He did not have to say anything more. Leyuet nodded grimly, and sat down in a carved wooden seat as if he were exhausted.
He probably is. This is very, very hard on him.
“We discovered it not long ago, but it happened last night, and I’m certain there will be more folk than I who will recall that Skandranon was flying at the time,” the Truthsayer said through clenched teeth. “This is the insidious part; whoever is behind this must know where the two of you are at all times now, and makes the murder appear to be the work of the one without an alibi at that time. He must be learning from his mistake the first time.”
“I would be surprised if he were not,” Amberdrake said, and ran a hand through his hair. “Can I assume that our killer left evidence pointing to Skan?”
“Are marks of a gryphon’s claw enough?” Leyuet countered, but now with an odd and ironic air of triumph. “This victim appeared to have been clawed to death by something that came in by way of the open door of the balcony.”
He’s holding back something, Amberdrake realized—but also realized that he should allow the man to reveal whatever it was in his own good time. One does not force the conjurer’s hand. It isn’t polite, and it spoils the trick for everyone, especially the conjurer.
“And Palisar isn’t beating down our door?” Skan said in surprise—obviously the gryphon hadn’t seen what Amberdrake had. “I am astonished! How have you kept him muzzled?”
“He kept himself muzzled,” Leyuet told them, and fished in the capacious sleeve of his robe for something, the sleeves that every Haighlei seemed to use instead of pockets or pouches.
Ah. Now we have the moment of revelation.
He found whatever it was he was looking for, and held out a silk-wrapped trifle in triumph. Whatever it was, it was about the size of a human finger under the wrapping of black silk.
No one touched it, and Leyuet carefully undid the folds of silk from around it. The last fold fell away, revealing a bit of wood.
Very hard, dark wood from the look of it—and very skillfully carved into the shape of a gryphon’s talon. By the rough bit ending the third “knuckle,” there had been a weakness in the wood the carver hadn’t noticed, and it had broken off.
“Well!” Amberdrake said, picking the thing up with a bit of silk between it and his fingers, and holding it up to the light. If there were any traces of the carver’s identity still on it after contact with so much blood and pain, he didn’t want to muddle them by leaving his own traces. “So Palisar is finally convinced?”
Odd. Something about the carving seemed familiar, but he just couldn’t place it.
“He couldn’t explain that away,” Leyuet countered, with a grim smile. “He’s had temple mages on it, and so far they’ve found nothing, but he thinks the problem is with them and not the claw; you know how magic is these days. By evening their spells could suddenly go right again.”
“Hmm.” Amberdrake put the claw back in Leyuet’s hand, wrapped again in the insulating silk. “Does anyone else know?”
Leyuet shook his head, and tucked the betraying bit of evidence away again. “Not even the temple mages; Palisar told them nothing. Only the King, the Advisors, and now you know where it was found.”
This is important. This might be just what we’ve been hoping for. “Suppress it,” Amberdrake decided instantly. “Let it leak that the victim was clawed to death by something like a huge lion. It isn’t going to hurt anything at this stage if Skan goes back on the list of suspects, and if he doesn’t—then a rumor just might spread that I’m a mighty mage and can call up demonic creatures to murder my enemies at a distance.” He smiled grimly himself. “The latter rumor might help keep me in one piece. If people think I can call up demons, they may think twice about attacking me on their own.”
Leyuet nodded; Skan must have told him about the arrow at Morning Court. “The King is coming here to discuss this in a moment, as soon as he can free himself from his guards. Technically, he is coming to have a private moment with Winterhart—”
“Which is an excellent excuse for conferring with all of you,” said the King from the door into the gryphons’ garden. “No one will dare intrude on the Emperor and his affianced.”
Shalaman’s baritone voice and steps were full of the vigor and energy of a man many years his junior, and he had donned robes this morning that were a complement, in their color scheme of deep brown, amber, and gold, to Winterhart’s. He took a seat beside Amberdrake with the ease of a long-time friend.
“We’d counted on that, Serenity,” Amberdrake replied, pleased by the King’s casual manner, especially around him. It said a great deal—
It tells me also that Shalaman was not exactly in love with Winterhart; he was in love—or at least desired—what she represented. That’s rather different from being in love with the person, and easier to get over. Evidently Shalaman had gotten over both his desire for Winterhart and his disappointment in a remarkably short time. That is an old lesson of the kestra‘chern; often, one can be in love with who they think someone is, while being blinded by their own desires. And just as often, instead of being in love with a lover, one is in love with love.
“Another murder—” Shalaman shook his head, grimacing, but as if he were discussing the death of a complete stranger. Perhaps he was—his Court was enormous, and there was no reason to assume he knew everyone in it personally. “It is interesting that all of the victims have been rather outspoken people with both powerful and disagreeable personalities. They all had—or had at one time—considerable influence, they all had great wealth and personal power, and they all collected many enemies. And—this is not the sort of thing that one wishes an ally to know, but I fear that assassination has been something of a way of life in the Haighlei Courts of the past. Not in my Court, or not until this moment, but it still happens in the Courts of some of the other Emperors. If all the signs did not point so forcefully to you foreigners, it might have been accepted as the result of acquiring too many enemies.”
“In the case of at least two, there is very little mourning in the gardens of the women,” Leyuet said dryly, regaining some of his composure. “They were hardly popular. If the rumors were that one of their enemies had rid the world of their presence, I think this might have been little more than a matter for quiet investigation. One simply cannot have this sort of thing go on in a civilized Court.”
Amberdrake suppressed the urge to laugh at the prim look to Leyuet’s mouth as he made that last statement. Shalaman caught his eye at that moment, and the two of them exchanged a look of private amusement that flashed between them like a signal between two mischievous small boys.
“Nevertheless, because the evidence points to the foreigners, it now becomes a case of Haighlei against the wicked outsiders,” Shalaman said, as his expression sobered. “How did the last die?”
“Clawed to death, it would seem—but look here!” Once again Leyuet displayed his bit of carved wood. The King bent over his outstretched hand with interest, but did not offer to touch the thing. “This was found in one of the wounds. Now we have proof that someone is trying to force us to take action against the folk of White Gryphon.”