The White Gryphon

The gryphon looked up at him thoughtfully. “Not an argument, exactly,” he replied. “More of an addition. It’s unethical, of course—but you’ve had a game played on you that was worse than unethical, and I think this would just even the scales between you and Shalaman.”

Amberdrake winced; whenever the gryphon suggested something “unethical,” or something to “even the scales,” there was no predicting what he was going to say. Gryphons were carnivores, and they showed it in their ideas of justice and fair play. “Well—what was your suggestion?”

“Two things, really,” Skan said, preening a talon. “The first is the unethical one. You’ve got a rather formidable Gift in that Empathy of yours. Use it. You know very well you can make people feel things as well as feeling them yourself—so use that. Make Shalaman feel very guilty and in your debt for not exposing him. Shove your sincerity and good-will down his throat until he chokes on them. Make him eat kindness until he has to do us major favors or burst.”

Amberdrake gritted his teeth over that one, but he had to admit that Skan had a good idea. He hated using his powers that way, but—

But if I’m going to ensure the success of this, I have to use every weapon I have. He’s right.

“And the other?” he asked.

“Tell him you’re lifebonded.” Skan finished preening the talon, and regarded him with that direct gryphonic gaze. “From what I’ve learned, it’s unusual here and it’s important to these people. Leyuet can probably confirm that to him. I think telling him might just tip the scales in our favor.”

Amberdrake considered that for a moment. “Well, I can’t see why it should, but I also can’t see how it can hurt. All right, Gesten—are you ready to play messenger?”

The hertasi nodded tightly. “This is going to need a lot of fancy footwork, Drake, I hope you know that.”

“Believe me,” Amberdrake replied grimly. “No one knows it better than I do.” He handed the hertasi the carefully worded messages, one to the Emperor and one to Leyuet. “We’ll be waiting.”

Gesten slipped off, and the five of them arranged themselves very carefully. Makke was off to one side, out of the way. Zhaneel and Skan placed themselves on either side of the door, ready to interpose their bodies if the King should decide to storm out. He would not get past them; they could simply block the door with their bodies, or an extended wing, using no force and no violence. Amberdrake stood beside Winterhart, who was seated on the floor, with the Necklace gleaming on a pillow, arranged in a pattern that Makke said signified “polite refusal.” It seemed there were customs for the arrangement of the necklace, which included “angered refusal,” “fearful refusal,” “wistful refusal,” “unexplainable refusal,” and so on. There was a ritual for everything.

“What did Judeth have to say?” Amberdrake asked Skan, to fill in the time. “How much did you tell her?”

“Oh, as relayed through the little one, she was apoplectic about the murder accusations, of course,” Skan said casually. “She wanted us to come home. I pointed out how stupid that would be, and how it might only get us in deeper trouble. Then she was going to cancel the next lot of diplomats; which wasn’t a bad idea, but I had a better one. I told her to send us some of the human Silvers instead, ones that can at least go through diplomatic motions and leave the real work to us. She thought that was a pretty good notion, giving us our own little private guards. She wanted to send mages, but I told her that would be a very bad idea and why. She agreed, and started working out the details so things can move quickly and the Silvers can sail with the tide. That’s pretty much where things stand.”

Amberdrake had a shrewd notion that wasn’t all Skan had told Judeth to do, but it hardly mattered. At the moment, more strategy was required than diplomacy—the kind of leadership of a field commander rather than that of an administrator. Those were, and had always been, Skan’s strengths. He was never better or more skillful than when he was alone, making decisions that only a single person could implement.

He hates being a leader. Now he’s in his element. As dreadful as this situation is, it’s good for him. And—is he losing weight?

At least this meant that there would be some skilled fighters showing up shortly, and if worse came to worst, as Skan said, they would have their own little guard contingent. If everything went wrong and they really did have to flee to save their lives—provided they could all escape the city—with the help of several skilled fighters, they could probably make their way across the jungle and back to White Gryphon.

It occurred to him that they ought to start making emergency escape plans, just in case. But before he could say anything, the sound of footsteps out in the hallway, coming through the slightly-open door, put all of them on alert.

Shalaman pushed the door open and took three eager steps into the room before he saw that there was a group waiting for him rather than Winterhart alone. His expression was so eager, and so happy, that Amberdrake’s heart went out to him—despite the fact that Shalaman wanted him out of the way. Perhaps that was only a sign of how much a kestra’chern he was, that he could always see someone else’s side.

Oh, gods, if only everyone could have everything they wanted out of this situation —But he knew very well that there were never such things as unadulterated happy endings, and that the very best that anyone could hope for here was that hearts would not be broken too badly. . . .