A moment later, he felt the manicured turf of the Walk beneath his feet. As they started down the long avenue, Owl heard his name.
"Lord Owl. May I have a word with you?"
"Commander Bhenekh," he responded. "Of course." Lynx guided him to the bench and he took a seat beside the Imperial Guard.
"I didn't expect to find you in the garden," the Commander began, "but you have been much in my mind. Some of my men and the Queen's Guard, pursuing the investigation into the attempted poisoning, have found two kitchen servants who have sworn that you tried to bribe them to poison food for the Queen's table."
"Did they actually admit to the poisoning? I wouldn't have thought even Rhydev could afford to buy that kind of corroboration."
"No. They only swore you tried to bribe them."
"And what was their excuse for not bringing the accusation immediately?"
Commander Bhenekh sighed. "What you'd expect: they were afraid. You—purportedly—told them you'd curse them in some way if they told anyone."
"Just in case you're wondering, I didn't bribe anyone; nor did I put the poison in the marzipan myself," Owl said quietly.
"I'm not wondering," the Commander replied. "But the Queen and her Guards are determined to pursue the matter."
"We Ghytteve bodyguards keep a close eye on Owl's comings and goings," Lynx offered. "If the servants are questioned closely as to the time of this alleged meeting, perhaps the House records would indicate that Owl could not have been present."
"The Queen is unlikely to consider the testimony of Ghytteve partisans unbiased," Owl pointed out.
"Then how does she expect you to prove your innocence?" Khofyn asked. "It doesn't seem very just that someone can buy witnesses to implicate you while the witnesses you bring to exonerate you are immediately discounted."
"Politics isn't just," Owl said flatly. "Commander, what will the Emperor do?"
"At the moment, my men are trying to uncover suspicious connections between the kitchen servants and anyone who would be interested in implicating you. None of my men believes you had anything to do with the incident—other than to give a warning which saved lives—but it would be best if we could find evidence of collusion rather than to have His Majesty quash the accusations by Royal fiat. And frankly, I'm worried about Captain Ysmenarr of the Queen's Guard. He seems more than reasonably assiduous, which makes me wonder whether he's been bribed."
As the Commander spoke, an image intruded into Owl's mind: a man in Azhere livery. He passed the image to Lynx, who responded silently, Ghorran, Rhydev's steward.
"Trace Ghorran's movements," Owl suggested.
"He's likely to have used a catspaw, don't you think?"
Owl shrugged. "Perhaps; perhaps not. The more people who are bribed, the more for Thantor to find. And even Rhydev can't expect too much of this ploy—if Rhydev is indeed behind this. It seems to be an example of seizing the moment, rather than something carefully thought out."
"The Queen is determined—"
"The Queen is trying to protect Klarhynne Dhenykhare—who may or may not be implicated," Owl said. "She really doesn't care what happens to me—or to Arre, for that matter."
Khofyn interrupted then, quietly. "Ancith just came into the Statue Walk, Owl. He isn't close enough to overhear, but you should know."
"At least he's decently dressed," the Commander commented. "But Owl, did you have to call him 'brothel bait' in front of one of the Queen's ladies?"
Owl smiled. "So I'm given to vulgar expressions. I've never tried to pretend I'm anything other than a lowborn, guttersnipe, former slave."
As the Commander got to his feet, he patted Owl's shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Owl. There's more than the Ghytteve Councilor who'd be lost if anything happened to you."
Owl inclined his head. "Indeed. What would the Court find to gossip about, without me? Good day, Commander."
As Commander Bhenekh strode away, Lynx said, "We had best go back, Owl. Effryn will be upset if there isn't time to feed you before you're so-determined admirer arrives."
Owl got up stiffly. "Very well; let's go."
Chapter Twenty-three—Yverri
Yverri Ambhere arrived an hour past noon. During the hottest part of the day, most nobles lounged on divans and sipped cool drinks. Owl was in the library listening to Lynx's harping when Khofyn announced Yverri. As she hesitated in the doorway, Owl gestured to a comfortable chair and said, "Come in Yverri. Would you like something cool to drink, or some coffee?"
Lynx braided her intricate harping to a close and set the instrument down.
"I'd love something cool," Yverri said, crossing to the indicated chair.
At Owl's signal, Khofyn went in search of refreshments.
"You don't have to stop," Yverri added to Lynx. "It's very beautiful."
"Lynx doesn't like to play unless everyone is listening," Owl said. "Perhaps later, she'll play again, when we've run out of conversation."
Yverri looked at him curiously. "You're very considerate of your servant's feelings," she remarked.
Owl's smile was enigmatic. "Lynx isn't a servant. She's a friend—and an ally."
""Friend' is a very pale description," Lynx remarked. "There is a better word in Eschaddi: 'Ske'affeheth.' But it does not translate easily into your tongue."
"Now I'm curious," Owl said. "What does it mean?"
"I am not certain that I can render it in Bharaghlafi. 'Ske'affeheth' signifies a voluntary relationship that nonetheless encompasses both debt and obligation. It is more enduring than fealty to a clan lord, and the obligation is more absolute." She read the expressions on their faces and said ruefully, "I told you it doesn't translate."
"Wait," Owl said. "How can it be voluntary and absolute? Couldn't you choose to stop being ske'affeheth?"
"Technically, it is voluntary—though I do not see how I could abandon you in danger without shredding my honor beyond repair. If you commanded me to depart or to enter another's service, I could do it with my honor intact. Or if you died (and it was not my fault), I would be released from my obligations—though," she added with a wry note in her tone, "I doubt I would be unmarked by the loss."
"But Lynx, I didn't mean for you to feel so bound. I never asked you to—"
"No one asks another to become ske'affeheth," she interrupted gently. "It just happens." She got to her feet. "I'll go see what is keeping Khofyn." And before Owl could reply, she was gone.
Yverri watched her go then turned back to Owl. "Do you love her?" she asked, her tone quizzical.
Owl frowned and did not answer. "Are you really interested in having Effryn give you advice about colors, or was there something else on your mind?"
It was Yverri's turn to hesitate. "What a choice: I can appear shallow or conniving. The truth is somewhere between the two. One can't survive as one of the Queen's attendants and not notice clothing, and I was impressed with how well you were turned out. I also wanted to talk more with you, to talk somewhere I didn't have to worry as much about who was listening. One of the Queen's ladies, a woman named Klarhynne Dhenykhare, was avidly curious, last evening, about both you and Lynx; it made me uneasy. She was quite uncharacteristically certain that Lynx could not be from Eschadd. Is she?"
"Yes. How did it come up?"
She forced her voice to remain matter of fact, though she could feel a blush warming her face. "We were—gossiping—about you, and Lysse mentioned that Marhysse said Lynx was an Eschaddande. Klarhynne said it wasn't possible and that Lysse must be mistaken. Why is it so impossible to imagine Lynx might be from Eschadd?"
"It's not that she's from Eschadd; it's that she's an Eschaddande."
"But isn't that the same? Isn't that just the way to say she's a woman of Eschadd?"
"No. It means that she's trained in the Way of the Eschaddan."
Yverri's eyes widened in comprehension. "I thought—That is, in all the stories, members of the Eschaddan are always men. I didn't realize they trained women."
"It's my understanding that they train anyone with the talent for it."
"But then, where's the rest of her…group? In the tales—"
"It is a long story," Owl told her, "and it isn't mine to tell. You understand, I'm sure, that I am trusting you to repeat none of this."
"Yes," she said a little sharply. "I understand. I would be unlikely to tell Klarhynne in any case, after..." She broke off, wondering how to tell Owl about the two shadows without sounding utterly fanciful.
"After what?" he encouraged.
"It was so peculiar." Yverri sighed. She looked down at her hands, clenched together in her lap, so she wouldn't have to watch Owl's expression turn to incredulity as she told her tale. "I was in the corridor on my way to my quarters, and I had a lamp in my hand. Klarhynne caught up with me. She wanted me to find out more about Lynx from you—and I suppose, more about you. She made it sound like it was just her usual thirst for gossip, but after the earlier conversation, when she had sounded so…so absolutely convinced that Lynx couldn't be an Eschaddande, it would have been enough to make me suspicious. And then—Owl, this sounds so peculiar, but it did happen! My lamp cast her shadow on the wall behind her; and suddenly, while she was asking me to pump you for information, she had two shadows. One of them was thrashing about and gesticulating, shaking its head, as if to warn me, and the other behaved just as a shadow should. It was frightening."
"Did you say anything about it to her?" Owl asked. The strained note in his voice made Yverri's eyes leap to his face. He was ashen.
"No," she said. "Owl, what is it? You've gone white."
"Two shadows," he murmured; then, his face contorted in pain as his Gift seized him.
Yverri leapt to her feet and gripped his hands in hers. "Owl! Owl! Are you all right?" The door opened and Yverri cried frantically to the Ghytteve servants, "Please help! There's something wrong with him."
Lynx set her tray down and crossed to Owl's side. She brushed his cheek with her fingertips and turned reassuringly to Yverri. "It's all right, Lady Yverri. It is his Gift; sometimes it takes him like this." She tapped Yverri's gripping fingers lightly. "Go sit down. He'll be better in a moment."
As Yverri loosened her grip, Owl's hands shifted, grasping her wrists hard. Her lips parted, but before she could murmur protest at the way his fingers drove to the bone, her mind was suffused and overwhelmed by a tide of warm, golden power. It filled her, distilling into its golden presence every scrap of thought, every wisp of fear. It swirled through her, like the comforting burn of liquor, and then, very gradually drained away. As she became aware of her surroundings again, she found she was still kneeling on the floor beside Owl. His fingers still circled her wrists, though only lightly now. Lynx stood beside them both, understanding and a faint crease of worry on her face.
"What was that?" Yverri asked. Her voice was without strength.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"What did you do to me?" she asked again, wonderingly. She shifted and pulled against his hands. Almost involuntarily, his fingers started to tighten; then he let go and moved his hands away.
"I'm sorry, Yverri," he repeated.
Shakily, she got to her feet. "You keep saying that, but I don't understand what you're sorry for. I think," she added to Lynx as she made her way back to her seat, "I'd like that cool drink, please."
The other Ghytteve servant brought her a tall glass. She recognized the steward's badge on his breast. "Are you Effryn, then?" she asked him, as she took the drink with thanks and gulped half of it.
He nodded. "What did happen, Owl?" he asked as he fixed the Seer a cup of coffee and set it on the table in his reach.
Owl pushed his face into his hands. "I don't know. My Gift—I was in the grip of my visions when Yverri took my hands. Suddenly, it seemed like everything made sense, that I could see the past, the present, and all the myriad futures stretched out around me like the vista from a tower. For an instant, I felt like I could See with the eyes of the gods; but it was more than I could bear. I lost my focus, lost the thread of the visions, and I came to myself enough to realize I was gripping Yverri's wrists hard enough to leave marks. I'm sorry, Yverri."
"Don't be sorry," she said. "I wasn't frightened; you didn't hurt me. I felt— Oh, gods! I could lose myself in that golden mist. Just tell me why."
It was Lynx who spoke. "You Resonate to Owl's power, Yverri."
She managed a shaky laugh. "I resonate to many things about Owl Ghytteve. Please tell me what you mean."
"There are people who bear a mage-gift, but whose power is—" she fished for a word— "inert. They are unable to wield their power in any way, but sometimes their power will respond—will Resonate—to another's Gift. In those cases, the Mage (or Seer, or Healer, or Priest) can use the Resonator's power to amplify his own. Did you learn about Resonators at the Kellande School, Owl?"
"The theory was discussed. There were no instructors at the School who had any practical experience in the subject."
"Is it dangerous," Yverri asked carefully, "to be a Resonator to a Seer?"
"It is certainly dangerous," Owl replied, "to be the Resonator to this Seer. Yverri, Klarhynne Dhenykhare is possessed by an Adept of the Bone King: that's why you saw two shadows. If the Adept learns that your passive mage-gift responds to my power, you will be killed." He winced as his inward vision gave him a silvery image of Yverri struggling in the grip of an assassin with a garrote.
"But it isn't something Klarhynne can tell by looking, surely," Yverri insisted. "Unless someone tells her, surely I shall be perfectly safe."
Owl shook his head. "The Adept may be able to read the surface of your thoughts. I'm not merely trying to frighten you, Yverri, but you need to realize how serious this is. We have to find a way to protect you."
"Don't worry so," Yverri assured him. "I'll just pretend I'm in love with you, and Klarhynne won't suspect anything. I'll show you. Can you touch the surface of my thoughts?"
"No," he admitted. "My talents do not lie in that direction. But Lynx can."
"All right, then." She looked toward the bodyguard. "Tell me if you'd be suspicious." Then, she thought of the warm, golden mist, and whispered Owl's name inwardly. For an instant, she felt a quivery shiver that swept through her like desire. Then Lynx's voice, cool and distant, pulled her thoughts in a different direction.
"And how well will you school your thoughts when she asks you about me?"
There was a pang, like jealousy, when she looked at Lynx standing close beside Owl. "Why should I think about you at all, other than to explain to Klarhynne that Lysse had misunderstood her sister and that you are Eschaddi, not Eschaddande."
Lynx smiled wryly. "As to that, I don't know how much good it will do. I have green eyes—which the Adept may know means that I have a mage-gift. Nonetheless, you could say that I am Escha'a. It will explain my facility with languages and foreign customs. It is a very good screen, Lady Yverri," she added with a curious gentleness, "but do you think you can maintain it all the time?"
Yverri's eyes strayed to Owl's face. It took all her control, and the knowledge that he couldn't see her anyway, to keep her from reaching a hand toward him. "Yes," she said, adding silently, because it's true, gods help me. With a little mental shake, she turned to Effryn with her usual bright smile. "So, Steward Effryn, can you tell me what colors I should wear?"
"I brought some swatches, Lady," Effryn admitted.
"Lovely," she said. "Show me."
The time passed swiftly, after that; and though Owl was uncharacteristically silent, Yverri's bright chatter kept the conversational ball rolling effortlessly. When it was time to take her leave, Yverri had four swatches of fabric to take to her dressmaker.
Owl rose to his feet and bowed gravely over Yverri's hand. As her fingers tightened briefly on his, he had to suppress the urge to grip her hand until his fickle Gift answered him and surged through them both.
"I've enjoyed myself so much, Owl," she was saying.
> "Yes," he said. "I hope you'll come again, soon."
"Invite me, and I will accept with uncoquettish haste," she told him in a bright tone that held, nonetheless, the hint of a tremble.
"Be very careful," he told her quietly before she departed under Khofyn's escort.
As the door closed behind them, Effryn clapped his old friend on the shoulder. "She's quite charming, isn't she? I'm glad there were some colors that suited so well."
"Yes, well done. Squirrel, do you think you could bring a fresh samovar of coffee, and maybe some fruit and cheese?"
"Right away," he said and departed briskly on his errand.
Lynx studied Owl narrowly. "Are you all right?"
"Gods, no," he said heavily. "I never thought I was obsessed with power before, but Lynx…I can feel her walking away from me—into danger—and I want with all the banked strength of my Gift to go after her and haul her back to my side. I don't understand myself."
Lynx put her hands on Owl's shoulders. "It is a rare and powerful thing, for an Adept to find a Resonator. Among my people it is thought a tremendous blessing; it never occurred to me to consider how it might complicate one's life."
"Not just my life: hers, too. I'm not totally dead to nuances; she's in love with me. That will be awkward."
"I expect she experiences the same kind of attraction of power that you feel; she just doesn't know how else to define it but as desire or love. Owl, how much strength does she add to yours?"
"It's hard to tell: a good deal. It was—too much, too unexpected today. I need to practice with her, to find a measure of control. What am I saying? I can't use her, like a weapon or a tool."
"Since the gods have blessed you thus, Owl, doubtless they felt you would have both the need and the integrity to benefit from their benison."
Owl sank back down on the divan with a sigh. "If the wise gods planned to bless me with something as rare as a person who Resonates to my talent, why couldn't it have been Cithanekh? Or you?"
"Avert!" Lynx said sharply. "Not I."
He smiled sourly. "Why not? Don't you want that sort of closeness?"
"My talent isn't inert. According to the ancient stories, the discovery of a way to make two Adepts Resonate for each other was the first step off the Way that the Xhi'a'ieffth took."