A Parliament of Owls

  "Twice. But it's not luck; it's Lynx. Your sources are good."

  "Not as good as you think. I only heard of the one—a friend on the Guard told me about the sedan chair. What was the other?"

  "A boy under a compulsion."

  The Ythande Councilor made a sound in her throat reminiscent of a growl. "So. Is that why Amynne Ykhave is so angry? Someone is preying on her students?"

  Owl nodded, his voice barely more than a breath. "The boy was the second death. There was also a sacrifice at moon-dark."

  Khycalle's indrawn breath hissed sharply. "Do you know," she asked after a moment, "what they have done with the power?"

  "Yes. They placed a binding on Talyene's High Priest: he is trapped in his unresponsive body."

  Her hand tightened sharply on his arm though her quiet voice did not alter. "But he lives?" At Owl's nod she said, "That is a death-spell. He must be very strong."

  Owl nodded again.

  After a moment, she said, "Earlier, I saw you with the young Ambhere—the one who waits on the Queen. How well do you know her?"

  "Not well. Hardly at all."

  "That is not how it looked, with her clinging to your sleeve and blinking with adoration at you."

  "I can't help that. She said she was going to flirt outrageously and give everyone something new to gossip about. Why do you care?"

  "Be careful. I believe our enemy has an ally—or a contact, or a guise—among the Queen's women."

  "Do you think it is her?"

  "No." The word was almost reluctant. "All the same, if he has—as they say—a footstep in that company, and she talks about you, then she will be in danger, and you will be in great danger. There is more I want to say to you—but not here. Will you meet me later?"

  "Come by the Ghytteve apartments, if you like."

  "And talk to you in front of your lover and your bodyguard?"

  "And whatever other friends and allies happen to be there. You don't like that idea?"

  She laughed. "As they say: half a roast is better than none."

  Owl raised an eyebrow. "The phrase is half a loaf—bread, not meat."

  "Ah: plain and nourishing, and no luxury. Tell me, Owl: do you really prefer men?"

  His mouth quirked in a wry and tender smile. "Really, I prefer Cithanekh."

  "And that," she said very gently, "is unanswerable. I will see you—and your lover and your bodyguard and everyone else—later." Then she bowed to him and moved off.

  Owl shook his head and made a face. "Does Cithanekh have to put up with this, too?"

  "I don't know. You could ask Cezhar."

  He snorted. "You could ask Cezhar. He'd tease me about it."

  The High Priestess has turned this way, she told him suddenly. I think—yes: she sees you; she is coming toward us.

  Is Dhyrakh still with her?

  No, but Morekheth is; he's hanging back—like he did before, when you talked with Ancith.

  Thanks.

  "Lord Owl Ghytteve," the High Priestess greeted him. She was using her public voice, infused with a degree of warmth designed to make him feel singled out and flattered by her attention. "It's been years since I saw you. Why have you stayed away so long?"

  "I had to complete my schooling, Your Grace," Owl replied, but she interrupted with a playful little laugh.

  "Now, you can't expect to get away with that excuse when I know perfectly well you've been to see my colleagues at the Windbringer's Temple on several occasions since your return."

  "If I had known I was at risk of offending you," he replied, "I would have been to see you, Your Grace. But I was under the impression you were far too busy with preparations for your moon-dark ritual to welcome interruptions."

  There was a moment's silence before the High Priestess recovered her teasing tone. "Did you think I wouldn't make time to see you, Owl Ghytteve? You foolish man! You've become quite the sensation at Court; of course you are welcome—any time, day or night. I will serve you spiced wine and you will tell me all the things you learned among the mages of the Kellande School. Promise me you'll come—the very next time you visit the Temple District."

  "I will visit your domain, Your Grace—that I can promise—but I'd prefer not to specify when. The element of surprise makes these little encounters so much more intense, don't you think?"

  "I see your point," she purred. "I shall endeavor to be prepared, whenever you arrive, Owl Ghytteve."

  "You are too kind, Your Grace," he murmured with a bow as she moved off. Morekheth? he asked Lynx.

  He's gone with her. Cithanekh is coming.

  His head came up at the sound of a familiar step. "Cithanekh."

  The young lord put an arm across Owl's shoulders. "How are you bearing up? You look tired."

  "Do we have to stay to the bitter end, or can we go?" Owl asked.

  "We can go. The Emperor said he would stop by the Ghytteve complex when he was finished, so I suppose we really ought to go along before the party breaks up so we can give Effryn some warning."

  "Mouse and Khycalle said they'd come, too."

  "So will Yverri Ambhere, if she can figure out how to get herself invited," Lynx put in unexpectedly.

  Cithanekh laughed. "Poor Effryn. He'll have puppies."

  "No." Owl's lips quirked wryly. "He'll have anticipated this and when we get home, we will discover he and Pazhref have prepared an elegant buffet supper that puts even the Royal kitchens to shame. Want to bet?"

  "No bets," Cezhar put in. "Before we left, I heard him and Pazhref drafting the off shift bodyguards for kitchen duty."

  "Spoilsport," Owl chided. "I heard them, too."

  "Owl, you're shameless," Cithanekh said, giving Owl's shoulder a squeeze.

  "Where's Arre? Is she coming with us?"

  "She's with His Majesty. I expect they'll come together. Shall we go?"

  Chapter Twenty—Arguments and Councils

  By the time they reached the privacy of Rhydev's apartments, Ancith was more than ready for a fight. As the doors closed behind them and their bodyguard stepped into the guard post to report to Ghorran, Rhydev turned to his lover.

  "We need to talk. Go change and come to me in my study."

  "And why should I take your orders, Rhydev?" Ancith demanded stonily. "I followed your plan just now, and look where it got me!"

  "My plan?" Rhydev asked mildly. "I thought we worked on it together."

  "You're the one who knows everyone! You're the one who should have anticipated—"

  Rhydev's raised hand cut off Ancith's passionate words. "I understand that you're angry with me," he said evenly, carefully composing his features to express a mixture of apology and concern. "And we need to talk. But let's not have our—mmm—discussion in the hall, like a pair of fishwives trading accusations in the market. I'm sorry about what happened, Ancith. It's been years since I—mmm—miscalculated so badly. Please: go change, then come to my study and we'll talk."

  "I thought you were angry at me," Ancith blurted.

  "Oh, my dear: I'm angry at myself. I never meant to put you through such an—mmm—ordeal."

  Ancith stared at Rhydev for a moment, puzzled and unbalanced, while the older man let the worry deepen in his eyes. Then, the youth spun away and stalked off toward his room. As Rhydev watched him go, the worry drained away to be replaced by speculation and a hint of annoyance.

  "Ghorran?" he called softly, after he heard Ancith's door bang shut.

  "My lord?" Ghorran appeared at the door of the guard post.

  "Next time I take him out in public, remind me to have you check the guest list."

  Ghorran's eyebrows rose. "Was there trouble, my Lord?"

  "Amynne Ykhave was there."

  Ghorran pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "Do you want me to have her killed, my lord? It would be…costly…to do it without the assassin being traced to you, but I'm sure it's possible."

  "No. When I take my revenge on that righteous little bitch, it's going to be exquis
ite and lingering; a knife in the dark is not nearly—mmm—poetic enough. Bring coffee to my study—and some of those almond tarts Ancith likes. And Ghorran? Lace the tarts with affyrhenn."

  Ghorran nodded, hiding any reaction to the name of the powerful aphrodisiac. It had been a long time since Rhydev had needed the help of the drug in managing his young protégé. Amynne Ykhave must have been in rare form.

  Rhydev went to his own room, removed his jewelry, and changed into a silk dressing gown. He studied his reflection in the mirror as he artfully disarranged his hair. He was resourceful. He would find a way to use this debacle. What a pity it had happened the first time he had allowed Ancith in on the planning stages. He would have to show himself fallible. It would never do to let the boy think he had set him up for such a disaster. So far, Rhydev had been, if anything, too skilled in his manipulations. Ancith thought he was perfect—a problem, since a naïve boy could only worship perfection, and worship so easily turned to disillusionment. Now, it was time to be vulnerable. If he were very clever, he could bind Ancith even more firmly to him with a show of defenselessness and need—and the drug. The drug was critical. He smiled faintly as he made his way to the study. The coffee and tarts were there. Ghorran was efficient. Rhydev poured a cup of the strong, black liquid and lounged on the wide divan.

  He had only finished half of it when Ancith arrived. The youth had removed the jewelry, loosed his hair from its braids, washed the kohl from his face, and put on one of the rich dressing gowns Rhydev had given him. Rhydev poured coffee for him and handed him the plate of tarts.

  "Make yourself comfortable," Rhydev invited, patting the divan beside him. "Ancith, please believe me: I would never have put you through such an appalling experience—mmm— intentionally."

  Ancith didn't sit. He stood looking down at his lover, the plate of tarts in his hand. "Well, what did you expect would happen?" he demanded finally.

  "I didn't expect Amynne Ykhave to be there," he admitted. "That was a mistake, and a bad one—especially since you told me you had met her."

  "What do you mean?" he asked. Absently, he ate one of the tarts.

  "I should have realized that it was possible she was—mmm—curious about you—that your encounter in the garden was not the coincidence it appeared. It would have been no difficult matter for her to get herself invited to the Reception, if she wanted to further the acquaintance."

  "No difficult matter for a Slum-rat?"

  "It is fearfully easy, my dear, to underestimate the influence those Slum-rats are able to bring to bear."

  "And 'further her acquaintance.' Why would she bother?"

  "Oh, Ancith," he said on a gentle sigh. "I doubt that I am the only person to find you—mmm—attractive."

  "I wouldn't touch Amynne Ykhave with a barge pole!"

  "Of course not. But she couldn't know that—especially not if she really thought you were a bodyguard or a servant."

  Ancith sat on the hassock opposite the divan and picked up his cup. As he gulped some of the coffee, a tiny knot of tension eased in Rhydev's mind: affyrhenn tended to make one thirsty. The whole delicate conversation would become much easier once the drug took hold.

  "So you think I owe that whole humiliating experience to a lowborn wench's spiteful jealousy?" Ancith demanded.

  "Perhaps," Rhydev acknowledged. "But not necessarily. Amynne Ykhave is quite capable of behaving like that for no other reason than that she despises me. I am quite frankly appalled at myself for having left her out of my—mmm—calculations."

  "I didn't think you made mistakes," Ancith said bitterly.

  "No one is perfect," he said, letting a rough edge into the rich timbre of his voice. "Oh, Ancith, I'm sorry. Maybe I—mmm—pretended to be perfect; maybe I let you think I was. But I was afraid—afraid you wouldn't love me if you saw me for the cracked vessel I am. And now I've let you be hurt. I hardly dare to ask you to forgive me."

  Ancith ate half of a second tart and drank more coffee, studying Rhydev's face. "I still don't entirely understand," he mused at last, "what you thought to gain by making such a show of me—even if everything had gone exactly as you thought it would. Even if Amynne Ykhave hadn't been there to say so, in the cool light of reason, Rhydev, you must admit that my attire was a singularly vulgar display. What benefit is there to you—or me—in making such a spectacle of our relationship? I know you calculate, endlessly, the advantage and cost of every action; it's as vital to you as breathing. So tell me, Rhydev: for whom were you demonstrating your power over me?"

  Rhydev adjusted his features to express the proper mixture of denial, distress and hurt, but his mind was racing through a rapid reassessment of his strategy. Damn the boy! What a time for him to start thinking. If the drug didn't take hold soon, he would be in trouble. "Ancith, it wasn't like that! I thought—and I see now that my reasoning was flawed in more ways than just failing to anticipate the presence of the Ykhave bitch—I thought that I could make people envy us."

  "Envy us?" His voice crackled with bitterness. "You don't need me for a stage prop to make people envy you. You're rich and powerful; they already know you can have anyone you want. You don't need me done up as...brothel bait to make that point."

  "Don't," Rhydev said, pained. "Don't use that poisonous woman's words to describe yourself. Ancith, I didn't want them to envy me—I wanted them to envy us, to recognize what we are for each other, to discern the love between us." He gazed into Ancith's face, searchingly, soulfully—hoping for the faint flush that would tell him the drug had begun to work.

  Ancith finished the second tart, his eyes never leaving Rhydev's face. "I don't know whether I dare to believe you. Owl mentioned your acting skills. Envy us? Rhydev, don't you know that people envy the possessor, not the possession."

  "But my dear," he whispered. "Who possesses whom? I've had lovers before—you know that: I'm no innocent. But before, I've always felt in control. Now, it's all different. Now, I can't trust my judgment. Before, I always knew I would survive if my lover left me. But now…Gods, Ancith, if you were to leave me, my world would end. I— I need you, as I have never needed anyone before."

  "That's easy to say," Ancith replied. His voice had gone breathy, and Rhydev saw, with relief, a flush of perspiration on his brow. Ancith ran his tongue slowly over his lips. "I want to believe you. I want—I want to; but I don't quite trust that wanting."

  "Oh, dear gods…" Rhydev covered his mouth with one hand and looked away; he made his breathing ragged, anguished. He didn't know if he could summon tears, but he thought he had better try. "I've made you doubt me," he said tremulously. "I've destroyed your love for me. Oh, Ancith…"

  Ancith got up from the hassock and came over the low table in a fluid motion. He turned Rhydev's face toward his with one hand, and the tears brimming in the Councilor's eyes spilled.

  "Please, Ancith…"

  Ancith sighed. "I like the sound of that word: please. Say it again."

  "Please. Please. Please, Ancith. Please forgive me." He took Ancith's hands in his and pressed a kiss into each palm. Slowly, subtly, he let the purring note he used in their lovemaking creep into his voice. "Please: you are so beautiful, so generous; and I need you as I have never needed anyone. My treasure, please, forgive me." As Rhydev kissed the soft skin on the insides of his wrists, he heard the betraying catch of the youth's breath; gently, inexorably, Rhydev drew him down onto the divan. "Will you forgive me, my treasure?" he asked throatily. "Please, will you forgive me?"

  With a sigh, Ancith settled against his lover. "You plead so convincingly. I don't know what's true, anymore—but I don't care. I forgive you, Rhydev."

  Rhydev slipped his fingers into Ancith's hair and kissed him. His lips were warm, insistent, and his flicking tongue compelling. As the drug and desire roared through the youth, Rhydev slipped a hand into Ancith's robe and began tantalizing caresses. He put all of his considerable expertise to use and in a very short time, it was Ancith who was pleading.

 
***

  "What on earth do you suppose Rhydev was up to, this afternoon?" Arre asked as she, the Emperor, Thantor and Marhysse watched the last guest depart.

  Khethyran shrugged. "The gods alone know. I have enough trouble unraveling Rhydev's convolutions when they work. You realize, of course, the reactions would have been very different if Mouse—Amynne, that is—hadn't chosen to intervene. "

  "It may have been aimed at Cithanekh," Thantor suggested. "Perhaps Owl had the right of it when he said, 'Cithanekh will have puppies when he sees his brother dressed up like brothel bait.'"

  Arre and the Emperor both sputtered with laughter and Marhysse's lips twitched. "How did you hear that, Thantor?" Khethyran asked. "I didn't think you spent much time close enough to Owl to overhear his conversations."

  "I didn't. I overheard Yverri Ambhere quoting him."

  "He said that in front of Yverri," Arre laughed. "Oh dear."

  "Seriously," Thantor persisted. "If Amynne hadn't made the whole thing so ridiculous, it's possible there would have been an ugly scene between Cithanekh and Rhydev."

  "But to what purpose?" Arre asked. "Ugly scene or not, Rhydev isn't going to assassinate Cithanekh in public."

  "You could think yourself in circles trying to figure Rhydev Azhere's twisty motives," Marhysse remarked. "Maybe he was counting on the scene being ugly enough to turn Ancith utterly against his brother."

  "Do you think he hasn't already turned Ancith thoroughly against Cithanekh?" Arre persisted.

  "He's thoroughly against Owl," Marhysse admitted, "but that's not quite the same thing. The thing that occurred to me, with that foolish boy blathering about his Royal blood and all, is that maybe Rhydev meant to make a point with some of those who might be tempted to scheme against you, Your Majesty. Ancith isn't your heir, of course, but he's close enough to the throne to be a contender, if…"

  "If I and my son were dead," the Emperor finished for her. "Maybe—but isn't it heavy-handed for Rhydev?"

  "I think you've got it, Marhysse," Thantor said. "If Mouse hadn't stepped in, Ancith would only have heard admiring murmurs and comments that could easily be interpreted as envy. And he wouldn't have made such a point of his pedigree if Mouse hadn't made him look such a fool. If the other snakes are thinking about a coup, it can't make them comfortable to know Rhydev has his potential Emperor so thoroughly wrapped around his thumb."