Sharkbait's smile was almost wicked. "Maybe Dedemar needs a promotion."
The spymaster's expression warmed to appreciation. "It's a thought. Thank you, Sharkbait. Watch your back."
"Always," the longshoreman averred as he rose to go. "You, too."
Chapter Thirty-nine—Tidying Up
Yrkhaffe—at Court
Dearest Papa,
I know that Cousin Mylazhe will have written to you by now, but I felt I had to add my own entreaties to her calm and rational assessment. I know you will think this a frivolous reason, but I am quite hopelessly in love with Councilor Owl and I can think of no marriage I would be happier to contract. While it is true he has no great fortune, Duke Alghaffen has settled upon him a modest estate with a very productive coffee plantation. In addition, he has the respect and favor of the Emperor, and is also deep in the confidences of our new Prime Minister Cithanekh Ghytteve.
I could go on, but I know Cousin Mylazhe will have enumerated and explicated all the rational reasons for the match at length. So I shall content myself by saying only, this: Please give your permission, dearest Papa. It would make me so extremely happy.
Your loving daughter,
Yverri
***
Yrkhaffe, Waterfront
To Rhyazhe Dhenykhare, at the Drum and Anchor, Cynteffarhe
by the hand of Razhynde Windsinger
Greeting, Rhyazhe:
I trust this letter—and the parcel it accompanies—reaches you without difficulty. I sent it with one of the Windbringer's Healers, as she was going north to see her family.
As the accompanying parcel will attest, you have supporters still among your kin. Many of us are distressed at the treatment meted out to you, and thus have sent this small token of our esteem. While it is not possible at this time for us to take up your case with the Duke, please know that you have not been forgotten.
Things are much quieter, here, since the Emperor made our Duke responsible (and financially liable!) for keeping the peace on the Waterfront. Since the Emperor's decree, there have been no altercations at all with the new Longshoremen's Guild, and amazingly, goods get loaded so efficiently that some of the shipmasters say the Guild is even saving them money.
The Duke, of course, is not as happy about this as most of the rest of us.
I must close, as my courier is eager to depart—and the tide will not wait, even if Cousin Vekharr were inclined to. Best wishes in all your endeavors. I will write again—and send another parcel—when I may.
Yours,
Pezh Dhenykhare
***
The mood around the dinner table in the Ghytteve complex was festive—not the least reason being the Emperor's presence. As Effryn and his crew presented the dessert—a collection of four kinds of pie—and poured coffee, the diners made appreciative noises.
"So, Owl," the Emperor said, a teasing note in his voice. "I know—through my sources—that you had a letter from Yverakh Ambhere. Don't keep us in suspense! Are congratulations in order—or must I prepare and send a suitably formal and admonitory missive?"
"You're actually asking me?" Owl laughed back. "Didn't your sources say?"
"Either my incomparable Thantor doesn't know, or he's practicing discretion. Do tell us what that stiff-necked old conservative had to say."
Owl smiled and relented. "He said yes—but he made it very clear that he had his doubts; and he was firm that there will be no wedding until Midwinter."
"That's four whole months away," Vixen said. "Poor Owl."
"And poor Yverri," Arre added with a sly smile.
"Four months isn't forever," Cithanekh remarked.
"A great deal can happen in four months," Lynx put in darkly.
"Actually, I'd be inclined to consider it a serious concession, Owl," Arre said. "Perhaps Yverakh likes you better than you think. Some noblewomen require at least a year to prepare their trousseaus."
"He started out insisting on two years," Owl said dryly. "But Yverri said something to him—I'm not sure I dare ask what!—and he folded immediately."
"You're cruel to make me blush, Owl," Yverri scolded from her place beside him. "I only said—" She continued in a breathless rush quite unlike her usual speech, "—that two years was a terribly long time, and though I was trying to be good, I couldn't bear to disgrace him and that, possibly, he shouldn't make things so very difficult for me."
Owl winced as the others laughed. "And I make you blush? I'm surprised you could get permission to join me for dinner."
Yverri laughed. "Cousin Mylazhe decreed that since the Emperor would be in attendance, my virtue was probably safe—but Papa did give her strict instructions that I'm not to see you alone."
"Well, congratulations to you both," the Emperor said. "You'll be surprised how quickly the four months pass."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," they murmured while the others added their good wishes.
Suddenly, in the midst of the well-wishing and merriment, images began forming in Owl's mind. Yverri, observing the change in his posture, reached over and laid her hand in his. His fingers closed almost possessively around hers. A weathered inn sign depicting an anchor and a drum; the stalking tiger; Morekheth, poring over a book; a wreath of white flowers; Rhyazhe Dhenykhare counting coins, a letter beside her on the table—With Yverri's strength added to his, he held that image, widening and changing his focus to see whether he could make out any of the words on the letter. It was partly folded, so that he could only make out a line from the beginning and a few from the very end. 'As the accompanying parcel will attest, you have supporters still among your kin. … Best wishes in all your endeavors. I will write again—and send another parcel—when I may. Yours, Pezh Dhenykhare.' Owl released Yverri's hand and surfaced from his trance. The rest of the company had fallen silent.
"Some of the Dhenykhare are sending Rhyazhe money," Owl said. "It would seem they want her to build her fleet."
"Indeed," Donkey murmured.
Owl flashed a grin in his direction. "By which you mean this is old news?"
"Well, this time," the spymaster admitted. "The...courier asked my permission before agreeing to take it."
The Emperor laughed. "I think I shall enjoy watching my spymaster and my Seer compete to see who can keep me best informed!"
"Speaking of being informed," Arre put in, "do we have any inkling what the Adepts are likely to try, next?"
"You don't think we've drawn their fangs?" Vixen asked. "I mean, forewarned and all that."
"I do not," Arre said grimly.
"Nor do I," Owl agreed. "My visions show me Hassyth from time to time—but not in any specific and incriminating activity. I've seen Morekheth, reading, but that's not terribly helpful. They're biding their time. It's true, we know about Bodywalking—but even forewarned, we may not be able to detect their tricks before they wreak some harm. It's a pity we can't arrest Morekheth."
"On what grounds?" the Emperor asked with a sigh. "Mouse thought she recognized him, inciting the Dark Lady's people to riot—but he wasn't successful; and it would be hard to persuade a judge that she couldn't possibly have been mistaken."
"Or that his actions were treasonous," Cithanekh added heavily. "We may know he's plotting, but we can't prove it."
"But isn't there some way for us to take the offensive?" Vixen persisted. "It seems so poor-spirited for us to sit about and wait for their next move."
"We are taking action, Vixen," Lynx assured her. "We are taking steps to safeguard Owl's Resonator and to facilitate their ability to work together."
"That may be true, Lynx," Arre said, "but it's a very calculated way to talk about a wedding. I'm sorry, Yverri. I should never have brought up the Adepts at your party—I don't know what I could have been thinking."
"Never mind," Yverri told her. "Sometimes it's easier to think about politics and intrigue than it is for me to consider things like the seating arrangement at the banquet."
"In my experience," Than
tor said lightly, "seating arrangements at such functions are both politics and intrigue. Tell me, Yverri: has your formidable Aunt Khatrielle decided whether or not she will deign to attend?"
Yverri rolled her eyes. "She hasn't decided yet. Or rather, she's decided several times; currently, she is coming, but this is subject to change. Frankly, I live in fear that Papa will think to send her along to be my chaperon until the wedding!"
The others laughed and the cheerful mood was restored.
***
By the time their guests had departed and the rest of the household retired, it was late. As they got ready for bed, Cithanekh massaged Owl's shoulders and neck.
"You were very subdued tonight, Cithanekh," Owl observed as he relaxed into the other man's gentle touch.
"I can't quite manage to tease you about your upcoming marriage," he admitted. "And it's only four months away."
Owl nodded. "Sometimes, I almost wish Yverakh Ambhere had refused us permission; and then, like tonight, she senses my Gift almost before I do and it makes everything so much clearer. I've seen Rhyazhe counting money before, but I've never been able to tell with such certainty where the funds were coming from." He sighed. "I'm like an addict, Cithanekh. I've had a taste of this power and all I want is more of it."
"It isn't all you want," Cithanekh responded, "or you wouldn't have any doubts or fears. For what it's worth, Owl, I like Yverri. Did you know: she sought me out to make a little speech about not wanting to come between us, and hoping that we could all be friends."
"She means it, too, I think," Owl said. "But I'm not sure whether she'll be able to maintain that attitude in the long run. She's in love with me—or thinks she is; I don't know whether she'll really be content with the fragment of me I'm willing to give her." He added in a very different tone, "Mmm. That feels nice."
"Lie down and I'll do your lower back."
Owl complied. As Cithanekh's fingers kneaded the tension out of his muscles, he murmured. "Why do you even put up with me, Cithanekh?"
Cithanekh smiled and kissed the nape of his lover's neck. "My dear, amazing Owl," he whispered. "That's like the air asking why I breathe it."
Owl shifted and drew his friend down beside him. "I'm not going to worry any more, tonight," he said, his lips against Cithanekh's ear. "The wedding's still four months away."
Cithanekh turned his head and their lips met. Anything further they might have said was swallowed in their kiss.
Epilogue
The sound of the Windbringer's music filled the Hall of Stars. The harp notes spun and danced in the shadowy arches like light on running water. The Windbringer studied her brother as she played. The music did not seem to please him; he was scowling. She gathered the melodies into a cadence and let the music end.
"Do you concede, Brother?" she asked him.
He glared at her. "No."
"Even after one of your champions was persuaded from your side before she was killed?"
"No!" he said again, with more force. "You cannot imagine, Sister, that my Adepts have exhausted either their inventiveness or their power. This is merely the lull before the storm, not the sun breaking through the clouds."
The Windbringer studied him in silence before she said, "Are you thinking that all you have to do is to wait—to refuse to accept defeat until my mortal Emperor is old and frail and easy prey?"
"I am not defeated, Sister! My remaining champions are strong. Even now, they devise their next onslaught. Look!" He swept his arm toward the Worldgate. "Your blind Seer is marked for death!"
She gave a small, tolerant smile. "As was my High Priest? My Seer has been marked for death before, but so far he has eluded all your snares."
"All the same, I do not concede. And you are bound by your oath to another round."
"Very well," she said softly. "My champions are ready." She touched the harp again, waking the music. It was a darker song, now, brooding in the Hall of Stars like the crimson embers of a dying fire; but from time to time, the uneasy melodies would shift without warning to blazing joy.
With a sound of derision, the Windbringer's brother flung himself through the Worldgate and vanished.
***
THE END
About this Author
Beth Hilgartner is a writer, an Episcopal priest, a classical musician, an avid gardener, a serious knitter, an enthusiastic equestrian, and the founder and executive director of CAMEO Arts Foundation. She has published nine books, most of which have made their way into e-book format. She lives in Orford, New Hampshire with her husband and cats.
Read the Smashwords interview with Beth Hilgartner at https://www.smashwords.com/interview/Hilgartner
Other Books by this Author
Discover other books by Beth Hilgartner, all of which (except as noted) are available as e-books.
Children’s/YA Fiction
Great Gorilla Grins (A picture book with Leslie Morrill, illustrator; not available as an e-book.)
A Necklace of Fallen Stars
A Murder for Her Majesty (Currently in print. Contact the publisher to request e-book format.)
Dreamweaver series
Colors in the Dreamweaver’s Loom
The Feast of the Trickster
The Bharaghlafi series
A Business of Ferrets
A Parliament of Owls
Cybercats series
Cats in Cyberspace
PKP For President (Currently in print. An e-book edition is available.)
Connect with Beth Hilgartner
I really appreciate you reading my book and I’d love to hear what you think! Here are my social media coordinates:
Friend me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/bhilgartner
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And if you’re interested in the other things I do (besides write), check out my performing ensemble, Cameo Baroque, on Facebook: https://facebook.com/cameobaroque and
Find out about the arts/music non-profit foundation I’m working on: http://www.cameoarts.org
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