The White Gryphon

And it was—it was a pleasure to touch the soul of Amberdrake, he realized with wonder. As noble a soul as Silver Veil— and how ever could I have doubted that? Was he not her pupil? Is he not still her friend? Why should I have forgotten these things?

He did not even express impatience with the amount of time spent on the servant woman, where a few days ago he would have been offended at this waste of his gifts, and insisted that a lesser Truthsayer attend to her.

It would, of course, have been a great pity if anything happened to her, so the female gryphon’s suggestion about how to keep her safe was a good one. But it was an insignificant detail in the greater work of this evening. He and Amberdrake between them had managed to engineer all of it without ever having Shalaman’s honor publicly called into question.

And Amberdrake saved us all from the curses of the gods—and on the eve of the Eclipse, too! His relief at that was enough to make him weak in the knees. The disaster that would be—the curses could have persisted for the next twenty years, or worse!

But of course Amberdrake’s forgiveness came quickly and readily; that was the kind of soul that Leyuet had touched.

He simply rested from his labor as Skandranon, Shalaman, and the rest worked out what the next moves would be.

“I think perhaps that we should do more than continue to foster the illusion that I am the chief suspect,” Amberdrake said gravely. “In fact—Winterhart, if you have no objections, perhaps we should also foster the illusion that you and I have quarreled over this, and that you have accepted the King’s proposal.”

Leyuet woke up at that. It was a bold move—and a frightening one. He would have been more concerned, except that he had violated custom and Read the King, and he knew that Shalaman had been truly frightened by his narrow escape, and that he would, indeed, regard Winterhart as purely and without lust as if she was his daughter from this moment on.

In the face of so great a threat, the violation of custom is a small matter. Shalaman could not have been permitted Winterhart’s company if his heart had not changed.

“I don’t object—as long as I can still—” Winterhart bit her lip and blushed redly, and Shalaman laughed for the first time that evening. These pale people showed their embarrassment in such an amusing fashion!

How far down does the red go, one wonders? It certainly crept down her neck and past her collar.

“I shall have Leyuet give you the key to the next suite,” Shalaman said indulgently. “Just as the gryphons’s suite connects to yours, there is one that connects to theirs. I shall put you there—it is a suitable arrangement for a Consort-To-Be, since the bride must remain with her relatives, and they are the closest you have to relatives here —and it will look as if I am placing the gryphons between you and Amberdrake as a kind of guard upon your honor and safety.”

“Meanwhile, we are anything but. I like it,” Skandranon said. “Just don’t keep us awake at night, scampering through our quarters, all right, Amberdrake?”

Shalaman chuckled at this, as did Amberdrake. So did Leyuet. If the King had been having second thoughts, he would have put Winterhart in the Royal Apartments. All was well.

He relaxed back onto his cushion; his opinion was not needed in this, but he did need to know what they were planning, for Palisar and Silver Veil would have to be informed.

I shouldn’t be relaxed, he tried to tell himself. This is a perilous and horrible situation. There is a killer among us, a killer who is likely also a traitor, who kills in terrifying and obscene ways. It could be anyone! Well, almost anyone. Four ladies of the Court are dead—I did not know them, but still, I should not be sitting here thinking about being able to enjoy a meal for the first time in days. . . .

On the other hand, there was nothing more that he could do, and his Emperor was acting again like the Shalaman he knew, the warrior, the leader.

And he was seeing a side to the foreigners, especially Amberdrake, that he had never, ever guessed. They had seemed so different from the Haighlei before this moment—alien, tricky, crafty, possibly deceitful.

Amberdrake, in particular, had seemed too opaque to be trustworthy. How could he not have noticed that this very opacity was like Silver Veil’s mannered detachment?

I thought that Silver Veil was unique. Is this how all northern kestra’chern are? Oh, perhaps not. Anyone can call himself a kestra’chern, after all. We have kestra’chern who are hardly worthy of the name. And there have been very few even of the good ones who have risen to the rank of Advisor.

But here were two who were worthy of the name and the highest of ranks—Silver Veil and Amberdrake—and