And I cannot sleep this night until I make them clean.
With a weary sigh, Leyuet turned again, and walked slowly in the footsteps of Winterhart, making his way to her suite in the Guest Quarters. He would tell her what he must. The next steps would be up to her—
And to Amberdrake—for Amberdrake, after all, was the one person around whom this tragedy was revolving, and the one person who had the power to resolve at least part of it.
And all of this so close to the Eclipse. Why do the gods torment and taunt us this way?
Amberdrake’s head and heart were already full of confusion when he walked in through the door of his rooms, although he had been relieved of a considerable burden of fear and tension by his graceful mentor.
Now the problems are not threatening my life—at least not immediately—but oh, the problems we’ve uncovered!
Thanks to Silver Veil, at least now he had the means to prove his innocence; the services of someone called a “Truthsayer” would put an end to any accusations. Unfortunately, now there were greater questions to be answered, for it was painfully obvious that someone in this land wanted the Kaled’a’in dead, discredited, or both. And it was absolutely imperative he find out who and why, and soon. . . .
And all this must be done before their Eclipse Ceremony, or we can bid farewell to any kind of arrangements with the Haighlei for another generation or more!
He was hoping to find Winterhart, sanity, and a tiny space of peace in which to muster his thoughts and come up with some plan of action.
Instead, he walked into chaos as soon as he opened the heavy wooden door.
The servant Makke was sitting on the floor and wailing, her face buried in her hands as she rocked back and forth. Zhaneel—and what was she doing there?—stood over her with wings mantled and hackles up, as if Makke were one of her gryphlets and under attack. Winterhart sat in the chair by the door that the servants used, staring blankly into space, her face white with shock and a crumpled wreath of flowers at her feet.
And the moment he entered, all three of them started, stared at him as if he was one of Ma’ar’s worst creations, then began babbling like a trio of lunatics.
“Forgive me, great lord—I have betrayed you, I have stolen from you—”
“She didn’t do anything, neither of them did anything, it is not their fault—”
“Oh, gods—I didn’t mean to encourage him—please believe me—Drake, please, you must believe me—”
He clapped his hands over his aching temples and shook his head violently. What on earth were they all babbling about? “Please—” he said faintly, over the din, “Please, one of you at a time—”
As if his plea, faint as it was, had been a thunderous roar, they all fell silent at once, staring at him. He knew he felt as if he had walked through the seven hells in his bare feet, but he didn’t think he looked that way!
Unfortunately, the silence was just as uninformative as their babbling had been.
I must look worse than I thought. I must look like I’ve been dragged behind a horse through all the hells of all the religions of the world. They must not have heard . . . they expected me to be Amberdrake the Imperturbable, and I look as shaken as they are, and they don’t know why.
This was clearly no time to fall apart and hope for them to pick him back up and put him together. It was also clear that what had happened to Winterhart, Zhaneel, and Makke was as serious as a murder accusation, at least in their own eyes.
My immediate problem is settled. Come on, Drake, get a hold on yourself, they need you! He took a deep breath, and pulled himself together. I am a kestra’chern, dammit! I was a pillar of strength for others as a profession! If I cannot be a rock of sanity at this moment, I can at least pretend to be sane and calm!
“Easy,” he said, in a calm and soothing voice. “Let’s sit down and get all this sorted out, shall we?” He smiled at Makke. “Now, what’s all this about betrayal?”
In a few minutes, and at the expense of his own nerves, he had a sketchy idea of what had happened while he had been dealing with accusations of murder. He told them, with equal brevity, what had happened at the Entertainment. And there was a feeling of sickness in the pit of his stomach about the betrothal offer in light of what he had learned from Silver Veil, a nauseous unease that warned him that there was danger there he had not ever expected. There was also a rising sense of anger. King Shalaman wanted his mate. He had been struggling to be at peace with the King, and all the while, Shalaman
