.
How much chance is there that you can you take out the bearer you're facing? A knife to the throat?
"Now, let's not get too bawdy," Arre chided. "The Amartans care, Lynx, because the god they follow—and want to inflict on the rest of us—is a pernicious spoilsport who prefers guilt to joy." I'll do my best. I'm sure I can hit him—but I'm not sure I can accurately target his throat.
"Harsh words," Owl said, to keep the covering conversation going. "But true. Lynx, you know how you're always saying Bharaghlaf is a strange place? Well, the Amartan federation is not just strange but bizarre."
Get ready, Lynx advised. Once we move, they'll drop the chair, so brace yourselves. Owl…
I'll stay out of the way, and keep my head down, he thought, while his voice droned on. "It's a theocracy that permits no other faiths or sects within its borders. The Amartan god (whom they call the One God, though there's absolutely no resemblance to the One God of the Kalledanni)…"
Now, Lynx thought as she lunged forward. Her first blade unerringly caught the bearer in the throat. He dropped his pole and staggered back, but Lynx was out of the chair before it even struck the cobbles. She was on the second bearer almost before he'd realized what was happening; she broke his neck and spun away to take stock. One of Arre's bearers was down and rolling; the second had grappled with the bard. The one on the ground suddenly got to his feet. Lynx vaulted over the chair, a foot catching him in the chest. As he staggered, her blade found his heart. Behind her, Arre had managed to disengage, with a vicious knee to the groin followed by a very efficient stab with her dagger. The man fell.
Owl! Lynx thought. Arre, help him.
The others—whether there were two or more of them—had melted into the alleys between the buildings. Lynx scanned the area: warehouses and tanneries; weaving sheds and dyers' works; lots of alleys and dead ends; good terrain for an ambush, if the attackers knew the area. There were no people on the street, though the sounds of industry came from some of the buildings. Arre helped Owl out of the tangled
wreck of the sedan chair and they came to Lynx's side. Let's go, she thought.
Did you get them all? Owl asked.
No. Just the bearers. Keep moving. The others may attack from hiding.
They moved as quickly as they could. The street, though cobbled, was far from smooth, and Owl's feet seemed to find every pit and hummock as they hurried along. Arre kept him upright almost by force of will, while Lynx's gaze shifted restlessly as she watched for attack.
An image: the corner of a warehouse, a hand and a dart. Down! Owl sent, dragging Arre to the cobbles, and Behind you, Lynx!
Arre saw a gray-fletched dart fall harmlessly to the ground fifteen feet from where she sprawled; and she heard Lynx's running footsteps. A moment later, Lynx returned. Get up; hurry. I didn't catch them.
The dart, Arre gestured.
Leave it; its almost certainly poisoned. We can't risk carrying it.
They reached the Temple District with no further incident. Kerigden's assistant, a distinguished silver-haired man named Assakh, sent an acolyte for the Imperial Guard while Owl and Arre caught their breath. Lynx seemed utterly unruffled.
When the Guard arrived, under the command of no less personage than Commander Bhenekh himself, he dispatched men into the tannery district to see whether they could collect the bodies; the rest of the company escorted Owl, Arre and Lynx back to the Ghytteve complex. As they made their way through the streets, Commander Bhenekh said, "I think you will have a hard time persuading the Emperor that you don't need your own bodyguards, Lady Arre. I would be happy to assign a few of my men to that detail."
Arre winced. "It's likely to make me more conspicuous, don't you think, if I'm trailing around with a couple of Imperials in full uniform. Protection may be in order, Commander, but do let me go about it in my own way."
"Cithanekh would lend you someone. Or," Owl added with a touch of mischief in his tone, "maybe Ferret could find you someone subtle."
"Effective is what's needed, Lord Owl," Commander Bhenekh insisted doggedly. "Not subtle."
Arre smiled brightly at the Guard Commander. "I appreciate your concern—truly I do—but if I have to have bodyguards, do let me find my own people."
A Parliament of Owls Page 20
