"Mouse," he moved carefully to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. She rose and hugged him, hard. For a moment they clung to each other, wordlessly, then she let him go.
"Be careful, Owl," she said. "They want you dead—don't oblige them."
He smiled crookedly. "I'll do my best. Watch your back." And he went out with his two bodyguards.
Once they were out in the street, Lynx mused, "You call her 'Mouse,' not 'Amynne' —even to the children at the school; and yet, she does not seem very mouse-like."
Owl smiled. "Mouse has always had more courage than a whole pride of lions, but she likes to be called Mouse. She says it gives her an advantage, that it puts children at ease and enemies off guard."
"And mice," Cezhar added, "for all their diminutive size, are really rather brave—and extremely resourceful, as anyone who has ever tried to keep them out of a pantry will attest."
"You're not the only one to notice the incongruity, Lynx," Owl said. "Even when Mouse was little, we sometimes used to tease her that she should have been named 'Shrew.' Wait until you've seen her lose her temper."
"Is she a fighter, then?" Lynx pursued. "She doesn't move like one."
Owl smiled. "When Mouse fights, she uses words."
"At least now," Cezhar amended. There was an undercurrent of wry amusement in his voice. "In the past, she's been known to bite."
At that, Owl laughed aloud. "But you have to admit, Cezh, she was provoked."
They walked on in silence for a moment before Lynx spoke. "Bite?" she prodded.
"The first time Mouse met my brother, Rhan, she bit him."
"Tell her the whole story, Cezh," Owl suggested.
Cezhar obliged, and the walk to the Palace passed amid reminiscences of Clan Ghytteve's first acquaintance with Owl and his other Slum-rat friends.
***
Arre was greeted at the door of Queen Celave's apartments by a woman whose every muscle proclaimed her disapproval. Arre smiled at her then, prompted by an inner imp of mischief she said, "You must be Lady Azhine Azhere Glakhyre, no?"
Azhine did her best to look down her nose at the taller foreign woman in her scandalous attire and said, quellingly, "How would such as you presume to know my name?"
"I have a good memory for faces," Arre said pleasantly, "and other things. Aren't you the one who cut your hair so you could pass for your brother and race his horse at some festival or other? You'd have gotten away with it, too, if you hadn't won."
Azhine's disapproval changed to horrified shock. "Who told you that story?" she demanded.
"I'm sorry. Was it a secret? Kheth told me."
Azhine made an attempt to regain her frosty disapproval. "Kheth? Kheth? You call His Royal Majesty Khethyran Anzhibhar, the Supreme Emperor of Bharaghlaf, Kheth?"
"Indeed. When I met him, he was a student at the Kellande School. We all called him Kheth. Bharaghlafi names are such a mouthful. Don't you have a nickname? 'Zhine, maybe?"
"To you," she said pointedly, "I am the Lady Azhine Azhere Glakhyre."
Arre smiled brightly. "Well then, we're making progress. When you let me in here, you didn't think I had a right even to your most formal name."
A wry expression brushed the Lady Azhine's features for an instant. "I do not approve of this meeting," she said. "Her Majesty has no business associating with such as you."
Arre crossed her arms and stared at the other woman. "Such as me," she repeated quietly. "Which me do you find most objectionable? The Bard? The Kellande Seer? The unconventional foreigner? The Emperor's lover? I assure you, by Kalledanni standards, I'm quite respectably born."
"A lady," Azhine said icily, "shouldn't dignify her lord husband's peccadilloes with her notice."
"Oh, I see," Arre retorted with faint sarcasm. "It isn't that you disapprove of me at all, but that you disapprove of the Queen's behavior. I would have thought," she added in an overly innocent tone, "given Bharaghlaf's rigid class hierarchy, that such a judgment would be somewhat presumptuous even for a lady in waiting of your rank."
Azhine studied Arre stonily for several moments. "I've never heard anyone accuse you of being a fool, Arre of Kalledann, but I didn't realize you could tie someone up with words quite so adroitly. Her Majesty is waiting. Will you come this way, please?"
Arre followed the lady through the elegant apartments to a sitting room that gave on a loggia overlooking the Queen's gardens. Two of the Queen's dogs lay beneath one of the benches. They raised their heads as Azhine brought Arre through the glass doors, but they did not bark. There was a table set up in the fragrant shade afforded by the vines, and at the table sat the Queen.
"Arre of Kalledann," Lady Azhine announced, and with a curtsey she withdrew.
"Your Majesty," Arre greeted her with a bow. "I'm honored."
Queen Celave gestured to the chair opposite her. "Please: sit. Tea?" She lifted the pitcher of cool tea and without waiting for an answer, filled two tall silver goblets. Arre watched the Queen's graceful motions, wondering whether Owl's admonition, "Don't eat anything," had meant not to drink anything, either. She accepted the goblet the Queen passed to her, but she did not drink from it.
"Why did you summon me, Your Majesty?" Arre asked her.
The Queen studied her for several moments before she spoke. "You're not beautiful, nor particularly graceful. You haven't birth or breeding, wealth or family connections, not even a biddable nature. In short, you have none of the attributes the men of Bharaghlaf are supposed to desire in a woman."
"Those," Arre said gently, "are the qualities Bharaghlafi men value in a wife. He didn't marry me."
Celave's lips twisted wryly. "He said you wouldn't have him."
"How could I marry him?" she asked reasonably. "I am not what he needs in a wife and a queen. Besides, it would have driven the Council of Advice into open revolt."
"But he loves you." It was not a question.
"Your Majesty, it does not seem to me that Emperors—or for that matter the ladies of the aristocracy—are permitted to marry for love."
The Queen set her goblet down and watched a droplet of condensation run down the side. "The ladies of the aristocracy are not permitted to disport themselves with other people's husbands, either. Is Kalledann really so different that your behavior does not make you outcast there?"
"Kalledann is different; and I am a Bard and a Seer, which makes me something of a rule unto myself. Why did you ask me here, Your Majesty?"
"I don't know. I thought I might understand him better if I met you. I thought—I suppose I thought I might be able to bribe or shame you into leaving Court." Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. "I thought you would be beautiful, and I could frighten you with the specter of being cast off when your looks fade. I must have been thinking of you as a courtesan—and the gods know how precarious that way of life can be. But you are unassailable. He loves you. It isn't passion and desire which bind you, but friendship. How can I possibly compete with that?"
"Why must you compete? You're his wife, the mother of his children. Surely—"
"I warn you," she cut in. "If you tell me he's very fond of me, I shall throw something at you. Don't patronize me."
"I don't mean to patronize you," Arre said. "But I'm not sure I understand what you want from him."
"I want him to love me," she snapped.
"Are you sure?" Arre challenged. "And what do you mean by love? You've known all your life that you would be given in marriage to someone with no regard for how you felt about him—or he about you, I suppose. Why cling to this romantic fairytale—especially when I think it quite likely that you both might become friends. He never speaks of you with anything less than perfect respect and courtesy."
"Respect and courtesy," she scoffed bitterly. "Oh, I'll grant he has lovely manners—and such control. But I want him to love me. I want him to fling himself at my feet, to write poetry to my left eyebrow, and to promise to make the sun stand still in the sky for me!"
"Kheth?" Arre
queried. "It sounds like you want a fairytale prince who worships you."
"Well, why not? Other people get to have fairytale relationships. Just look at Councilor Cithanekh and Owl Ghytteve."
"Yes," Arre said with sudden, painful intensity. "Let's do look at Owl and Cithanekh. Who adores whom in that relationship? Cithanekh would like nothing more than to be able to protect and treasure Owl, but instead, he has to set him free to fly blind into whatever poisonous intrigue the Court can brew. And Owl…Owl gets to use his Gift to safeguard Cithanekh and all the people he loves—knowing all the while that what he needs to See may not come to him in time, or he may not be able to interpret it; and that failure means destruction to everyone he holds most dear. Does it still sound like a fairytale, Your Majesty?"
The Queen was silent, studying Arre intently. Then she lowered her gaze to the polished stone tabletop and traced a pattern with one fingertip in the moisture the sweating goblet had left. "And what do you want, Arre of Kalledann?"
"I want Kheth to survive. I want him to be able to institute his reforms—preferably without embroiling himself and all of us in civil war. I want him to know joy; I've given up hoping for mere happiness or contentment—I don't think he can have the sort of peace that breeds contentment without compromising his integrity. And no matter what happens, I want a place in his shadow."
"You think me a shallow fool," the Queen said, without looking up.
"It doesn't matter what I think," Arre responded. "Foreign and scandalous as I am, I'm not worth your notice."
"Don't," she said, looking up suddenly. Arre was shocked to see tears in her eyes. "He loves you. He would give you the earth, and all you want is to walk through hell at his side. Perhaps I am a shallow fool."
Arre returned her gaze steadily. At last she said, "There's no law that says you must remain a shallow fool, Your Majesty."
"And who will teach me depth and wisdom?" she asked, trying for a light tone. "My silly lapdogs?"
"If you're determined to learn, you'll find teachers."
"That's easy for you to say," the Queen muttered, but at that moment they were interrupted by the approach of a plain dark-haired lady in waiting, bearing a tray of sweetmeats. She presented it with a curtsey and the Queen smiled at her. "Thank you, Klarhynne."
"You're welcome, Majesty," she murmured as she withdrew.
Arre eyed the elegant confections with sudden, deep misgivings. They were fashioned in the shape of flowers: roses, lilies, peonies, poppies, each delicately detailed and colored with spun sugar.
"Marzipan," the Queen said, gesturing to the platter. "Have some." Her hand hovered between a pink lily and a yellow sunflower.
"No," Arre said. "Don't…"
The Queen froze and stared at her. "I beg your pardon."
"Don't. Owl said…This morning, when I told him I was to have tea with you, he told me not to eat anything, 'Especially if there's marzipan,' he said."
"Are you implying that I would poison you?"
"Your Majesty, I'm not implying anything. I'm simply relaying Owl's warning—and explaining why I am refusing your dainties."
The Queen whistled and the dogs came to her side. "Shall we employ a taster?"
"Don't," Arre said again. "I respect Owl far too much to flout his warning, no matter what the assurances."
"Aren't you afraid you'll offend me," she asked dangerously.
"I'm more afraid of the look on Owl's face if I were to disregard his warning and come to harm."
"If you were poisoned, you wouldn't have to see his face."
"No," Arre agreed. "But I can imagine it—and that's bad enough."
The Queen took a candy. As she tossed it to one of the dogs, she said, "Foolish. He's a charlatan."
The dog snapped the sweet out of the air with delicate precision. An instant later, it fell to its side and lay gasping.
"Frysse," the Queen said, shocked. "Gods! Frysse!"
The dog convulsed and then lay still. The Queen stared at Arre, her face completely white. Arre leapt to her feet, overturning her chair with a clatter. "Lady Azhine!" she cried in her trained, powerful voice. "Fetch the guards!" Then she sprang to the Queen's side and caught her as she fainted.
After that, there was a good deal of confusion. The Queen's ladies screamed and wept, the Queen's Guardsman sent for reinforcements, the kitchen servants were summoned and began to protest and wail when they realized it was a question of poisoning. Arre supported the unconscious Queen through all the chaos until the Royal Healer arrived. On his heels was Thantor.
"Hello, Donkey," she said as she handed the Queen over to the Healer.
"Hello, Arre. You certainly have a way of stirring things up."
Arre managed a smile. "It's all Owl's fault."
"Ah," he said gravely.
"Well, it is. He told me not to eat the marzipan."
Donkey's eyebrows rose. "And you told the Queen." At her nod, he said, "She couldn't have known. She'd sooner sacrifice one of her daughters than that dog."
"Where's Kheth?"
"He's still in the Council meeting. Commander Bhenekh will send one of his men with the news as soon as he has a chance to think of it."
"You could nudge him, surely? Kheth won't mind being dragged out of another acrimonious discussion between Duke Ymlakh and Master Dharhyan."
Thantor cast an assessing glance in Commander Bhenekh's direction. The man was surrounded by the Queen's ladies, all in various stages of hysterics. "I think the poor man needs his concentration. Are you going to disappear?"
"Is that a hint?"
"If you like. Go find out if Owl talked to Mouse—and whether she knew the girl. How's Kerigden?"
"About the same. His Healer says she can feed him liquids. How did you know about that?"
"Cithanekh. Arre, before you go. Who brought the marzipan to you? Was it one of the kitchen servants or a lady in waiting?"
Arre thought back. "One of the ladies. The Queen called her Klarhynne." She noticed the way Donkey's face stilled to watchfulness. "Does that mean something to you?"
"It could. Arre, go. I want you gone before the Healer succeeds in reviving Her Majesty."
Arre touched his shoulder. "Just for you." Then she retraced her path through the Queen's apartments and let herself out.
Chapter Fifteen—Repercussions
Cithanekh kept his expression unrevealing as Ymlakh Glakhyre and the Master of the Caravans Guild began another volley of imprecations and insults.
"—why a pack of thieving commoners imagine they can spite—"
"Thieving commoners? Thieving? I would have said that was a word that best applied to the nobility—oh, your pardon, lofty lord. You call it 'shrewd dealing'—but still you expect my people to risk their lives with the bandits for the mere honor of it. Well, let me tell you—"
"Oh, no!" Ymlakh cut in. "You've said more than enough! There is no excuse for such rudeness. You have no right to address your betters in such a way. You should be thrashed for such insolence instead of coddled and indulged by an egalitarian monarch."
The egalitarian monarch in question lifted a finger and a painfully awkward silence fell. When the Emperor spoke, his voice was deceptively mild. "Perhaps, Ymlakh, you should be thankful that I value honest discourse enough to overlook the occasional lapse of manners."
The silence stretched tautly as the moment for apologies came and went. "It seems to me," the Emperor continued, "that the two of you will argue until the sun freezes unless some cooler heads take action. Dharhyan, if I ordered a company of training cadets to accompany each caravan would that answer—at least in part—your concerns about the raiders?"
"Imperial Guard or Cavalry?" Master Dharhyan asked sharply.
The Warlord, who had been sitting impassively throughout the meeting, shifted in his seat and fixed narrowed eyes on the Caravan Guildmaster's face. "Does it matter, Master Dharhyan?" he asked with a dangerous edge to his voice.
"Actually," the Emperor said
, "I was thinking of the Imperial Guard since—" he smiled wryly in the Warlord's direction— "it wouldn't be egalitarian enough for me to commit your people without at least consulting you."
The Warlord raised his eyebrows. "I have no objections, Your Majesty. It could be a useful training exercise. Some of my men need…seasoning." He cast an assessing look at Dharhyan, as though he could gauge the source of the Caravan Guildmaster's initial question.
"Master Dharhyan?" the Emperor pressed, willing the man to cover his gaffe with the Warlord.
"A company of guards would certainly reassure the Caravan Guild. And of course," he added smoothly, with a nod to the Warlord, "a company of Cavalry would be better able to defend the caravan than a troop of foot soldiers."
"Then please take this proposal back to your Guild members: we will send Cavalry with the caravans on the condition that the Guild will continue under the current rates."
The Caravan Guildmaster nodded slowly. "I believe I can guarantee that my Guild members will have no objections to such an arrangement."
"Ymlakh?" Khethyran pressed. "Will the wool clans agree?"
"It seems to me that if the safety of the caravans is being guaranteed by the Imperium, the Guild might actually agree to a lower carrying charge. After all—"
"My Lord Duke and Councilor," the Emperor said very gently, "I proposed this compromise to bring an end to the stalemate, not to reopen the controversy. If you press for a lower carrying charge, I might decide to insist upon a tariff on wool and woolen goods to defray the cost of the armed escorts."
Ymlakh stared in outrage at the Emperor's bland face, but before he could gather his wits to respond, Enghan Mebhare spoke up unexpectedly.
"Give it up, Ymlakh. It's been over a year since the last increase, and you won't get a better deal. Before the meeting this morning you were saying that you'd settle for an increase of a third of what the Guild was asking. Be grateful—and stop arguing."
It was a long speech from the Councilor from the farming clans. It engendered a hint of speculation in the expression of more than one of his colleagues. Into the silence, before Khethyran could dismiss them, Dhyrakh Dhenykhare spoke.