Free A Business of Ferrets (Bharaghlafi Book 1) by Beth Hilgartner

him. He saw the thief in his mind's eye, laughing as she shared a joke with him. The memory brought sudden, painful tears.
    "Owl?" Myncerre queried anxiously. "What is it?" There was more tenderness in her voice than she usually allowed to show.
    "I want to go home. Please, Myncerre. I want to go home." At her pitying expression, Owl's control broke. He buried his face in the pillow and wept as though the world were ending.
    ***
    Arre returned to awareness of her surroundings to find Khethyran holding both her hands. He was waxen.
    "It's all right," she said quietly. "Sweet God, I'm weary."
    "And this Owl?"
    She shrugged. "He'll live."
    "This time," the Scholar King added for her. "Arre, I could go to Ycevi and demand that she give the boy up to me. I'm not sure it would be politically wise—the Council Houses are jealous of their prerogatives, and I'm sure they'd cast my meddling in an unfavorable light; but if it will make you safer, Arre, I'll do it."
    Arre's gaze went distant for an instant; her inner vision was hazed with the silvery shadows which meant she was seeing the future—or possible futures: swift images of trouble and Council strife. "No," she whispered. "He's important, our Owl; but he's important where he is . I think—I think he is meant to work against Ycevi." She worried a knuckle with her teeth. "Oh, I wish I could make it come clear!"
    "Give it time," he suggested. "You're back safely; the boy is neither dead nor mad; let's concentrate on one miracle at a time."
    "He said he was bait," she mused.
    "Bait?" The Scholar King's attention sharpened. "Arre, have you seen him? Is he beautiful?"
    "Well, yes, even though he was looking rather the worse for wear the night Venykhar tried to buy him."
    "Venykhar did what? " Kheth nearly yelped. "I mean, he's so upright; he has quite a reputation for prudery among the other nobles—about slaves and boys. Why would he—?"
    Arre was laughing. "Owl's a friend of that child, Mouse; the little artist. Ven said it would ruin his reputation, but he didn't seem very concerned."
    "Bait," the Scholar King mused. "If we leave Venykhar Ghobhezh-Ykhave off the list of those for whom such bait might be intended, Rhydev Azhere's name springs to mind."
    "No. There's more to this than Ycevi Ghytteve trying to lever concessions out of the silk clans." Arre was decisive. "I'd sooner suspect—" She broke off suddenly as an image crossed her inner eye: a fine-boned, manicured hand wearing a green-gemmed ring. "Who wears a green gem? Rhydev's is blue."
    The Emperor shrugged. "You'd sooner suspect whom?"
    "Oh. Zherekhaf. Your Prime Minister."
    Khethyran raised his eyebrows. "Anything is possible. Arre, it's late. Let's go to bed."
    ***
    Much later, after Owl had cried himself to sleep, Lady Ycevi returned. The scratch of Myncerre's quill, as she made notes in the household ledger, provided counterpoint to the boy's calm breathing. Lady Ycevi moved the lamp so a little light spilled onto the boy's pillow; his face was serene with sleep, despite the old track of tears. She turned to her steward. "Well?"
    "You saw what he was like, earlier. That went on a long, long time. Eventually, he calmed down. I got some coffee into him and he woke. He drank another cup, and seemed much better. Lady, he knew the drug. He asked me if there was more haceth in the coffee. He told me he was very sensitive to haceth , and that even a small dose could kill him. Then he went to sleep."
    Ycevi raised her brows. "And the tears?"
    "He said he wanted to go home; and then he cried himself to sleep. 'Please, Myncerre,' he said. 'I want to go home.' I've never felt like such an ogre."
    Lady Ycevi smiled cynically. "He's good."
    "I'm not sure he's play-acting."
    "Of course not. That's what makes him so wonderful. It's a pity about the haceth ; I had hoped to have that extra control—but it isn't worth the risk. Will he be better tomorrow? It's time he met Cithanekh."
    ***
    In the gray hours before dawn, Owl