Lhind the Spy

  At the end, he said, “Very well recited. Do you have questions?”

  I had plenty of them, but I stuck firmly to my mask. “No, Your Imperial Serenity,” I lisped in a good mimicry of Pelan’s voice.

  His lips twitched, and I held my breath, but nothing happened.

  He said, “I believe you still do not comprehend the civilized life, or how proximity to power can require commensurate understanding of pain until one truly comprehends one’s limits. Correction is pure. The higher the rank, the greater the need for control. That and order are the fundaments of civilized life.” He lifted his chin minutely, and the edge of his own fais gleamed golden above the deep blue of his collar, a hint of diamonds glittering. “Come.”

  He left his chair and walked to the balcony we had gone to before. Another blizzard howled outside, and I hoped that he hadn’t forced all those people to trudge up those thousand steps to kneel on that parade ground again.

  When he gestured to the window I stood on tiptoe and peered down, relieved to see it empty except for eddies of white swirling across the stones.

  “No, this way. To the perch.”

  I turned my head and there was the balcony with the platform below it. Dark shapes humped above the railing, nearly obscured by falling snow: gryphs, with their heads tucked under their wings. In the center, a purple great gryph.

  “Capturing and civilizing the great gryphs requires skill, patience, strength and wit. Those who are successful are more likely to win greater responsibility.”

  I knew then that I had guessed right. He had indeed been scrying me during my visit with the sisters, and further, he wanted me to know. Chills roughened the skin of my arms and that horrible fais seemed to tighten mercilessly, though I knew it was inert.

  Memory of Dhes-Andis demonstrating his ability to communicate mentally whether one liked it or not once he gained one’s mental signature still harrowed my dreams. It was the worst sort of violation, and as usual, I convulsively checked my mental steel wall. A brief image of Prince Geric’s ravaged face there at the end hit me, and I wondered if he had actually tried to escape when he’d said he was going, and Dhes-Andis forced him back in order to lay that trap for me.

  I swallowed, knowing I was expected to reply.

  “Those golden collars. On the gryphs. Are those fais?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he replied. “All our beasts of burden wear them. Pets as well. Animals are protected thereby. Would you like a great gryph of your own? I possess two who are beautifully trained, and perfectly safe to ride.”

  “I’d rather fly myself,” I said, and immediately I sensed that it was the wrong answer. I didn’t see any reaction, but I was becoming acutely aware of any change in his breathing, a flicker of eyelash, a subtle alteration of note in his voice, any sign before the lightning struck.

  It did not strike now, but he led the way back to the chairs, saying—with that warning note impossible to describe, except in the way my flesh crawled in anticipation of pain—“Let us begin with your fire spell. I desire you to focus, and set fire to a target I have had prepared. . . .”

  Warning flared through me, almost as painful as the so-called correction. “Target?”

  He looked amused as one of the cats leaped up onto the arm of his chair, leaned out and polished its head against the scrying crystal. “A bundle of hay. It sits in one of the empty harvest barns. Have you ever used a scry stone before?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t know if Hrethan use them in the same manner we do, but you are not fully Hrethan, so we can experiment with your abilities and limitations. . . .”

  Setting fire to hay, I thought, seemed harmless enough. Certainly harmless to me, considering the alternative. And maybe I could keep him busy too long to attempt the scry stone.

  o0o

  By nightfall my eyes burned with tiredness.

  Did I sleep well? No. Once again that melody haunted me and I turned restlessly, my mind chasing it through memory until I jerked awake, gasping for breath. How had I ever thought I had liked it? But I had. Once.

  Toward morning exhaustion overcame even memories and haunted melodies and I slept like a rock for too short a while, waking inexorably when light filtered in the windows. I always woke at first light, and here was another day of captivity closing inexorably around me.

  As soon as my feet hit the floor, quiet as I was, one of the servants emerged from their alcove. They had to have some kind of warning magic. The idea of twelve people whose days were spent anticipating my whims, and could be punished for my perceived transgressions, weighed on my spirit, increasing my sense of powerlessness. Contemplating how much they must secretly hate me drove me once more to the music room.

  As soon as I saw the harp my fingers tingled. All right. I’d let myself play, but at the first sign of any suspicious mind invasion I’d smash the harp to splinters, I thought savagely as I sat and ran my fingers over the strings.

  As always perfectly in tune. My fingers plucked out that melody, beautiful, soothing, comfortingly familiar in a way that brought gentle imaginings, and best of all, no voices. Oh, a sense of the sound of voices, but not what they said: loving, comforting, one blue face and one pale with light-colored long hair . . . Windharps on high mountain peaks . . . tiny star-shaped flowers in a translucent bowl that caught sun shafts from outside a window, so that it seemed to be full of light.

  I tried to reach it, my hands falling short. . . .

  My hands.

  My small, fat hands.

  This was a memory from before I could talk, before I could walk.

  Once again I pulled my fingers away from the harp. My skin roughened, my fuzz fluffing and my hair flashing straight up, then curling in around me protectively. I wanted to run, but equally strong was my desire to remain, and recapture what I had thought lost forever.

  It had to be a trick, I thought, backing away. It did not feel like anything Dhes-Andis would do, or even think of, but there I was a prisoner in his citadel, and I could not trust anything.

  I didn’t even trust trust, I thought as I stalked away, scowling at old Vandarus as I passed. Trust always betrayed you, that much I’d learned from Hlanan’s beloved empire.

  “Your Imperial Serenity.”

  It was a man’s voice. But not Emperor Evil’s.

  I halted, back to a wall, and gazed up a forest green silk tunic embroidered with stylized mulberries and cranes to Most Noble eyebrows.

  “My abject apologies for missing introduction to Your Imperial Serenity,” he said, bowing.

  “It’s fine,” I replied at random, too distracted to practice my courtly mimicry. “I still can’t tell anyone apart. You’re Raifas, right? The Most Noble of Ardam Pennon?”

  He bowed again. “I am honored by Your Imperial Serenity’s notice.”

  I struggled to pull my Princess Elenderi mask together, in spite of my raw emotions and the tiredness nearly overwhelming me. Another dull conversation of courtly nothings was only slightly better than another Dhes-Andis interview.

  Raifas said, “There is no sun, and likely none expected, but the snow has lifted for a time. And I am told you are not afraid of winter weather. Would you enjoy a ride?”

  “You mean on a gryph?” I asked, surprised.

  “This way.” He flashed a grin. It might have been a challenge—disbelief—I didn’t care. The chance to get away pulled at me so strongly I whirled and started off in the direction of his lifted hand.

  He uttered a soft laugh as he took a quick step to catch up. “I see that I am to take deed for word.”

  “Why talk?” I said. “You’re just going to do more bowing and Your Imperial Serenitying. I’d rather get away—” Fiercely I caught myself. Mask! “Away into the sky to enjoy the wind.”

  As we started down the steps, he said, “If you desire to set aside the privileges of honorifics, what would you prefer to be called?”

  My name is Lhind shaped my lips—I drew breath to say it—the
n I thought, Why let any of them see my true nature? There are those who believe that knowing a true name can result in magery, but I never believed that. Perhaps in some sense it was true. Not the name itself having power, but giving someone the key to your private citadel of mind and heart who should never be let within.

  My name is Hlanan Vosaga.

  Oh, how memory can hurt! I tried to breathe out the heartache as my thoughts flickered faster than a heartbeat through the vivid memories: when he first spoke his name, to our travel alone up the central valley, and then to his admitting who he was. “Hlanan Vosaga” had told me nothing whatsoever about his true self. That I had had to learn on my own.

  Names were merely names. But Princess Elenderi was my mask.

  I paused on the step, swept a bow, and said, “Elenderi will do, Most Noble.”

  “May I return the favor? The simplicity of Raifas is refreshing.”

  As soon as we got out the door the wind hit hard, bitingly cold, even for me. I fluffed my fuzz, snapped hair and tail around me, and breathed in, instinct permitting enough of my bird nature to let the cold flow over me and away.

  Servants waited on the perch balcony, leaning into the gusts. Raifas stripped off his long green paneled tunic, revealing his thick quilted riding jacket beneath made tight to his body, and equally tight trousers tucked into solid boots. With a deliberate movement he slung the tunic to one side, where the wind tried to take it. But one of the servants sprang forth to catch it and began carefully folding it with his back to the wind.

  “His Imperial Serenity has graciously offered Andisla for you to ride,” Raifas shouted against the wind. Andisla: Little Andis, my mind promptly translated. “He is safer by far than my Firebird though not as fast.”

  We approached the two immense purple gryphs, one with a harness and saddle far finer than that on the other.

  He offered a hand to me as if I needed a lift. I sprang up easily into the air, somersaulting in the wind before landing on my toes on the gryph’s back. I laughed as his brows shot to his hairline and then settled into the saddle, ignoring the stirrups in favor of sitting cross-legged.

  He set his foot to Firebird’s stirrup and vaulted into his saddle, then said over his shoulder, “I suggest you grip with your knees. The launch is stronger than you might expect.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, though I was wondering, what if I fell off?

  I left the thought there, choking the cold curdle of despair. No. I refused to throw myself off. Escape I would, but not into death, because then Dhes-Andis would win. He was trying to destroy Lhind while making her into this pretend princess, and that was the surest way of accomplishing the first.

  A suddenly bounce and lurch and we plummeted down as Andisla spread his wings. Then we leveled out and banked at a steep slant.

  Because my entire body knew to muscle and bone how to fly I leaned as the bird leaned, so exhilarated I laughed, the wind taking the sound in a stream.

  Ahead, Raifas looked back once and his lip curled in challenge. He touched the beautiful golden harness—greenish magical light flashed—and Firebird cried out harshly and dove toward the gray water far below. Andisla followed, which answered the question forming in my mind about guidance. Raifas led on Firebird and Andisla followed. I would not be able to guide the gryph away. Of course. Or I never would have been permitted that ride.

  So I’d enjoy the semblance of freedom, and I leaned into Andisla’s neck, the wind so strong I slitted my eyes. Down we sped until we neared the white crests of the waves, then with a snap of wings the gryphs leveled out and skimmed over the water, occasionally smashing through icy spray. Then up, and so began a dance between sky and water, weaving with the wind.

  I could have ridden the wind forever, but snow arrived on a gust. It thickened with the rising gale and I could feel Andisla beginning to labor under me.

  I bent low, wondering if it made any difference. I felt the slightest easement in Andisla so I pressed myself against his neck.

  Veering near, Raifas shouted over the flurries whirling between us, “You in danger?”

  “No!” I screeched, the wind ripping away my high voice. “I think this gryph is tired.”

  “They’re quite strong,” he countered, swooping overhead. “But we can return if you like.”

  “Yes.” Maybe they were strong but they didn’t fly for choice in this weather, especially when the snow was so sticky. It was beginning to clump up over the gryph’s fais, along the harness, and over the saddle as well as the edge of Andisla’s wings. I tried to kick and brush away what I could reach until the wind almost took me and so I pressed in tight again.

  By the time the gryphs returned to the palace they were definitely struggling. Their wings had built up glistening globs of white, rimed with ice. Andisla landed heavily, shuddering a shower of clotted snow.

  I felt as if I wore a harness, as if that fais encircled my neck instead of my neck. An impulse seized me. After all that practice with the straw in the barn why not try something useful? I steadied myself against the low railing, concentrated, and whispered the fire spell as I brushed warmth over the bird to melt the icy snow.

  Andisla snapped his wings out, fluffed his feathers, and his head came up and around. He let out a thin cry that I felt as the gryph version of “Ah-h-h-h.”

  Raifas had bent into the wind and was already crossing the terrace toward the door into the palace. A thickening curtain of icy snow rendered him into a silhouette. Firebird wriggled and shook as attendants scurried out from the snow-obscured aviary to attend to the birds.

  Perhaps they had a way to get that ice off the gryphs, but I still used my spell to free Firebird of his load. Then I scudded after Raifas and left the bird-tenders to do whatever it was they did.

  As soon as we passed inside the doors I shook myself, fluffing my fuzz and snapping snow from my hair. The waiting servant handed Raifas his green silk robe, which he pulled over his riding clothes. Then he stood a couple paces away, arms crossed and head canted as I finished fluffing myself free of snow and ice.

  I stopped as soon as I noticed.

  He spoke. “Elenderi, may I ask how you knew the weather was turning to ice? Is this an innate knowledge?”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “Did you not feel the gryphs laboring?”

  “Firebird is stronger than a mere wind. The ride is the better when he strives and triumphs,” he said, and then added, “You very nearly caught up once or twice. The egg-civilized are never as fast as the wild, but your riding was superlative. You must have been riding since childhood.”

  I spread my hands in their manner, palm out. “That was my first.”

  This time the eyebrows didn’t shoot quite so high, but he gave me a speculative look, as if he didn’t believe me. Not that I cared if he did or not. I wasn’t going to talk about my flying. Let him think I lied like a rug. After all I’d spent a lifetime doing just that!

  “Do you care to ride again?” he asked finally.

  “Yes,” I said, with the first enthusiasm I’d felt since I’d been wrenched into Sveran Djur.

  He smiled. “If the storm lifts long enough and the wind is favorable, we could reach Ardam Pennon. Does that prospect interest you?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Your Imperial Serenity.” A new voice.

  Ingras approached, her steps so tiny it seemed as if she floated, or rolled on wheels. Seeing my gaze she halted and performed her most formal bow. “I beg forgiveness for my rude interruption. Most Noble, yours as well.”

  They both gave me expectant glances and I remembered that as the supposed senior in rank it was my prerogative to accept the interruption, or to end the conversation.

  “Were you looking for me?” I asked.

  “My sister desired me to request the honor of your company for an informal poetry reading,” she said, looking from him to me.

  Raifas’s smile was not a grin. Barely even a smile, and yet he seemed on the verge of laughter. I
saw nothing amusing in the invitation, and then Ingras said in the most formal manner, “Your Imperial Serenity, my sister and I would be honored if you would consider us as guides any time you wish to educate, ah, to acquaint yourself with our ways.”

  “I believe I may fairly say that the entire family would be honored by any questions you wish to ask,” Raifas said, and this time I recognized irony.

  I was missing some other undercurrent. I knew it though I could not identify it. So I backed up a step, remembered the exasperating bows, and said, “Another time?”

  And I fled. Halfway up the marble stairs I faltered. The idea of being closed in that suite with all those servants waiting for me to give them orders brought me to a stop. The music room? The way my heart surged scared me. I didn’t trust anything there, did not dare to.

  But I could get educated in order to defend myself, could I not? And I’d had an offer for exactly that.

  So I retraced my steps, running on my silent bare feet, just to discover the way to the perch balcony empty. I recollected the direction Ingras had come from and sped that way, shoulders hunched lest I run into an invisible wall and get burned.

  Six sides, lots of angled corners. I heard their voices before I saw anyone.

  Ingras, with her tiny steps, must have arrived directly before me for I heard Pelan say, “She comes not? And we went to all this trouble!”

  The first real, normal expression I’d ever heard in her voice.

  Ingras replied, “She ran off like some wild creature. Really, what is His Imperial Serenity thinking?”

  Pelan exclaimed, “Do you think he is thinking of getting an heir with her?”

  “Impossible,” Ingras replied firmly. And as I sagged against the wall in relief, “When he would burn any of his consorts for daring to have a child? No. Amney is certain he wants her for some other purpose in spite of his whim about calling her a princess.”

  Pelan said, “Then he will marry her off to the empire’s advantage, the same as all the rest of us. Was Raifas there?”