A Parliament of Owls

  He subsided with an air of disapproval, and they made the rest of the trip in silence.

  Khofyn, who was on duty at the door of the Ghytteve complex, stared in amazement at their escort of Imperial Guards, but he made no comment until the three had come in and the heavy door was shut behind them. Then he turned to Lynx, his eyebrows rising clear to his hairline. "Well?"

  Lynx eyed him impassively. "Remind me not to use chairs for hire," she said as they passed further into the complex.

  "Are you going to get away with that?" Owl asked curiously as they made their way to Cithanekh's study, where the young lord was likely to be at this hour.

  "Oh no. I'll make a full report—Cezhar will probably meet us in the study," she explained. "But Khofyn has more curiosity than he needs; I don't see why I should indulge it."

  "So instead, you torment him?"

  "If you like."

  Cithanekh was working on the household ledgers with Effryn when they came in. As he took in their rather disheveled state, his welcoming smile turned to a look of alarm. "What happened?"

  Before they were even all the way into the room, Cezhar appeared in the doorway. "Yes, what did happen?" he reiterated.

  Owl sat down on the hassock he favored and Arre took one of the wooden chairs by the door. Lynx remained standing.

  "It was my fault," she said. "I hired a sedan chair to take us to the Temple District. My mistake was in bidding them to wait. Someone apparently bribed the bearers to abandon their chair, and then he substituted his own people in an attempt to kidnap us. They took us into the tannery district—Owl alerted me we were not headed home when he smelled the tanning pits. Arre and I dispatched the bearers. There were at least two other accomplices, but apparently our attack took them by surprise; they—or at least one of them—followed us and made an attempt to strike from hiding before we got back to the Temple District. Owl warned us, so he and Arre were able to dodge while I tried to apprehend the assailant. I had only a glimpse of him—not very helpful. He was of average height, wearing dark clothes of good quality. He threw a dart, gray-fletched and probably poisoned. We left it for fear that someone would be scratched by it if we had to dodge again. We made it back to the Temple District without further incident, and Assakh sent for the Imperial Guard to escort us home."

  "How did you know the bearers had been substituted?" Cezhar asked. "If you noticed they were different, why did you get in the chair—and if you didn't notice, how can you be sure that you didn't just kill four men who had been fed some tale about playing an innocent trick on you and bribed for it?"

  "My Gift showed me the transaction," Owl said, "though not, alas, before we'd been duped."

  "Thank all the gods you're all right," Effryn said.

  "Thank Lynx," Arre said. She looked levelly at the other woman. "I never want you against me in a fight, Lynx."

  Cithanekh came across the room to stand beside Owl. He squeezed his friend's shoulder, the touch freighted with all the things he could not say. "In the future, Lynx," he said, and his voice only shook a little, "plan to take at least one other of the bodyguards with you, when you and Owl leave the Palace."

  Owl reached up and covered Cithanekh's hand.

  "How closely do you think we are observed, Lynx?" Cezhar asked. "You don't habitually use a hired sedan chair; someone must have been watching—and then been able to move fast when the opportunity presented itself."

  She shrugged. "Possibly there was an informer among or watching the gate guards. Possibly the Dark Lady's people spy on the Windbringer's. I suppose that it is even possible that someone tails Owl whenever he goes out. We are hardly inconspicuous; I have not, however, noticed any watchers. For what it is worth," she added, "I do not think this attempt was carefully thought out. The tannery district stinks; if our attackers had thought, they would have chosen a different route. And they did not have a contingency plan worked out for a counterattack."

  "Or possibly they did not expect you to attack without asking questions first," Cithanekh said.

  Lynx's voice was puzzled. "Ought I to have asked questions? It would have made it far harder to keep Owl safe if I had spoiled our surprise by asking them what they were doing."

  "They can't have expected you to be aware of the change in bearers," Cezhar said. "And taking four bearers out for what might simply have been a miscommunication isn't a reaction they would anticipate from a Ghytteve."

  "I'm not criticizing," Cithanekh said. "I'm very relieved you're safe. I trust you to take the precautions necessary in the future."

  "Speaking of necessary precautions," Arre said, "Kheth asked me to warn you that he thinks the Queen is likely to start the rumor that Owl arranged the poisoning as an attempt to bolster his reputation. I hope you know better than to imagine he'd put any credence on such a ridiculous notion, but he did think you ought to be warned. It's possible one of our enterprising enemies may try to use the tale."

  "Do you mean they might arrange some kind of corroborative evidence?" Cithanekh asked. "That sounds like Rhydev's style. Thanks, Arre; at least we won't be blindsided."

  Owl snorted. "So to speak." And suddenly they were all laughing. When the laughter subsided, Owl said, "I invited Arre to dinner, so Effryn, set an extra place, please."

  "Of course. I'll see to it."

  As the steward left, Arre slanted a speculative look at the young Ghytteve Councilor. "Cithanekh, would you be willing to lend me a bodyguard? Commander Bhenekh was making noises about saddling me with a couple of Imperial Guards, but I have doubts about that plan."

  "I'd be happy to lend you someone, Arre," he responded unhesitatingly. "What does it do to the duty schedules, Cezh?"

  "We can manage. Or you could write to the Duke and ask him to send more people—he could certainly spare a few."

  "That's a good idea. I'll write. Can we put you up, Arre? There's plenty of space—a whole damned guest suite—and it would be easier to coordinate if this were your base of operations."

  "Besides," Owl added, "the food's good."

  Arre smiled. "I'm not imposing?"

  "I offered."

  "Then I'd like to."

  "Wonderful. Cezhar, organize the transfer of her things from—where's your room, Arre?"

  "I have a room in the Royal Library complex—I think it used to be a copyist's quarters. There's not much stuff." She smiled wryly. "I left all the huge wardrobes full of gold and jeweled Court dresses at home in Kalledann."

  "Leave it to me," Cezhar said. He caught Lynx's eye and the two of them left together.

  ***

  Chapter Eighteen—Gossip and Speculation

  "I'm off to Council," Cithanekh said, draining the last of his coffee and setting the cup down among the remains of the breakfast.

  "Enjoy yourself," Owl said ironically.

  "Will you be here when I get back?"

  "I expect so."

  He took Owl's hand, held it for a moment. "Then, I'll see you later. Khofyn?"

  "My lord," the bodyguard responded as he took his place at the young lord's shoulder.

  Owl listened as their footsteps receded. "Lynx," he said when they were alone. "I want you to teach me to defend myself."

  "I will defend you, Owl," she told him.

  "I know. But yesterday…" He shivered. "I felt helpless, yesterday: helpless and useless. I don't want to feel like that again. Kerigden told me that even the blind members of the Eschaddan were amazing fighters."

  "But the Eschaddan are taught the body discipline from the time they are children."

  "You weren't."

  "No, but Owl, the body discipline of the Eschaddan isn't something you can learn in a morning—or, or in lessons, twice a week."

  "I know. I know that you practice every day; and Cezhar told me you're working with the others, too. Can't I join those sessions?"

  "No. That would do you no good. I help them to hone the skills they already possess—and their kind of fighting relies upon sight." She sighed
explosively. "I could try to teach you something—but privately; not with the others. And I cannot tell if you will be able to learn any of it."

  "I'm only asking you to try, Lynx."

  "All right." She thought for a moment. "If we go now, the training floor will be empty. Go change into clothes you can move in, and I'll meet you up there. It will all be stretching and strengthening exercises for days and days, Owl," she warned him. "And I am not patient."

  "I'll try to refrain from whining, then," he told her as he made his way to the door.

  As it turned out, he didn't whine, though possibly that was because she kept him too short of breath. After an hour, sweaty and trembling with exhaustion, Lynx sent him brusquely off to bathe. "Tomorrow," she added darkly as he dragged himself to the doorway, "when you are stiff and aching, it will be worse."

  He turned toward her voice, bestowing one of his sweet, beautiful smiles on her. "I can hardly wait."

  In spite of herself, Lynx laughed.

  ***

  Mouse sat on her favorite bench in the Palace gardens, sketchbook in hand. She was, she knew, a familiar sight; none of the garden habitues would look twice when they saw her. But for all that the book was open, her quill poised, she was not looking for a subject to draw. Rather, she was hoping to seize a chance to fall into casual conversation with one of the few Dhenykhare she knew: perhaps the steward, Khamarh, or one of the bodyguards—Pezh or Zhedhyn, for preference—who had often been assigned to the Admiral when he was in town.

  She dipped her quill again and drew, with offhanded precision, the profile of a youth—almost a boy—in Azhere livery who stood silent in a crowd of laughing courtiers. There was something familiar about him, she thought, as she drew the languid hand fingering the dangling earring. As she raised her eyes for another glimpse, she saw that he had turned and was looking at her. He left the others and moved across the gravel path in her direction.

  "Don't you ask permission," he drawled with studied insolence, "before you steal someone's likeness?"

  "No." She was unabashed. "Not when I'm practicing. These are private drawings—my diary, if you like. You wouldn't ask someone before you recorded a witticism or incident in a journal, would you?"

  "Who are you? What's your name?"

  "I'm Amynne Ykhave. And you?"

  "Azhere," he said.

  "So one would surmise from your colors. Don't you have a first name?"

  He hesitated. "Ancith."

  "I'm pleased to meet you. Are you part of the Prime Minister's household, or the Councilor's?"

  He hesitated again. "The Councilor's. And you?"

  "I'm the ward of the Ykhave Councilor. I help his secretary keep things in order, somewhat. Venykhar is given to making design notes in all sorts of unlikely places; I find them—then transcribe and organize them. What purpose do you serve in Rhydev Azhere's household, or—" she added as faint color stained his high cheekbones— "shouldn't I ask?"

  He went crimson and her eyebrows rose. "I—I'm—" he stammered, but she shook her head.

  "Never mind. Clearly, it's none of my business."

  He looked down at her with irritation. "Why did you choose to draw me?" he demanded petulantly. "There's a whole garden full of people."

  She shrugged. "I didn't know you. And you remind me of someone—I can't think whom. Do you have a brother at Court? Or maybe a cousin? You really don't resemble the others I know from Clan Azhere."

  "That's really none of your business either, is it?" he retorted, recovering somewhat his languid insolence. "If your kin sent you to Court to polish your manners, you still have some work to do."

  "Fortunately for me," she said imperturbably, "the Ykhave value skill over manners—and talent over breeding." Suddenly, she caught sight of Pezh Dhenykhare, his livery marred by a wide black armband. She rose easily. "You'll excuse me? It's been a pleasure."

  He bowed slightly and watched her with narrowed eyes as she moved off to intercept the dark young man in Dhenykhare colors.

  "Pezh!" she called.

  "Why hello, 'Myn. I wouldn't have thought to find you in the garden. No classes today?"

  Classes? Ancith thought. But he let them move away without making any effort to overhear the rest of their conversation.

  "There were, earlier, but I'm done for the day. Pezh, do you know the young man I was talking to? Ancith Azhere—one of Rhydev's: a bodyguard, maybe. Don't all you bodyguards know one another?"

  Pezh assessed him swiftly. "I don't know him. He doesn't stand like a fighter—but Azhere." He shrugged. "Rhydev expects his people to be actors as well as fighters, it seems." His expression turned cynical. "Attractive, too."

  "What?" she said with the silky malice that was her trademark among the courtiers. "Emphasis on body-guard? You know, Pezh, I've always wondered: with Rhydev's reputation being what it is, whatever possessed your Duke to offer him Rhyazhe in marriage?"

  Pezh raised his eyebrows and studied her so long that Mouse began to think he wouldn't reply. "It answered the question of what to do with her," he said finally.

  "Was she making his life difficult, then?" Mouse pressed. "The silk clans and the shipbuilders already have any number of common interests, don't they?"

  There was another long silence before Pezh, crossing his arms across his chest, frowned at her. "And why are you curious, of a sudden?"

  "I've been curious for a long time," Mouse assured him. "Did you know she was here, recently? She tried to abduct the Emperor's foreign bard."

  "Here?" he demanded. "And recently? How do you know this?"

  "Some of my students saw it. They summoned help—including me. We think Rhydev may have been behind it."

  "She doesn't have any fondness for the Azhere Councilor."

  "No; but he's rich. Why would she need money, Pezh?"

  Enlightenment suddenly transformed the bodyguard's expression. "By all the gods above and below she's going to do it," he said wonderingly. "Even without Varykh, she's going to do it."

  "Do what?"

  "Rhyazhe has designed a very unusual ship: very fast, very maneuverable. Varykh was going to help her build a few, but then the Guiding Light went down. I should have known even disaster wouldn't be enough to stop Rhyazhe."

  "She didn't get Rhydev's money," Mouse pointed out.

  "No; but she'll think of something else. And if we know she's trying, maybe we can help."

  "Who's we? Not Dhyrakh, surely."

  "No, not Dhyrakh, but some of us: all of Varykh's people, a few others."

  "Pezh, what do you suppose she wants that fleet for?"

  "Surely you can guess, Amynne," he retorted. "She's hoping to wrest control of the Clan away from Dhyrakh—and I hope by all the gods that she can do it."

  "Aren't you afraid to express such a sentiment aloud?"

  His eyes turned cold. "You won't tell Dhyrakh. They say the Guiding Light ran aground on the Jaws on a clear, moonlit night with a good strong wind. Does that sound like Varykh to you?"

  "No, but—"

  "Nor to me. There's treachery in it somewhere, Amynne, but I don't know whose. The Admiral and the Duke disagreed over more than just his treatment of Rhyazhe."

  Mouse hesitated, wondering if she dared to ask any more questions. So far, Pezh hadn't really told her anything she didn't already know—except that there was indeed a deal of division among the Dhenykhare. "What about Adythe's death? Was that part of this mess, too, or something separate? Rhyazhe said her father wanted her to murder her husband."

  Pezh's eyebrows shot up. "What? That doesn't make any sense. Oh, there will be tensions between Dhyrakh and Morekheth before the voyage is over, I wouldn't doubt, but at the moment they are sailing in formation."

  "Do you think he'd make a good Admiral?"

  "I don't know, 'Myn. I voted for him—but the other two weren't terribly impressive choices."

  "Why didn't Dhyrakh propose one of his sons? Are they still to young?" At Pezh's nod, she went on, "Or one of Rh
yazhe's brothers. Aren't they older?"

  "The twins?" Pezh laughed. "There's only one Admiral."

  "What do you mean? I'm afraid I don't know the men."

  "They're fanatically jealous of one another. Dhyrakh wouldn't dare to show one of them favor for fear of what the other would be driven to do."

  Mouse shook her head and remarked, "Just one big happy family."

  "Like any other clan—except, quite possibly, Ykhave."

  "Oh, we have our problems," she assured him. "It's just artistic rivalry instead of political." With that, she launched into a viciously satiric account of one such contretemps. Pezh was still chuckling when he bid her farewell and headed deeper into the garden.

  ***

  It was late when Arre, escorted by Rhan Ghytteve, made her way to the Emperor's suite. The Imperial Guards on duty did not appear to be surprised either by her appearance or by the presence of the Ghytteve bodyguard. One of the Guards gestured to a pair of chairs tucked into an alcove and said, "If you're going to wait, Ghytteve, you might as well be comfortable."

  "Thanks," Rhan said.

  Arre nodded to him before she went through the door the other Guard held open. Somewhat to her surprise, Thantor was on duty in the quiet halls. "Hello, Donkey—I mean Thantor. Everything all right?"

  He nodded. "The Emperor is in his bedchamber, but I don't think he's asleep. I believe he's reading."

  "Did the Ambassador upset him?"

  "No. Commander Bhenekh's report did, though."

  Her lips tightened in irritation. "I know that man is a loyal servant of the Empire, but I do wish he weren't such a meddler. I'm taking precautions, Donkey. I've moved my things into the Ghytteve complex, and Cithanekh is lending me bodyguards as necessary. Rhan's in the hall, even as we speak."

  "I know," the spymaster said. "Cezhar and Lynx explained when they collected your belongings. I've told the Emperor." With the subtle twitch that passed for his smile he added, "I don't think he's planning to scold you."

  Her answering smile was wry. "Thanks. Good night, Donkey."

  Khethyran's voice bade her enter before she'd even finished knocking. She went in, closing the door behind her. He was seated in one of the comfortable chairs, book held up to the light of an oil lamp on a nearby table. A flagon of wine and two empty cups waited beside the lamp. He set the volume aside as she came to him, then rose, drew her into his arms, and kissed her.