The White Gryphon

Sincerity, honesty, graciousness . . . do believe me, Shalaman. It all happens to be true.

Shalaman nodded cautiously; too much the diplomat himself to take even this at face value.

“I also request Leyuet’s services on behalf of the servant Makke,” he continued persuasively. “The reason will become clear when you hear what she has to say.”

Shalaman frowned but nodded again. Gesten—who had left his message with Shalaman only to go fetch Leyuet—knocked in his familiar pattern at that precise moment, and Skan moved to open the door to let the hertasi and the Truthsayer in.

They almost lost their advantage at that moment as Shalaman realized how they had manipulated him. But his own good sense overcame his temper, and he managed to do no more than frown at his Advisor as Leyuet came in.

Leyuet made a formal obeisance to his leader which appeared to mollify the King somewhat. Shalaman gestured to the rest of them to take seats, then appropriated the best chair in the room and sat down in it with ill grace.

“I see you have all this planned,” he growled, waving his hand at Leyuet. “Continue, then, before I lose my patience. Truthsayer, examine the man Amberdrake.”

Good. He’s angry. Now to turn that anger away from us and toward whoever is conspiring against us.

“There is only one thing more that I need to tell you, Serenity,” he said, very carefully. “But I needed the Truthsayer here to confirm it so that you will believe it. If you would, please, Leyuet?”

The Truthsayer nodded and then knelt upon the floor at Amberdrake’s feet, closing his eyes and assuming an expression of intense concentration. As Silver Veil had explained it, Leyuet would not actually read Amberdrake’s thoughts as a Mindspeaker might, nor his emotions as an Empath would. She could only describe it as “soul-touching, perhaps, or heart-reading”—that Leyuet would take in what Amberdrake was, with no emotions or surface thoughts intruding, and relate that to the truth or falsehood of what he was saying. As she described it, the act would be far more intimate on Leyuet’s part (for Amberdrake would sense nothing) than any Empathic sensing of emotion. It was impossible to lie to a Truthsayer, she claimed. If that was the case, Amberdrake did not envy Leyuet his Gift—

There are more than a few slimy souls I would never have wanted to touch in that way. Ma’ar, for instance, or Shaiknam. The very idea makes me shudder.

“I wish to prove to you why my lady and I are more than we appear. Winterhart and I have a very unusual bond,” he said, choosing his words with care. “In our tongue, it is called ‘lifebonding.’ I have not been able to find the equivalent in yours, but it is a binding of soul to soul—a partnership that completes both of us. What one feels, the other feels as well—”

He continued, trying to describe their relationship in terms that Shalaman might understand, groping through the unfamiliar Haighlei words, until suddenly Leyuet’s eyes flew open and the Truthsayer exclaimed with dismay—

“Serenity! These two are loriganalea! Oh, dearest gods—what did you think you were doing?”

The look of horror on Leyuet’s face was mirrored in Shalaman’s.

What on earth? Why—

Amberdrake had no time for any other thoughts, for suddenly, the Emperor himself, the great Shalaman, was on his knees, clutching the hems of Amberdrake’s garment and Winterhart’s in turn, begging their forgiveness. Amberdrake had not seen anyone so terrified in ten years. What had Leyuet said?

Amberdrake was taken so aback he didn’t know what to say or do next. Leyuet seemed to be completely paralyzed.

Finally it was Skan who broke the impasse.

“Well,” he said, in a completely casual tone, as if he saw all-powerful Emperors groveling in front of his friends every day, “I always said you and Winterhart were something special.”

Things were very confusing for several long moments. When a greatly-shaken Shalaman—who had by this time lost every aspect of Emperor and seemed to have decided that he would be, for now, only Shalaman the man —was calmed down and assured of both their forgiveness, they finally learned from him and from Leyuet why their reaction had been so violent. In fact, Leyuet was still looking a bit gray about the lips.

“This is a sacred bond,” Leyuet said, carefully, so that there could be no mistake. “This is a marriage, made not for lust or for power or the sake of convenience, but made by the gods. The holy books are very plain; interfering in such a bond will bring the curses of the ages upon anyone who tries to break it,