Bouragonr harrumphed and said it might be time for a fresh look, by magicians who are not prejudiced against the Faitoren, as he put it.”
“He said that? Bouragonr fought against them, too, with the rest of us.”
“I thought it was very odd. But I haven’t seen him for years. He’s not looking well.”
“I wonder how much magic he actually practices anymore,” Aruendiel said musingly. “All those younger magicians working under him—he may be getting lazy. Is he hoping to shore up his own powers by allying with Ilissa? By the way,” he added, with a quick half bow, “you’re looking well yourself, Hiriz.”
“As are you. You must have been doing a lot of magic lately.”
Aruendiel made a dismissive gesture. “We crossed paths with Ilissa’s son on the way here.”
For the first time, Hirizjahkinis looked directly at Nora, although Nora had the feeling that the other woman had been carefully observing her the entire time. There was a moment’s pause, as though Hirizjahkinis was making one final appraisal, and then she smiled so warmly that Nora felt unreasonably elated, as though she’d passed a test and met an old friend in the same instant.
“We—?” Hirizjahkinis asked, glancing back at Aruendiel.
“This is Mistress Nora, who accompanied me—for safekeeping,” he said. “She is Ilissa’s daughter-in- law.”
“Former daughter-in-law,” Nora said.
Hirizjahkinis raised her chin slightly, but otherwise showed no trace of surprise. “I am Hirizjahkinis,” she said, extending her hands to Nora, as she had done to Aruendiel. “I am very happy to meet you. Are you here for a reunion with your former husband’s family—”
Nora shook her head. “Oh, no—”
Aruendiel broke in: “Mistress Nora has been a guest in my household for some months, ever since she fled from the Faitoren.”
Now Hirizjahkinis did look surprised, her eyes widening. “You escaped from the Faitoren, Mistress Nora! Well, that would explain something Ilissa let drop yesterday.”
“What was it?” Aruendiel asked.
“Not worth repeating,” said Hirizjahkinis. “But you obviously managed to provoke her, Aruendiel.”
Aruendiel made a sound deep in his throat indicating a lack of concern with Ilissa’s displeasure. “I want to talk to the king as soon as possible. Where is he?”
“At this hour, I imagine he is still engaged in the morning’s ceremonial reveille. You could go and join in, as a peer of the realm.”
“Thank you, I have no desire to help my sovereign pull on his breeches.”
“But you could talk to him without Ilissa being present. You might not get such a chance for the rest of the day.”
“Is she spending so much time with the king?”
“As much as she can. He does not seem to be averse to her company.”
“Very well,” he said reluctantly, with a twist of his mouth. “I’ll go now, and hope His Majesty does not ask me to demonstrate my loyalty by washing the royal buttocks. But we need to find a place to stow Mistress Nora, out of Ilissa’s way,” he added. “The easiest thing to do would be to turn her into a buckle or a necklace or some other small ornament, and one of us could wear her for the rest of the day.”
Nora stared at him, incredulous. “No! Absolutely not.”
“Do you want to fall into Ilissa’s hands again?”
“No, but I don’t care to be transformed into anything, either.” It would be so easy—and convenient—for Aruendiel to forget to change her back.
“Perhaps the Kavareen could watch her for a few hours,” Hirizjahkinis interjected. “Ilissa wouldn’t dare try to get past him.”
At this suggestion, Aruendiel looked even more irritated. “It’s absurd that you’re still carrying that thing around with you,” he said. “You don’t need it—you have plenty of your own magic. And, you know, it’s not entirely safe.”
“He’s been a good servant, very useful at the most unexpected times. Right now, for instance.”
Aruendiel seemed ready to dispute further, but then he checked himself. “As you like. There’s no time to argue. You will join me in the king’s presence as soon as he is washed and dressed, Hiriz?” At her nod, he went out of the room without another word.
“Well,” said Hirizjahkinis to Nora, “let’s find a comfortable place for you to wait.”
“Excuse me, but what is the Kavareen?”
Hirizjahkinis unfastened the gold clasp that held the leopard skin around her neck, and then shrugged the hide off her shoulders. Carefully she spread it on the floor. The black-spotted fur had a rumpled, worn look, as though Hirizjahkinis had been wearing the skin for many years. The eyeballs in the dead cat’s head gleamed a dark yellow—glass, or some semiprecious stone like topaz, Nora thought. Hirizjahkinis stepped quickly onto the hide and then off it.
The leopard skin quivered, collected itself, and then got to its feet with a hiss. The hide was obviously covering a body—a leopard-shaped body—but in the gaps where the skin didn’t reach, Nora had a glimpse of roiling darkness, shadow that churned like thick smoke.
The resurrected animal stretched lazily, curving its back and flexing its claws, and then hissed again, looking up at Hirizjahkinis. Its eyes looked just as glassy as before.
“This is the Kavareen,” Hirizjahkinis said.
“Was it—is it a leopard?” Nora asked.
“No. He happened to look like a leopard when I killed him,” Hirizjahkinis said, a hint of pride in her voice. “He has been with me ever since, as my slave.” She spoke to the Kavareen rapidly in a singsong language, and the animal responded with a snarl and a lash of its tail. Hirizjahkinis spoke again, more sharply. The Kavareen snarled a second time, not as loudly. It stalked a few steps away and settled into a watchful crouch that reminded Nora of how her cat Astrophel used to sulk when feeding time was delayed.
“Don’t mind his crankiness,” Hirizjahkinis said.
“Um, did he say something?”
“It was not very polite. He didn’t appreciate being awakened, and he’s a little hungry. But don’t worry, you’ll be fine with him. He is under strict orders to keep you safe, and I have told him that he may eat Ilissa if she makes any effort to take you.”
When the Kavareen had snarled, through its open mouth Nora had again seen that agitated blackness, coiling in secret currents. Now it came to her that the interior of the beast was larger—perhaps much, much larger—than its exterior would indicate.
“I thought Aruendiel said he wasn’t completely safe,” Nora said.
“Aruendiel is my dear friend, and when it comes to natural magic, he knows more than any other magician alive,” Hirizjahkinis said. “But, if you haven’t noticed, he does have very strong prejudices. He doesn’t trust ghosts or demons. Cannot abide them!”
The amused incredulity in her tone implied that Aruendiel’s view in this area was one of those incomprehensible eccentricities that one tries to overlook in one’s close friends—the way that Nora used to tolerate Adam’s ridiculous aversion to tomatoes. On ghosts and demons, however, Nora felt that Aruendiel was on solid ground. “He doesn’t?” she said politely.
Hirizjahkinis shook her head emphatically. “No! He thinks it’s a lazy way of doing magic, summoning spirits to do your work. Come along, I must find a safe place to leave you.”
Outside in the corridor, Hirizjahkinis commandeered one of the red-and-gold-liveried servants, who, after a cautious glance at the Kavareen, led them by a circuitous route to a small room where several divans, covered with brightly colored pillows, made a semicircle in front of the fireplace. Over the mantel hung a tapestry that showed a young woman riding on the back of the two-headed animal that Nora had seen on the city gates.
“This is the unfashionable end of the palace now. No one will stumble across you here,” Hirizjahkinis said to Nora. She addressed a few more remarks in the singsong language to the Kavareen, who merely yawned, and then she followed the servant out of the room.
Nora sat down on one of the divans and watched the Kavareen move restlessly around the chamber. She couldn’t help wishing that Hirizjahkinis had picked a bigger room, so that the Kavareen would not pace endlessly
