A Parliament of Owls

  "Even to allay suspicion?" Owl pressed. "I mean, what else could she do, if she were the poisoner?"

  "If I were the poisoner," Cithanekh said, "I would have left one or two untainted, so I could throw a safe one to my dog, and maybe eat another safe one myself, just for effect. Thantor, were all of the pieces tainted?"

  "Yes—which adds the possibility that the poison was added to the batter as it was mixed."

  "Oh, surely not," Cithanekh protested. "And run the risk of having a greedy kitchen servant spoil everything when he snitched a bit of the dough?"

  "I know—but we have so little evidence, it's hard to rule things out."

  "Does the Queen know you suspect Klarhynne?" Owl asked.

  "Yes. She's no fool. She had figured out that you thought Klarhynne might be in some way connected to the attempt on your life, so this is just more of the same, from her way of thinking. She's convinced that Klarhynne is totally innocent and that we will persecute her unjustly."

  "And what do you think?" Cithanekh asked.

  Thantor sighed heavily. "I don't know. I wish there were more evidence. Personally, I'm in favor of taking her into custody; but the Emperor won't act without conclusive proof."

  Owl smiled wryly. "Oh, for the good old days when the Empire was ruled by royal whim and fiat instead of by cumbersome laws."

  "It's the Emperor who insists on the laws, Owl," Thantor told him. "The nobles still use whim and fiat when it suits them. It makes for a somewhat uneven game, alas." He drained his coffee cup and rose to his feet. "I'd better go."

  Chapter Sixteen—More Puzzle Pieces

  The mindwork with Lynx turned out to be less strenuous than Owl had feared. They sat together at the dining table, after the remains of lunch had been cleared, while he integrated each image and name into his memories of voices and other facts and suppositions. None of the faces Lynx gave him stirred his Gift or answered some puzzle; but the knowledge was there—like a hoard of foodstuffs against the famine time.

  "You may go if you like, Lynx," he told her when they were finished. "I'm going to spend some time with the meditation techniques I mentioned to Arre and Kerigden."

  "Very well." She tapped the edge of the table cymbal with a fingernail. "Ring if you want me."

  As the door closed behind her, Owl swept the tag ends of worries and questions from his mind and set about building the inner silence that would lend his Gift extra strength and clarity. He leaned his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on the heels of his hands. Then he called up an image—the cage of brambles—and studied it. He followed the weave of the vines until their pattern was braided into his thoughts; he studied the glint of light on the lock of hair; he noted the richly grained wood of the table upon which it sat. As he held the image in his mind, other details formed around it: the arched shape of the window, reflected in the polished tabletop; the fringed edge of a jacquard throw in shades of green and russet, where it was pushed aside to let the brambles rest on the plain wood. He studied the shape of the window's reflection, then carefully tried to widen his focus to include the window itself. There! The window was tall and narrow, an ogive arch pierced through dark gray blocks, with creamy, fine-textured facing stones. Owl tried to get a glimpse of the view, but suddenly his concentration wavered and image disappeared.

  He sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair. He was surprised to feel sweat on his brow. For a few moments he took deep, centering breaths, then he again cleared his mind and summoned another image: the woman in the rain-gray robes; the goddess Talyene. He narrowed his focus to her face, letting all the other disparate elements of that image slip away. It was a striking face, not precisely beautiful, for the features were strong: high cheekbones, a long, straight nose, a stubborn chin, and a pair of fine gray eyes, thickly lashed, under thick, arched brows. Her dark hair blew in fine wavy strands across her face; as Owl watched, she raised one hand to brush it back.

  Talyene, he thought at the image.

  Talyene blinked and her lips parted. Owl. She smiled then. The last time we spoke, you were like a klaxon; now you are as subtle as a breath of air. What do you require of me?

  Surely I can but request; I cannot require anything of you, Lady Windbringer.

  Her smile was secretive. Your talents do indeed give you the ability to demand aid of me. So. What troubles you?

  Your priest Kerigden lies helpless in a binding wrought by blood sacrifice and forbidden magic. Can you break the binding? Can you free him?

  I could do that, but there are dangers; it is difficult to restrict my power to what a mortal's mind can bear. And the terms of my wager limit my direct action. She smiled sourly. My brother has a fluid definition of 'interference'—it is a far narrower term for me than for him.

  Wait! Owl protested. Wait. I thought you won your wager when Ycevi died.

  So did I, the Windbringer admitted, but my brother refused to accept our victory, since there were still strong powers arrayed against the Emperor. I agreed to continue the game, since I could not brook stalemate.

  I understand, Owl told her gravely. And in this extended game, you and your brother have agreed not to interfere directly?

  Neither of us is permitted to offer aid unless it is compelled by the power of one of our allies. Talyene fixed him with a searching look. You have compelled my presence with your calling; you may bid me to aid you.

  He smiled ruefully. So I must ask wisely. Very well. I do not wish to risk harm to Kerigden. Could you instead help me to discover a way I can break the binding?

  That I doubtless can do. It will be no easy thing, Owl, for you to break a blood binding of the Xhi'a'ieffth—especially not as it is, as you have guessed, a trap—but I have faith in you and your allies. There are three ways I know of to break the binding. The most obvious way is to retrieve the xhi'essiss—the net of brambles—and extract Kerigden's hair from it. The xhi'essiss is set like bait in a room designed to be a prison. You are expected to find it and be caught, but know this: it is not a perfect prison.

  Where is it? The room almost seemed familiar.

  It is meant to seem familiar. There are several chambers prepared: one in the Dhenykhare apartments in the Palace; one in the Dark Lady's Temple complex; one in a house in the Upper Town; there may be others of which I am unaware—or they may prepare others before you actually begin to hunt. I do not know in which chamber the xhi'essiss actually resides. Be very careful if this is the course of action you choose.

  Owl nodded. And the other ways to break the binding?

  If Hassyth is killed, the binding will dissolve; but he is an old evil, very strong, very cunning; and he is using several forms. If he is Bodywalking, he will be nearly impossible to trap and kill.

  Bodywalking?

  An expression of pain crossed Talyene's face. The Xhi'a'ieffth have many ways to use their victims. They can change their own likeness to that of one of their victims; this they can do only if the victim's life was taken in a particular ritual. The female form that Hassyth uses was his first such victim: his twin sister, Hassythe. When the Xhi'a'ieffth Bodywalk, they leave their own shell in a safe place and move their essence into the victim. It requires the consent of the host—though consent need not be gained honestly—and on rare occasions, a host can expel the Adept's essence. It is nearly impossible to kill a Bodywalking Adept, since he can escape to another borrowed body or return to his own shell in an instant. Long ago, the Amartans developed a tincture that will hold an Adept in a borrowed body, but the ingredients are scarce, and even I do not know the recipe; perhaps the secret is lost. It is a difficult matter, for even if you destroy the Adept's helpless shell, you only limit him to the borrowed bodies.

  And the third way to break the binding?

  Because the High Priestess of the Dark Lady took part in the blood rite, she bears a significant piece of the power that holds Kerigden bound. If you could persuade, or lure, or beguile her into releasing her hold, Kerigden could quite possibly bre
ak free. I cannot say how this might be accomplished; I do not know the woman—and I am loath to meddle too obviously with one of my sister Mehnyssarre's priests.

  Is it permitted that we know, Owl asked, which of your brothers you are wagering against.

  She shrugged. I suppose.

  Is it the Horselord?

  Khyghaferran? She laughed. No. It is Vasgrifallok—the god of fire and war, and the one who gave the forbidden knowledge to the Xhi'a'ieffth.

  Is he the Bone King, then?

  That is the only use-name the Bharaghlafi have for him. Your Lynx—or Kerigden—could tell you more of him. When the Fytrians went raiding, years upon years ago, his was the banner under which they sailed.

  Owl thought back to the histories of the gods he and Cithanekh had read together when the young lord had taught him to read. Vasgrifallok always struck me as a rather nasty piece of work.

  Talyene laughed. Indeed, yes. Owl, you must not overtire yourself. Is there anything else you need to know?

  A hundred things. Will this work if I do it again?

  I do not know. It might.

  Is there any way to tell when one of the Xhi'a'ieffth is Bodywalking?

  A Bodywalker casts a double shadow, but that is difficult to discern unless the host is trying to resist him.

  Is it just Hassyth we need to worry about, or are there many Adepts? Owl was suddenly aware of the strain; Talyene's image shivered, but with an effort he held it steady for her answer.

  He has consecrated a circle and is training his ienar'issthi, his cadre of acolytes. So far, there is only one other Adept of any significant skill.

  Who? Owl pressed with the last of his strength—but the image dissolved before the goddess could answer. He collapsed forward onto the table with a gasp, and lay there, struggling to breathe. He was clammy and shivering with exhaustion. After several minutes, he pulled himself together and groped for the table cymbal. The step that answered the summons was not Lynx's, but Effryn's.

  "Gods and fish!" the steward swore. "Owl, what have you done to yourself?"

  "I'm all right," Owl insisted—though his gasping croak was not very convincing. "I'm just tired. Can you bring some coffee and something to eat? And find Lynx. I need to go to Kerigden."

  ***

  The Scholar King sat at the desk in his private study. Ostensibly, he was pondering the relative merits (or lack thereof) of the proposed candidates for Admiral. In actuality, he was brooding. He had spent several trying hours with his Queen and her ladies. It had been difficult to maintain a soothing manner when he was convinced to his bones that the attempt had not been directed at the Queen at all, but rather at Arre. Understandably, Celave was upset; but the speed with which she had transformed her distress into attack disturbed him. She had gone so far as to accuse Owl and Arre of engineering the incident themselves, in order to enhance the Seer's reputation. He had no doubts about Owl's loyalty or abilities, but he could see how destructive such an insidious rumor would be. And there were people who would say anything for money, and plenty of nobles who would have no scruples about paying their fees.

  He realized Celave had likely gone on the offensive to distract him from the question of Klarhynne. She had brought the tray of dainties from the kitchens and could easily have paused en route to dose them; and there had been enough time, from the moment she set the tray down and departed from the Queen's presence to the instant the alarm was raised, for her safely to dispose of an incriminating vial of poison. But all of this reasoning was purely circumstantial; the young woman could just as easily have brought the already doctored tray from the kitchens in perfect innocence. The Imperial Guard were still engaged in questioning the servants and slaves, but Khethyran didn't have high hopes for their uncovering anything conclusive.

  Just then, there was a tap at his door: Arre—it was the rhythm she always used. "Come in," he invited and she slipped through the door and closed it behind her.

  He took her in his arms and kissed her. "Thank all the gods you're all right," he murmured into her hair.

  "Thank Owl," she replied, clinging to him.

  "Indeed." He released her and studied her face for a moment. "How's Kerigden?"

  She shrugged. "Bound. He can swallow, so he's not in immediate danger. He's afraid, Kheth. He's not used to being helpless. Owl said he would try some meditation techniques to see whether he can find out more and generate a strategy; I expect he'll fill us in when he's done that. We talked, Cithanekh, Owl, Lynx and I; we think you need to hold one of your Dreaded Receptions so Owl can interact with your Admiralty candidates—and poke in a few other hornets' nests."

  Khethyran made a face. "I suspected it would come to that, so I instructed Thantor to put the security arrangements into motion. Will tomorrow afternoon suit you?"

  "Suit me? Do you imagine I enjoy these things?" Then her gaze turned speculative. "Dhyrakh's pushing you pretty hard, is he?"

  "I have taken a long time over what he must believe is a mere formality."

  The animation left Arre's face suddenly, leaving it looking strangely blank; her voice, when she spoke was curiously toneless. "It won't much matter whom you appoint. Myrhaf is senile and will be easy for Dhyrakh's cadre to control; Akhatheraf is so venal, the cadre will either buy him or destroy him; and Morekheth will play Dhyrakh's game as long as it suits his ends."

  The Scholar King was startled, but he managed to ask his question in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice. "And will it be better or worse for us when Morekheth starts to play the game on his own behalf?"

  Arre blinked and frowned. "What did you say?"

  He repeated his question and when she still looked puzzled, he said, "Do you remember what you just said?"

  "I said that Dhyrakh is pushing you pretty hard."

  "You did. And then I said, 'I have taken a long time over what he must believe is a mere formality,' and you said, 'It won't much matter whom you appoint. Myrhaf is senile and will be easy for Dhyrakh's cadre to control; Akhatheraf is so venal, the cadre will either buy him or destroy him; and Morekheth will play Dhyrakh's game as long as it suits his ends.' You don't recall saying that?"

  Arre shivered. "No. That's what I hate most about my oracular gift: I never remember what I said—or even that I said anything. I wish I could learn to control it."

  The Emperor shrugged. "It is one of the wild powers. The wild powers are not subject to control."

  Arre smiled wryly. "But the Kellande School doesn't accept wild powers. Everything can be controlled—just ask Torres."

  "Oh, we've had that argument many times, he and I. It isn't like you, Arre, to play the apologist for your brother's views."

  "Point taken." She shivered again. "Somehow it isn't very reassuring to know that it won't make any difference whom you appoint."

  "There's no good answer, but I knew that. The question is whether there is a lesser evil among the choices. Besides the Admiralty candidates, whom should I invite to my reception?"

  "Owl suggested Mouse and Thyzhecci. Lynx wants Lady Khycalle Ynghorezh Ythande, and Cithanekh suggested Enghan Mebhare, Rhydev and Ancith Anzhibhar-Ghytteve."

  Khethyran raised an eyebrow. "Are we supposed to know Ancith Anzhibhar-Ghytteve is at Court?"

  Arre spread her hands. "We do know. Invite him and let Rhydev sweat."

  "I shall invite a few ladies as well: Lady Mylazhe and Yverri Ambhere—"

  "Yverri?" Arre interrupted. "Kheth, you're not matchmaking, are you?"

  "She'd make a good wife for Cithanekh. She's beautiful, wealthy, clever. If he has to marry, surely she'd be a good choice."

  "Why do you imagine Cithanekh has to marry? He doesn't need an heir. He's not Duke."

  "Where will my son find his advisors if my loyal courtiers don't raise up troops of like-minded children?"

  Arre was silent for a moment. "You know, Kheth, I think you'd better let Cithanekh and Owl make those decisions for themselves. Can we scratch Yverri?"

  "No—but I won't thr
ow her at Cithanekh. I think I'll also invite Lady Azhine Azhere Glakhyre."

  "It will be hard to invite Lady Azhine without including her idiot husband, Ymlakh."

  "On the contrary, it's very simple, Arre. I won't put his name on the invitation and he won't come."

  Arre found herself smiling at the wicked glint in his eyes. "Aren't you afraid you'll offend him?"

  "No. In fact, I think it may prove a salutary lesson to him," he said. Then, relenting, he told her about Ymlakh's lapse of manners during the Council meeting.

  Arre grinned. "Egalitarian you may be, but still Emperor? Is that it?"

  "Something like that," he agreed. His expression sobered suddenly. "Arre, I think Celave is going to start the rumor that Owl arranged the poisoning incident to bolster his reputation. Warn him, will you. Of course I give it no credence, but some plotter is likely to seize on it and attempt to use the tale to discredit Owl."

  "I'll tell him—in fact, that's where I'm going next. He'll probably want to visit Kerigden again; I plan to go with him if he does."

  "Will I see you later, then?"

  "Of course. For dinner or after?"

  The Emperor sighed. "After. I'm dining with the Ambassador from the Federated States."

  She made a face. "A pompous windbag, if ever there was one. I'll see you later, then."

  ***

  Rhydev Azhere, with Ancith beside him, reclined on a divan. The coffee service was set out on the low table before them. The Councilor for House Azhere studied his man Ghorran over the rim of his delicate china coffee cup. "An attempt on my cousin Celave's life?" he drawled. "How touching it should be foiled by one of her faithful dogs. But why? I cannot see any—mmm—advantage to be gained by her death. She's already borne an heir, and if the Emperor were still concerned with the succession, there would be nothing to prevent him marrying again."

  "Perhaps the poisoner is someone who hopes to maneuver a daughter, sister or cousin into a better position?" the bodyguard suggested.