"I understand that you have had quite an ordeal," he began, "and I apologize for intruding upon you so soon, but there are events at the Palace which make it necessary for me to talk with you."
"Oh?" She looked alarmed. "Is Her Majesty all right?"
"Her Majesty is well," Thantor assured her. "The matter I've come to talk with you about has to do with accusations leveled at Owl Ghytteve."
"That charlatan," she said dismissively. "I heard he had been arrested and then was released almost immediately because the evidence against him wasn't conclusive."
"A different witness has surfaced—one whose claims are more difficult to disprove."
"Then why talk to me?" she asked. Though she strove for an airy tone, there was wariness in her manner.
"Because I have reason to suspect that the Adept Hassyth may be Bodywalking in the witness in question. Is it possible for you to tell me approximately when Hassyth loosed his control of you?"
Involuntarily, Klarhynne shivered. "Lyssemarhe Ghytteve woke me sometime late in the second watch."
"Yes, but before that? What was the last thing you remember before Lysse woke you?"
Klarhynne drained her coffee and set the cup and saucer on the floor by her feet. "I still don't see what use this information can be to you. Even if you knew for a fact that the witness is being controlled by someone else's mind and spirit, how can you hope to prove it? You can't really care about timing—you're only hoping to get me to incriminate myself."
"Do you know anything about who poisoned the Queen's marzipan?"
"If I did, would you really expect me to answer truthfully?"
"Klarhynne Dhenykhare, no one is interested in making you a scapegoat."
"No," she said with cool sarcasm. "Of course not. You just want to be certain that the Emperor's little favorite is exonerated—and the moment a remotely plausible damaging witness is produced, you're exerting every effort to find some scrap of contradictory testimony. Well, count me out of it. If your precious Owl is innocent, then none of the evidence his enemies can produce will really be adequate to condemn him, will it?"
"You tell me," Thantor responded evenly. "The pastry cook, Tharhyll, has sworn that he poisoned the marzipan and that Owl bribed him to do it. Think what a nightmare that is for the poor man if he's under the Adept's sway."
Klarhynne went white. "Tharhyll? Tharhyll? A little man, pockmarked? He would never harm anyone!" She shivered. "When I first came to Court and was so terribly homesick, he used to make butter shortbread for me—using my grandmother's very recipe. How could he have confessed to such a lie?"
"If my suspicions are grounded," Thantor said grimly, "he didn't confess: Hassyth did. And how are you so certain it is a lie?"
She pressed her fingers against her mouth, her eyes wide. "Go away," she said, her voice somewhat muffled. "I don't want to talk to you any more."
"Would you rather talk to the Imperial Guard?" Thantor asked gently. "If you talk to me, I can try to keep you out of trouble. If I can produce solid evidence of Owl's innocence, then the Emperor may be willing to step in and quash the charges. He certainly won't be interested in hauling you into court—the matter's being heard in the Fourth Court, which is under your family's control in any case."
"They won't protect me," she said. "I'm not important. I won't tell you any more, Thantor. I don't trust you."
"Would you talk to the Emperor, himself?"
Her hands dropped and she stared at him, her expression somewhere between astonishment and horror. "No!"
"Or the Queen?" he persisted calmly.
She hesitated, a bewildering range of emotions showing briefly in her face. Then she shook her head slowly. "There's nothing she can do to help. He keeps her on a very short chain." She glared at Thantor, her eyes hardening. "Now, leave me," she said firmly.
Thantor rose, bowed and without another word left the chamber.
***
"Any luck?" Mouse asked when Thantor returned to Kerigden's office.
The spymaster shook his head. "She wouldn't tell me anything. She said she doesn't trust me. She also said she didn't believe that Tharhyll the pastry cook could possibly be guilty, but that wasn't enough to persuade her into any useful confidences. Did she say anything specific to you, Lyssemarhe—or only generalities?"
"Nothing specific," Lysse said. "I leapt to conclusions on surmise alone, Thantor; likely she doesn't know anything she could tell you."
His one-sided smile was grim. "Oh, she knows—but she won't tell me, or anyone, I fear, whom she believes to be a partisan of the Emperor, or of Owl."
Lysse looked anxious. "Will the Emperor protect her?"
Thantor shrugged. "Not unless she provides some information of value. If she doesn't—or can't—His Majesty's help is likely to come in the form of making certain she's banished to somewhere with absolutely no conceivable strategic import for the Adepts."
Lysse looked sour. "That's going to happen in any case, I expect."
"Yes, probably. But if the Emperor is grateful, he may be more inclined to make sure she is comfortable."
Lysse raised her eyebrows. "Oh, come! That line of reasoning might work on Klarhynne, but I know better."
There was a glint of something—respect, even humor—in Thantor's unrevealing eyes. "Well, don't let on," he said very dryly. "In this matter, it's just as well if Klarhynne—and even Her Majesty—retain their sense of the Emperor as a bit of a monster."
Ferret, who had been silent far longer than was characteristic, set her empty cup on the table and pushed her chair back. "The streets were quiet, weren't they Donkey, when you came down?" At his nod, she turned to Kerigden. "In that case, if you don't have any further use for me, I had best be about my business. Thank you for your hospitality, Kerigden."
The High Priest smiled. "You are all most welcome."
"I, too, had best be off," Mouse said. "May I walk you back to the Palace, Lysse?"
"If you can wait long enough for me to say good bye to Klarhynne."
Mouse nodded, and in a short time, they all left the Windbringer's complex together. At the Temple Gate, they bid each other farewell. Ferret started out for the Slums, Lysse and Mouse for the Palace, as Thantor watched them go before turning his own path toward his next, clandestine errand.
***
The Queen and her ladies were trying to shelter from the oppressive weather in Her Majesty's gardens. Several of the senior-most ladies were trying to divert the Queen with music and gossip, while the more junior ones were simply trying to stay cool in whatever way they could. Yverri Ambhere had brought her embroidery frame and was sitting apart from the others in a part of the loggia closest to the Palace walls. There was no hope of a breeze, there, but the shade was deep. Because of her proximity to the entrance to the gardens, she was the first to see Lysse as she paused in the doorway.
"Lyssemarhe Ghytteve!" Yverri exclaimed in surprise—though quietly enough not to startle the others from their various pursuits and conversations. "Where on earth have you been? And do you know where Klarhynne is? We've all been very worried."
"I'm all right and Klarhynne is safe—for the moment. I want to tell the whole story to Her Majesty, of course, but Yverri, I'm not sure she's going to believe me—and I could use your advice."
Yverri looked about. No one had noticed their conversation. She carefully lodged her needle in her work and got to her feet. "Back inside," she whispered. "We can talk in the parlor and after I know what's going on, we'll figure out how to approach Her Majesty."
Some time later, after Lysse had told her tale and the two young women had weighed and discussed all the ramifications, Yverri left Lysse in the parlor and went into the garden to speak with the Queen.
It took more persuasion than she had thought to get the Queen to come back into the parlor, leaving her ladies in the garden, but in the end, she managed it. When Lysse rose and curtsied, Queen Celave stared at the girl with cold calculation.
"Wher
e have you been, Lyssemarhe Ghytteve?" she inquired icily.
"Yesterday afternoon," she began, her voice steady against the weight of the Queen's displeasure, "I went, with your permission, back to my room to fetch a book. You also asked me to check on Klarhynne, who had retired to her room earlier, pleading a headache. She didn't answer my knock, so I went in to make sure she was all right. She was unconscious—not sleeping; when I tried to rouse her, I found I couldn't wake her: not by speaking, or shaking her, or even by slapping her. That worried me, so I got some water and dripped it on her face until she came around. Your Majesty, she was frightened. She said someone had been controlling her mind and body by magic, but that he was gone for the moment. She was very insistent—and terrified. I thought it sounded like possession, so I suggested we find a priest. She fell on my idea with relief and made me promise to take her to one of the Temples. We went to the Windbringer's Temple, and they said that she had been possessed by an Adept of an evil magic. They said they could protect her, as long as she stayed at the Temple. Otherwise, she would have to try to hold her own against him, and we were all afraid she might not be strong enough to do that."
The Queen raised one hand. "Wait. Klarhynne convinced the priests that she had been possessed? It sounds like something out of a ballad."
"It does," Lysse agreed ruefully. "But I'm afraid it is all too true. You did know, Your Majesty, that the High Priest of the Windbringer had been caught in a death spell trance?"
"I had heard he was ill," she corrected.
"Well, he's awake again. And the High Priestess Thyzhecci is dead—murdered. She was one of the people who worked the spell against Kerigden."
"Murdered? By a Windbringer priest?"
"No, Your Majesty. By an Adept of the same evil magic that possessed Klarhynne."
The Queen turned her suspicious and angry gaze on Yverri. "You believed this collection of fairy tales and gossip? I'm surprised at you, Yverri!"
"I know it seems far-fetched, but Your Majesty, remember how much it bothered you when you heard the rumor that Owl Ghytteve had recognized the voice of the woman who tried to poison him—even though she claimed to be Adythe Dhenykhare, whom he had never met? When Lysse told me this story, it occurred to me to wonder whether it was Klarhynne—or rather, the Adept controlling Klarhynne—who was actually responsible. And there's more, Your Majesty. This morning, Lysse tells me that the Emperor's spymaster, Thantor, came to the Temple asking questions. He even spoke with Klarhynne—alone. Do you suppose he suspects that Klarhynne—or rather, the Adept using Klarhynne—could have poisoned your marzipan? And what if it is true? What on earth will become of Klarhynne?"
The Queen's eyes narrowed. "Owl Ghytteve has been arrested again. They've found a pastry cook who admits to having poisoned the pastries—and to having been bribed by Owl to do it."
"No," Yverri breathed. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. "But it's impossible. He wouldn't have!" Then, panic turned to calculation. "Wait. How did they find this pastry cook—and when?"
"As I understand it, he turned himself in. It was late in the second watch," the Queen replied, watching Yverri closely.
"That would be after Klarhynne was free of the Adept. Your Majesty, what if this Adept is controlling this pastry cook—making him confess?"
"You make it sound like this Adept can jump from person to person with no more trouble than a flea. Yverri, have you any idea how ridiculous all of this sounds?"
"I know," she replied evenly. "But just because it sounds ridiculous doesn't mean it isn't true."
"The High Priest Kerigden believes in this; he calls it Bodywalking," Lysse put in diffidently. "I don't think he's a fool, Your Majesty."
"Very well. We'll assume for the moment that there's some truth in the tale. Perhaps, Yverri, you're right, and the Adept is controlling the pastry cook. Well, if that is the case—and it still sounds a tissue of surmise and moonshine to me—it will be very difficult even for Thantor to disprove this Adept's testimony." Her smile was a trifle smug.
"But don't you see, Your Majesty?" Yverri said anxiously. "If Klarhynne was involved—in either of the poisonings—do you really think she'll be able to keep it hidden? What if Thantor has the Imperials question her—or the Watch? They are not above using torture when it suits their ends, and Klarhynne has never struck me as particularly resolute or brave."
The smugness vanished from the Queen's face. "It is difficult to imagine Khethyran countenancing the use of torture on a noblewoman," she said after a moment. The words cost her effort.
"But Your Majesty," Lysse put in. "Why would Thantor even tell him until afterwards? And once Thantor had the proof, the Emperor might not bother to ask how he got it."
The Queen studied them both for a long moment. Finally, turning to Yverri she said, "Do you think Klarhynne did these poisonings?"
"Not Klarhynne," Yverri said, "but the Adept using her. Yes. And I think that as long as Owl Ghytteve is threatened in this matter, Thantor won't rest until he manages to prove Klarhynne's involvement."
Queen Celave was silent again. Her expression was inscrutable; but the hardness of her dark eyes was unsettling. "Do not speak to anyone of this matter, either of you." Then, without waiting for their assurances, she gestured toward the garden. "Leave me."
Her eyes were trained upon something only she could see as her ladies in waiting curtsied and escaped to the gardens.
Chapter Thirty-five—Pulling the Strings
"Rhydev! Rhydev!" Ancith cried as he hurried down the corridor toward Rhydev's favorite sitting room. When he came through the door he saw that the Azhere Councilor had paused with his coffee cup halfway to his lips, an expression of mild surprise on his face.
"Such—mmm—exuberance at so early an hour?" he inquired.
"My brother's lowborn lover has been arrested again. This time, they've found a pastry cook who admits to having poisoned the marzipan—and that Owl bribed him to do it."
"Ah. So is Owl back in the dungeon?"
Ancith's face showed disgust. "No. The Emperor has confined him to the Ghytteve quarters and placed Imperial Guards at the doors."
"And this pastry cook, likewise, is confined to his hovel?"
"Of course not. He's in the dungeons. Rhydev, they say he turned himself in. Why do you suppose someone would hand himself over to the authorities like that?"
Rhydev shrugged one languid shoulder. "Perhaps the so-enterprising Dhenykhare took his family hostage."
"I thought of that, but according to my inquiries, the only family he has is his elderly mother—and she's not been bothered."
"Why all this—mmm—concern over what hold the Dhenykhare have on some base-born servant?"
"I like to think," Ancith retorted with asperity, "that one of the aspects of intrigue you're teaching me is an understanding of basic human nature. I don't understand how this pastry cook could be coerced or persuaded to give himself up to the Imperials, when he's certain to be executed. The most obvious ways to motivate the lower classes are greed or fear. In this instance, he can't benefit from money; and the fate of his family is not being used instill fear. So I'm puzzled—and I don't really like being puzzled."
"Perhaps they've convinced the stupid fool that they'll harm his mother if he doesn't cooperate."
"But she is old and ill—not long for this world. It isn't a good trade, Rhydev, his life for hers."
Rhydev was silent, considering. "What reason did the pastry cook give? The guards must have asked him why."
"He said he couldn't live with himself, and that he thought if he confessed, Owl's evil plotting might be stopped. But Rhydev, much as I detest my brother's lowborn lover, I don't believe he's false to the Emperor. After all, we fostered this rumor to damage that charlatan, not because we thought it was true."
"Interesting," Rhydev remarked. "I wonder if the Dhenykhare really think it will work—or whether they were merely hoping to generate another—mmm—assassination opportunity."
"They should have known that wouldn't work," Ancith said sourly. "The Emperor made that clear when he said Owl wouldn't be taken into custody without his explicit order."
"A pity you weren't advising them," Rhydev said dryly.
"Don't be snide," Ancith retorted. "I thought you wanted me to think things through."
"Oh, my dear. I wasn't being snide. It is a pity. If you were advising them, they'd have a far better chance of—mmm—prevailing. So. Let's assume this gambit fails: either the Emperor will stifle the charges, the Imperials will discredit the pastry cook, or someone will find some way to—mmm—prove Owl Ghytteve innocent of the bribery charge. In any case, we'll assume Owl's gentle confinement is temporary. Here's your task: come up with a stratagem or two to rid us of him—stratagems which don't involve—mmm—implicating yourself, or me, or Ghorran. I'd like the plan to be elegant—and effective. But Ancith, don't—mmm—implement anything without my authorization. I told you: I want there to be no complications to my receiving the Prime Minister's chain of office."
"Rhydev," Ancith said warningly, "Zherekhaf isn't even dead yet."
"No. But he is dying. Promise me you won't be too—mmm—impetuous."
"I promise."
***
Owl was alone in the Ghytteve library. His hair was still damp from his bath, and his muscles were tired from Lynx's merciless workout. In the oppressive heat a stroll in the garden might have been refreshing, had he not been confined to the Ghytteve complex. He fingered one of the carved stone khacce pieces, trying to picture its shape from its curves and angles: the Sorceress, he thought—and wondered where Yverri was. Carefully, he replaced the piece and selected another: the Priest. He smiled, thinking of Kerigden freed from the death spell. The door opened.
"Lynx? No, Vixen."
"That's right. Lynx is still down on the practice floor giving Cezhar something to think about."
Owl shook his head. "I wonder where she finds the energy—especially on as hot a day as today. Have you been working with her, Vixen?"
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