A Parliament of Owls

  They circled Owl in silence, not quite close enough to touch. Then Lynx moved in and Owl's hand shot out and touched her shoulder. She sprang backward and Cezhar moved in. As he touched Owl's shoulder, the Seer spun and grabbed his wrist. "You're not Lynx!" he exclaimed, before his Gift gave him Cezhar's face. "Cezhar!"

  "Excellent," Lynx said, moving in again as Owl released his grip on the other's wrist.

  They continued the exercise, the two bodyguards working like a pair of hunting dogs. Owl improved noticeably as they worked but when the blind Seer missed three touches in a row, Lynx called a halt. Owl was surprised to realize how tired he was.

  "I thought I was in better shape," he said wiping sweat off his face. "It shouldn't be this exhausting."

  "It's the concentration that tires you," Lynx told him. "You are learning to rely on your senses instead of either your expectations or your Gift. It's hard work, and I think you've had enough for one day. Go clean up."

  As Owl left, Cezhar and Lynx exchanged glances.

  "Well?" she said. "Do you approve?"

  "How long did he remain motionless to prevent that snake from striking? And who taught him how to be still? I'd be damned ungrateful not to approve of what you're doing for him."

  "But?" she prodded, sensing some unstated objection.

  "No buts."

  "Cezhar," she reproved and he shrugged ruefully.

  "Well, perhaps a small one. But will it do any good, given the ruthlessness of the opposition? Won't it just make him overconfident?"

  "Still that objection? Do you really think Owl that arrogant?"

  "Not—not arrogant."

  She was silent for a moment, studying his troubled face. "In Eschadd, there is a game children play with round stones: thras'scherre. It is a throwing and catching game. Among the Eschaddan, there comes a day when the Masters in the Way take the stones away and replace them with knives. A participant who misses a throw or a catch is shamed; but a Master in the Way who misjudges the level of skill his pupils have attained, so that injury occurs, is irreparably disgraced. If you do not think Owl arrogant, then is it that you mistrust my ability to assess his skill?"

  "This isn't Eschadd," Cezhar said. "Here, it won't just be your throwing game with knives. Here, there will be people outside the circle, striking from cover and aiming to kill."

  She smiled sourly. "The Eschaddan plays that game, too: erress'y'dar. Cezhar, can't you bring yourself to believe that I know what I'm doing?"

  "It isn't that!" he protested. "I have no doubts about your competence, Lynx. None. If I have a fear, it is that you do not adequately comprehend our enemies: their motivations and their utter ruthlessness."

  "Are you implying that the courtiers can be more ruthless than Hassyth and the followers of the Bone King?"

  He nodded. "In their own way, Lynx, they are more ruthless. The followers of the Bone King may, at least, have some goals or aspirations beyond their own poisonous self-interest. The nobles are used to having their way, and when there are small things—like the Emperor's insistence on the rule of law, for instance—that impede their plans, they slither around them; and if that doesn't work, they start killing. Owl, with his magical abilities and the Emperor's trust and favor, isn't a small obstacle any longer; and the nobles won't be satisfied until he's disgraced or dead—preferably both."

  Lynx nodded slowly. "So when Captain Ysmenarr mentioned a rumor of other evidence against Owl about to emerge, it was more a warning than an excuse?"

  Cezhar shivered. "Yes. None of them are fools, either; if they try this arrest gambit again, they'll have evidence good enough to pin the Emperor in the uncomfortable place between his principles and his friendship."

  "You mean he'll have to choose whether to uphold the law and risk Owl, or subvert it to protect him? Ugly—but you play khacce, Cezhar. If we can see the trap, then surely we can think out an effective counter move."

  Cezhar studied her for a long moment. "Do you have something in mind?"

  Her fierce smile glinted and then vanished. "Just the bones of an idea. Do you want to hear it?"

  He nodded.

  She shrugged. "One approach would be to make it lethally against Ysmenarr's interest to see Owl harmed."

  "And how do we do that?"

  "Cezhar, you're shameless," she chided. "I said I only had the bones. If you want flesh on them, then do some thinking. In the meantime, did you want to spar?"

  He nodded, and for a time, both of them left thoughts behind in the surge and effort of training.

  ***

  Rhydev Azhere swirled the remaining coffee in his delicate cup, then shot a speaking glance at his man, Ghorran.

  "As the rumor runs, my lord, Owl Ghytteve was taken into custody last night; but he was released when the Emperor and an assortment of Ghytteve partisans and Imperial Guard showed up. Apparently, the Emperor did not consider the evidence against the Seer good enough to warrant incarceration."

  Rhydev raised his eyebrows. "Really? So: a—mmm—miscalculation, do you think?"

  "I would say so," Ghorran went on. "The Emperor concluded his interview with the Captain of the Queen's Guard by insisting that, no matter what evidence emerges in the future, Owl Ghytteve is not to be taken into custody again without the Emperor's explicit order."

  Rhydev frowned, but Ancith swore in disgust.

  "Trust the Dhenykhare to make a hash of a perfectly simple plan."

  "Dhenykhare?" Rhydev repeated. "Ancith, are you guessing?"

  Ancith shook his head. "I've been talking with one of the Queen's Guard. He seemed to think the Dhenykhare were paying Ysmenarr—though he was vague about whether it was Dhyrakh or Morekheth footing the charges."

  "Probably both," Ghorran muttered, "knowing Ysmenarr."

  "But Ghorran," Ancith continued, evidently enjoying himself. "You didn't mention the snake."

  "Snake?" both Ghorran and Rhydev repeated, incredulously.

  "A hooded asp was in the cell with my brother's lowborn lover. You hadn't heard this, Ghorran?"

  He shook his head.

  "Tell us," Rhydev ordered crisply. "Why didn't it work? Why wasn't Owl bitten?"

  "Doubtless the snake was showing courtesy to a fellow belly-crawler," he replied with bitter scorn. "That woman Lynx killed it."

  "With what?" Ghorran demanded. "Those things are damned fast."

  "Her bare hands, as far as anyone could tell," Ancith said. "She jumped on it. She laid the dead snake on the duty officer's desk and asked whether the dungeons were usually plagued with such vermin."

  Ghorran shook his head admiringly. "Gods. Guts, speed and wit. How did Ysmenarr explain it?"

  "He said he had noticed there were fewer rats, lately, but it had never occurred to him to wonder why."

  "And did the Emperor believe him?" Rhydev demanded incredulously.

  Ancith shrugged. "He didn't order him executed out of hand."

  Rhydev was silent, thinking; then he smiled at his lover. "You've done—mmm—amazingly well, Ancith. I would have thought this episode was merely an example of Dhenykhare bungling—but with your information, it becomes—mmm—unpleasantly evident that, although the plot was rather carefully thought out, Owl and his—mmm—associates were able to foil it, all too efficiently."

  "Rhydev, why don't you think up some way to get rid of Owl? I'm sure you could come up with something elegant."

  "Perhaps," Rhydev temporized. "But I'd rather not risk it, at the moment. My uncle, Zherekhaf, is visibly failing, and I'd like for my hands to be utterly clean while the Emperor considers whom to appoint Prime Minister in his place. Besides, I'm quite sure Dhyrakh—or Morekheth—will try again. A hooded asp and the Dhenykhare judge in the Fourth Court sound like someone's extremely—mmm—determined to be rid of our Owl."

  "Rhydev, do you think it's even remotely possible that the Emperor would appoint you Prime Minister? He must know you don't support him."

  Rhydev spread his hands. "Perhaps he thinks he can win
me over, the way he did Uncle Zherekhaf. Traditionally, the Prime Minister comes from one of the three largest Houses: Azhere, Glakhyre, or Ghytteve. Frankly, I can't think of anyone in either of the other two Houses with as much—mmm—experience of Court as I have. He might try to—mmm—override convention and appoint someone like Mylazhe Ambhere, but the Khyghafe and the Dhenykhare will never support a woman Prime Minister."

  "But it's an Imperial appointment, surely," Ancith said, frowning. "Why should he care what the Khyghafe and Dhenykhare think?"

  "Whether or not he should care," Rhydev said firmly, "this Emperor will care. I do believe that he honestly wants everyone to agree with him—not just—mmm—appear to agree, you understand, but truly to be—mmm—convinced by his reasoning. Ghorran," Rhydev added, turning his attention to his servant. "Do you think you might endeavor to—mmm—ascertain what the Dhenykhare's next move against Owl is likely to be? It's so nice to have a little warning in these matters."

  "I shall do my best, my lord," Ghorran replied as he bowed and took himself off.

  "I still don't understand," Ancith said after Ghorran had left. "Why should the Emperor care what anyone else thinks? It's all well and good to say he does care—I'm not disputing that, Rhydev. But why? He's the Emperor. His word is law. He has the power of the Empire at his beck and call. Surely he has no earthly need for his courtiers' approval."

  Rhydev considered for a moment before responding. "You must remember, Ancith, that the Emperor Khethyran is first and foremost a scholar. He was a younger son; he never—mmm—expected to inherit the Emperor's coronet. And he was—mmm—educated at the Kellande School in Kalledann. He learned a good deal more than history and geography at that school. Remember, Kalledann has no monarch, and no aristocracy."

  "But Bharaghlaf isn't Kalledann," Ancith insisted doggedly. "The Emperor's not a fool. Surely he can see that in Bharaghlaf there's no need for him to rule by consensus—and indeed that consensus is elusive, if not impossible, among the conflicting interests of the Council Houses. So why does he bother?"

  "Why are you so—mmm—determined to understand him? What's important, Ancith, is that you recognize this as one of the Emperor's very few weaknesses; and weaknesses exist to be exploited. Turn your inquiring mind to the question of how best to use this information to our advantage, and—mmm—abandon futile speculation."

  Ancith smiled automatically and nodded. But as Rhydev finished his breakfast and readied himself for the day, Ancith watched him with the hint of a frown lodged between his eyebrows.

  ***

  "What are you going to do today, Owl?" Arre asked him as she helped herself to another slice of melon.

  "Actually, I'd like to speak with the Emperor, if he has time to see me. Do you have any suggestions about how to arrange it?"

  Arre's tone was a little wry. "Other than storming up there in a dudgeon, like we did last night? You could send a note. I can't always keep track of his schedule, but I don't believe there's a Council meeting today, so maybe he can fit you in between the public audiences and whatever ambassadors there are."

  "There's no Council," Cithanekh offered. "Should I write a note for you, Owl? And do you want me to come with you?"

  "If you like. I want to talk about Yverri."

  "You should go alone, then, Owl," Arre said. "If you want my advice."

  "Why?" Cithanekh asked.

  Owl could hear the shrug in Arre's voice. "Kheth will want to know how you're really feeling about the situation and those questions will be easier for him to ask if he encounters you one at a time."

  The note was composed and sent and in a surprisingly short time, Owl received a reply—and a summons. He set off with Lynx, Rhan, and the three Imperial Guards who had brought the Emperor's message.

  The Emperor received Owl in one of the small conference rooms near the Council chamber. The room smelled faintly of leather and furniture polish. Owl bowed and Lynx guided him to a chair at the smoothly polished table before she and the other guards went back into the hall.

  We'll wait for you, never fear, she assured him silently.

  "So," the Emperor began once they were alone. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

  "I didn't have a chance to thank you for rescuing me last night."

  "Don't thank me, Owl. If I had been paying proper attention, you would never have been arrested. It's Lynx, Lady Khycalle and Arre who deserve all our thanks. But surely, that wasn't all you wanted to say to me?"

  "Well, no," Owl admitted a little wryly. "It was just the easiest place to start. What do you know about Resonators, Your Majesty?"

  "Well, after Donkey told me about Yverri Ambhere, I did some discreet research, but I'm hardly an expert. How much does she amplify your abilities, Owl?"

  He sighed. "A great deal, I think. I haven't had much opportunity for experimentation. She's so vulnerable, right now; I have tried not to put her at greater risk. I want… want to marry her; it seems the best way to keep her safe. Councilor Mylazhe says that her father is determined to marry her to a duke, a duke's son, or a council lord—but I thought, possibly, he might…broaden his criteria if you exerted a little Imperial persuasion."

  The Emperor was silent while he considered. At last he said, "I'll have to think about the best approach to take in this matter, Owl. It does seem that marriage might answer, but have you talked to Yverri? What does she think?"

  "I haven't talked directly to her about it. I believe she thinks…she thinks she is in love with me. I know she's talked to Councilor Mylazhe about me; and Cithanekh told Mylazhe that I wanted to marry Yverri. I need to talk to her, to explain that I'm offering friendship and security, not passion. I don't know whether she would accept me on those terms."

  "And Cithanekh? How does he feel?"

  Owl considered; then he sighed. "He didn't say so, but I think he's worried—worried about how my having a… a wife will affect our relationship, our household. But he's also worried for Yverri, afraid for her safety. I asked him how much he would mind if I married her, and he said not as much as he would mind hearing that she had been found dead." Owl pushed a hand through his hair. "It's all so confusing. I feel…drawn…to Yverri; it's not anything like what I feel for Cithanekh, but it's powerful, undeniable. Lynx and Cithanekh both say that the attraction between us—whatever it is—is visible. And though I feel heartlessly calculating when I say it, I do want—desperately want—the power she lends me." He sighed again. "It's a mess. I keep hoping, probably vainly, that if I married her, it would be easier to sort everything out."

  "What if Cithanekh married her? He's a Council lord, so her father would presumably agree."

  "We've talked about that—Cithanekh and I. I haven't raised that possibility with Yverri. I don't know how she would react. But there could be problems. I don't much care what the Court thinks of me, but it might make an unpleasant scandal if it's obvious there's something between Yverri and me but she's Cithanekh's wife."

  "The scandal-mongers will find plenty of material in the situation no matter which of you marries her," the Emperor pointed out acidly.

  "I suppose so," Owl agreed. "What with Lynx and Arre and Vixen, we're on our way to being a byword."

  He laughed. "Oh, my dear Owl. You and Cithanekh are so far beyond being a byword that there isn't even an idiom for it."

  "Do you disapprove?"

  The Emperor reached across the table and laid his hand over Owl's wrist. "No. Indeed, I do not. Owl, you’ve given me a great deal to think about. Now, you need to talk with Yverri, so that you can be clear about what she'll accept and what she won't."

  "Yes, but I'm not sure how to do that without putting her in danger."

  "Neither am I—but I'll ask Thantor to come up with a stratagem. All right?"

  "Your Majesty is most gracious."

  The Emperor's hand tightened briefly on Owl's wrist. "Stuff the formality, Owl."

  The Seer's sudden smile transformed his face. "That I can do," he said in the
rapid Slum accent of his childhood, "but dinna blame me if yon nobles get their noses twisted over it."

  ***

  "Hmmph." Lynx said as they turned down the corridor which led to the Ghytteve apartments. Rhan looked at her inquiringly.

  She gestured with her chin. "A watcher. Do you suppose Cezhar knows?"

  "We can ask," Rhan said.

  "A watcher?" Owl repeated quietly. "Obvious enough to be noticed? It sounds like bait."

  "Probably," Rhan agreed as they reached the door and knocked.

  Khofyn let them in and Lynx asked him about the watcher in the corridor.

  "Yes. I noticed one last night and I reported it to Cezhar. They aren't even being subtle. It makes me uneasy."

  "Bait, Owl said," Lynx persisted.

  "Likely," Khofyn agreed.

  "Bait," she repeated, "for what trap?"

  "It's part of the endless game," Owl told her. "If we catch and confront them, they tell us a dizzying mixture of lies and truth, so we end up more confused than we were at the start."

  "So. Is there an approved method for determining who is watching us?"

  Khofyn laughed. "We watch them and try to catch them reporting to someone. Or we follow them to see where they go. Even as we speak, Yrhenne is doing her best."

  "I didn't see Yrhenne," Lynx admitted.

  "She's better than they are," Rhan said.

  "Where's Cithanekh?" Owl asked.

  "He's in his study," Khofyn replied. "He said you should come up when you returned."

  Lynx guided Owl through the apartments to the study and left him at the door. Owl knocked and at Cithanekh's bidding, entered.

  "How did it go?" Cithanekh asked. "Was the Emperor helpful?"

  "He was somewhat equivocal," Owl said. "I don't think he's hostile to the idea, but he didn't seem sure that Imperial persuasion would help. He suggested that you could marry Yverri; you're a Council lord, and presumably, her father would accept your suit."