Owl turned his blind face toward his old friend; an enigmatic expression touched his features, and the hint of his old Slum accent shaded his words. "So that's it, then. I can beg, but I canna demand."
The spymaster touched Owl's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was very gentle. "Oh, aye. They canna keep us in our places, else. Me, I can watch, and remember, and report—but I canna act."
"It isn't any different for anyone, though," the Emperor put in, scenting a philosophical argument. "Everyone experiences constraints. Even I can see wrongs I want righted, but the actual changes take time and patience and tact. The old order is strong, and political inertia works in its favor."
"'Rulers exist,'" Owl quoted waspishly, "'to safeguard the privileges of the powerful.'"
The Emperor chuckled. "Bishop Anakher and Ymlakh Glakhyre both nearly perished of apoplexy when I refused to ban the writings of Liantres of Kalledann. It's the only time I remember the two of them being in perfect accord on an issue from the very outset. In any other court on the continent, Owl, you'd be in serious trouble for voicing his views."
"And who makes those rules?" Owl asked sweetly. "Doesn't that prove Liantres's point?"
"Of course; but there's a larger point at issue: self-interest. Notice, please, that Liantres of Kalledann writes his inflammatory political theory in the one realm without a monarch—a ruler—to take umbrage. Is it coincidence? Would you find Liantres dying for his ideas in any of the federated Amartan kingdoms?"
"Or would anyone even hear of his death—or his ideas?" Thantor interjected. "Perhaps there are radical political theorists everywhere, but only Kalledann does not suppress them."
The incipient discussion was interrupted as one of the Imperial Guard came in with Cithanekh and Arre.
"Just in time, I see," Arre remarked to her companion. "Another three minutes and we'd be inextricably mired in a debate over the influence of external circumstances on the formation of convictions."
"Arre," the Emperor teased. "I despair of teaching you mannerly conduct. Three paces over the threshold, then the obeisance—and don't interrupt me."
Arre gave him a bow which succeeded in being both graceful and mocking. "I will interrupt—and contradict, and disagree. Someone has to keep you humble. It's my duty," she added primly.
"And where are your skirts?" he went on, in a shocked tone, as though she hadn't spoken.
"Gone," she grinned, "with my maidenly modesty. Ferret sends her greetings, and Sharkbait says there's trouble brewing again between the shipmasters' toughs and the Longshoremen's Guild."
When the Emperor fixed Thantor with a sharp look, the spymaster nodded. "Khorvan Nakhar is at the root of it. One would think the Dhenykhare could stop it, if sufficiently motivated."
"The motivation is the problem," the Emperor said dryly. "Fines for peace-breaking haven't worked, since there's the problem of establishing culpability."
Owl smiled crookedly. "Make the Dhenykhare responsible for peace on the docks, and fine them—heavily—for infractions on either side."
"It would give Dhyrakh another reason to hate me," Khethyran commented.
"Those snakes hate you anyway," Arre said. "It's visceral; they don't need reasons. Perhaps you should make it in their interests—in a tangible way—to serve your ends."
The Emperor sighed. "But they'll certainly squeal that Sharkbait isn't under their control, and that he has no reason not to bleed them white."
"No ships, no shipping," Owl pointed out. "No shipping, no longshoremen. If unrest and fines drive shipping costs too high, merchants will shift to caravans, which would mean less work for the dockers. Sharkbait's clever enough to see it."
"It's the Dhenykhare who need convincing," Cithanekh remarked, "not Sharkbait."
"Dhyrakh isn't stupid," Arre said. "Narrow-minded, pigheaded, self-serving, vile, destructive, reactionary, heartless and reptilian, but not stupid."
"What do you say about Councilors you dislike, Arre?" Owl asked.
She laughed. "I like everyone; it's my nature."
"Are you finished with Owl, Majesty?" Cithanekh asked.
The Emperor smiled. "Will you take him home and feed him? He's awfully thin."
"The Ghytteve complex smelled wonderful when I was there," Arre put in. She infused the hint of a wheedle into her tone. "Much better than the crusts and water that grace my table."
"Would you join us?" Cithanekh responded promptly. "I'd be more than honored."
"Courtier," Owl accused him, then added—in Kalledanni—to Arre, "Shameless beggar."
"You should know," she retorted sweetly, in the same tongue; then, she made a theatrical curtsey in Cithanekh's direction. "Many blessings on your generous nature, milord. I am honored to accept—if Your Majesty permits?"
"Of course," Khethyran said, and nodded dismissal to them all. As the door of the chamber closed behind them, his smile turned a little wistful. Then, picking up his escort at the door, he made his way back to his apartments and his Queen.
Chapter Five—Lynx
"You found them?" Owl asked Arre, as they left the Emperor's presence. "The harp and the knife?"
"Of course."
"Where are they?"
"I gave them to Effryn. Owl, what's it all about?"
"I'll explain later," he replied.
"What's this?" Cithanekh asked, his glance darting from one to the other.
"Later," Owl repeated.
The steward, Effryn, met them as they entered the Ghytteve apartments. Owl took him aside and retrieved the things Arre had left with him. He got Effryn to find Yrhenne for him, and when the bodyguard came, Owl left the parlor where Cithanekh and Arre had settled to give Yrhenne her instructions. He put the leather strap of the harp's case into her hand, and gave her the sheathed knife. "Please take these to our guest. Tell her they are from me, and that I hope she will choose life."
Yrhenne stood without speaking for a moment; then she put her anxiety into words. "Owl," she whispered, "do you know what you are doing?"
His ironic smile answered her. "No. Nonetheless, will you do it?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "Couldn't I just give her the harp, until we can gauge her reaction?"
"Yrhenne, once you leave my presence, you can do anything you choose," His words, though quietly spoken, were etched with acid. "You could give her the harp, or the knife; you could withhold them, entirely. And if you confess your misgivings to Cezhar, or Effryn, or Cithanekh, no one will even fault you. I'm asking, that's all. No one has given me the authority to command you; and I have no power to compel obedience."
"Is that what you learned at that foreign school?" Yrhenne demanded. "How to twist a person up with guilt? I know very well if I don't take those things, you'll go yourself; and then, if that crazy woman kills you, it will be my fault."
"No," he retorted with quiet intensity. "If 'that crazy woman' kills me, it will be her fault. You mustn't let anyone foist the guilt onto you."
"I would blame myself," she told him with a sigh. "I wish you hadn't told me you don't know what you're doing. It would be easier."
"If you're certain I'm wrong, then don't deliver the things—and pretend you did."
"I can't do that!" she snapped. "You'd catch me out in such an obvious lie."
"But I should have falsely reassured you, because you wouldn't catch me out in such a subtle one?"
"Gods, Owl. I'm just a guard; I do what I'm told. Sharpen your talons on someone else!" She turned, then, and he heard her steps move off down the hall. Behind him, the parlor door opened.
"Owl?" It was Effryn. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," he said bitingly. "I'm exactly where you left me. I haven't wandered away; I've not been abducted or assassinated. The gem is in its setting; the bird is in its cage; the fragile glassware is safe in its cabinet; all is well, and the righteous sleep."
The ripples of Owl's bitterness spread and dissipated into Effryn's silence; finally, he took Owl by the shoulders.
"I don't know what to say. I'm not clever, like Ferret; and you were always the one who was good at comfort. I'm glad you're home. I wish—I wish you were happier."
Owl managed a smile. "Just for you. Take me back in, and I'll try to behave."
***
The meal was festive. Effryn had arranged for Pazhref the cook to produce several of Owl's favorite dishes, and the steward watched with tremendous satisfaction as both Owl and Cithanekh stuffed themselves. Arre told outrageous anecdotes until even Effryn, at his place by the sideboard, was smothering laughter. When the meal ended, they moved to the library for coffee. As Cithanekh passed a cup and saucer to Arre, he remarked, "I don't believe I've laughed so much since before Owl went away."
"Nor have I," Owl put in. "Do you have any idea how long it takes before one understands humor in a foreign language?"
"I have," Arre replied dryly; and Owl heard the echo of loneliness in her voice.
"Forgive me," he said. "I sometimes forget, Arre, that for you, Bharaghlaf is on the foreign side of the Sleeping Sea."
"It doesn't matter," she responded. "Kalledann isn't home any more, really. I go back, from time to time; but each visit serves to confirm a bit more thoroughly my suspicion that I no longer dance to the rhythms of that island." She managed a lofty expression. "Kalledann has grown too small for me: I am a woman of the world, now."
Owl heard the ache under the words. "It's lonely, though, not to have a place to call home, a place where one can take one's welcome for granted."
Cithanekh put a cup into Owl's hands. "You are both welcome, here; you must know that."
"It's different," Arre said. "I know what Owl means. Some people welcome us—even need us—but it isn't the same as belonging. Not all the nobles like you, Cithanekh; some few perhaps wish you on the far side of the earth; but not one of them questions your right to be here." She reached over and touched Owl's shoulder. "I hadn't meant to get maudlin; you hear far too clearly, my friend."
He shrugged. "What's a little mawkish sentiment among friends? You said you found my harp—and the knife. Did you have any trouble?"
"No," she said. "The knife was simple—though why a blind man should want a good throwing blade is a mystery." She paused, but when Owl ignored the hint, she shrugged at Cithanekh and went on. "I expected more difficulty with the harp, but no. There it was, displayed in plain sight on a cushion of burgundy velvet, at the first shop I visited. It's a stunning instrument—and the shopkeeper knew what he had. He didn't want to sell it to me, for he could see I wasn't a harper."
Owl smiled wryly. "But in the end, golden persuasion triumphed over artistic scruples. Did I give you enough, or do I owe you money?"
"There was enough. There just wasn't any extra."
"Excellent," Owl said. "Thank you."
Arre and Cithanekh exchanged glances; then Arre sighed elaborately. When Owl made no response, she said, "Owl, you promised you'd explain. Why do you want a harp? Are you going to take lessons?"
"It's for the Eschaddande," he replied. "It was in my visions; she needs it."
"The Eschaddande?" Arre repeated.
"Did she talk with you? She speaks our language?" Cithanekh put in.
"Wait!" Arre cried. "Start at the beginning."
So they told her about buying the foreign woman; and Owl recounted the gist of his conversations with Kerigden and later with the woman, herself.
When he had finished, Arre sighed. "I hope you know what you are doing. A mad Eschaddande could be terribly dangerous. Perhaps you should just give her a knife and let her choose a swift death."
"No," Cithanekh said, unexpectedly. "She's survived this far—a great deal, by the look of her. There must be a reason for so much suffering—and a purpose behind such tenacity."
"Perhaps," Arre responded. "I'm not convinced that there are reasons to explain human suffering—but that's the sort of philosophical argument I should have with Kheth. And the harp doesn't make very much sense; the Eschaddan is supposed to claim its members almost at infancy—and, from what I've heard, they aren't encouraged to learn anything beyond their Way. Why do you think the gift of a harp will tame her for you?"
"I never said I thought the harp would tame her," Owl replied forcefully. "I'm not trying to buy her cooperation. I saw her with it; I believe that she needs it. I want to offer her something to live for."
"But why a harp?" Arre pressed softly.
The image was so vivid it took his breath: the woman—younger—in a room full of dignitaries. She was seated on a dais, dressed in a blue robe of exotic cut, the dark harp in her hands. As she looked out over her audience before she began, Owl saw that her eyes were a clear gold; she closed her eyes as she played (he couldn't hear the music, only see her fingers dance on the strings) and the next time she looked up, her eyes were green. He saw the shock ripple outward through the audience before the vision ended.
He exhaled slowly. "I think it represents something she lost."
The sound of mocking applause startled them all. The thin foreign woman stood in the doorway behind Owl. "So intuitive; so perceptive," she said in her accented Bharaghlafi. "So wrong—Seer." She spat the last word with vicious emphasis. "Do you think I will fawn on you for the crumbs of my past you offer? The past is dead. Not even you can give it back to me."
"The past is dead," Owl replied carefully. "But the future is born anew, instant by instant. I am not trying to give you back your past; I only want you to recognize that you have a future—and some control over what that future holds—before you cast it all away."
"So. You want me to choose life. But what if I choose my life—and your death?"
Owl heard the naked steel in her tone, though he could not see the glint of the throwing knife which made Arre and Cithanekh catch their breaths. The Seer turned one hand palm up; when he spoke, his voice was remarkably calm. "You will choose as you please. Though," he added dryly, "I would rather hear you play the harp than suffer your skill with a blade."
Arre and Cithanekh saw her move, then: a blur faster than a warning. "I doubt that you would suffer," she whispered into Owl's ear and he jumped. She laid the blade against his throat. "Give me a reason not to kill you," she challenged.
"Gods," Cithanekh murmured fervently.
"I've never heard your music," Owl offered.
There were perhaps ten seconds of silence before she mused, "You are an odd man, Owl. You could throw guest-obligation in my face; I have eaten your food. Or you could beg mercy for mercy shown to me. You could claim you have important tasks unfinished, or you could invoke the gods' retribution. But you do not." The knife blade pressed more firmly. "I hold your life in my hands; yet all you say is that you have never heard my harping. Are you frivolous, Seer?"
"Probably," Owl admitted. "I do try not to take myself very seriously. I have to work at it, when the people around me search my every word for hidden meanings. No doubt I've gone too far."
Cithanekh had almost ceased to breathe. He and Arre sat riveted, afraid to intervene. As the foreign woman looked at them, her gaze sharpened with speculation. She gestured to Cithanekh with her chin. "You: tell me why I should spare the Seer."
"I love him," Cithanekh said. Tears brimmed in his speedwell eyes. "He may be too proud to beg, but I'm not. Please, Lady: don't hurt him."
She released Owl abruptly. The knife vanished as she glided to Cithanekh's side. A puzzled frown knit her brow. "He is a Seer," she said, as though repeating a lesson for a particularly slow student. "What do Seers know besides power? He traded all light and beauty for that inward vision; he can't even see your face. How can you imagine that he cares for you?" Cithanekh was shaking his head as she spoke. She made a dismissive gesture. "You are deluded. He has made you think he cares so he can use you."
"No," Cithanekh said. "You don't understand."
But the woman had turned to Arre. "You: you care, too. I see it in your face—but I do not understand. So: give me a reason I can understand."
/> Arre's face was still as an effigy; her voice rang oddly flat in the silence. It raised hackles on Owl's neck and made Cithanekh stare in shock. "If you kill Owl, you will always wonder whether you might have come to love him, too." Then, Arre gave a wincing smile and said, in her normal voice, "I'll beg, too—or bargain. We could trade songs, if you like. I was trained in music at the Kellande School."
"I am not fool enough to love someone who quests as single-mindedly after power as a Seer," she snapped. "And do not try to say he is unlike other Seers: he traded his eyes for power—"
"Actually," Owl interrupted mildly, pinning her attention on him, "I didn't choose to be blinded. I've tried to make the best of it, but I think, if the wise gods were to give me a choice, I would rather be sighted than a Seer." When she did not respond, Owl went on more tentatively. "My friend, Kerigden whose grandmother was from Eschadd, told me that he was surprised you had not died of being separated from the Eschaddan."
She laughed bitterly. "My Yearmates are dead—dead through my failing, my Masters in the Way decreed. They have heaped shame upon me, and when that was not enough, they disgraced my kin and sold me into slavery. Surprised? If your friend had decent feeling, he would be shocked—shocked and appalled—that I continue to walk the earth under the gods' eyes and hands."
"So what is it that gives you the strength," Owl asked her, "to overcome shame and disgrace?"
Arre and Cithanekh saw her cock her head, pondering. There was a strange undercurrent to her next words. "My Masters in the Way would say it is weakness which prevents me from honorable suicide. Is it a strength, among your people, to overcome shame?"
"Sometimes," Owl replied.
"You are a Seer, powerful and honored among your people. What can you know about shame and disgrace?"
Owl shrugged. "Before I became a Seer, I was a beggar and then a slave."
She stepped back. "So. Yet you are not grateful for the power which freed you from this?"
"Not particularly."
"You baffle me. I thought I understood co'schenimarre. I must consider this." She gave a graceful gesture—something between a nod and a bow—toward Cithanekh and Arre. "Good night," she murmured, and was gone.