“I am not targeting a male!” he spat. “I told you that before, and I’m not changing my mind just because you think you have a way to kill the Emperor and get away with it!”
“Well, if you’re afraid—” Noyoki began.
Hadanelith spat on the floor at his feet in a deliberate insult. “Hardly! Why should I fear one fat old man? I won’t take him as a target, that’s all! That was our bargain—I get targets I like!” He narrowed his eyes, and the red of thwarted rage suffused his entire field of vision. “You’re trying to cheat me!”
“Not cheat you—offering you a challenge to your talents!” Noyoki replied, in a coaxing tone of voice. “We know you’re brilliant, we planned to give you something with more spice to it than that last target.” He gave Hadanelith a sly, sideways look. “How can you resist a chance to assassinate Shalaman at the height of the Eclipse Ceremony?”
Anger vanished, collapsing into itself like a deflated bladder. He gaped at the two of them, certain now that they had gone mad—or else that they had been drinking or otherwise ingesting something that had turned their brains to mush in the past few hours.
Assassinate the King? In public?
“You’re both mad,” he repeated flatly, a chill creeping up his spine. “Completely mad. You only think I’m mad; you two ought to be locked away for your own good.”
Neither of them changed their expressions, or even said anything. They just watched him.
“What could you possibly tell me that would make me think you weren’t mad?” he challenged, beginning to wonder himself. “Killing Shalaman—that’s nothing more than suicidal! I’m not stupid, you know! And you’re going to have a fine time dragging me up to the Emperor, strapping a knife into my hand, and throwing me at him, because that’s the only way it’s going to happen!”
In spite of himself, he felt a tiny bit of intrigue as they continued to watch him narrowly but did not reply. They must have something up their capacious sleeves to make this idea possible!
Something besides making the sacrificial lamb out of me, anyway.
It was enough to pique even his curiosity. He wanted to know—but he still had no intention of doing anything about it.
Let them do it, if it’s such a good scheme. And besides, they still hadn’t overcome his basic objection. Shalaman was male. They had given him no reason whatsoever for him to target a male. Males were males, they were not inherently tainted like females were. There would be no thrill in it, and without the thrill, why bother?
“We have an absolutely foolproof scheme,” Noyoki said with confidence. “We can get you right next to the King, you can kill him, and we can get you away before he drops to the ground.”
Fine. There’s still no thrill. His mood turned again, back to anger, this time a sullen anger. What did they think he was, some sort of automaton, a killing machine like a makaar, something that could be sent out on a whim and didn’t care what it killed?
“No,” he said flatly, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t care how well you planned this, or how foolproof it is. Shalaman’s male. Our bargains never included males.”
“They didn’t include Winterhart, either,” Noyoki said, off-handedly.
Hadanelith went cold, then hot, then cold again. His groin flared with excitement, and he fought to get himself back under control before there were any visible signs of his interest. “Winterhart?” he said, lightly, and laughed. “And just how does she enter into this?”
If I could take Winterhart—better if I could have her, mold her—but I’ll never get her away from Shalaman. Death would be better; I could hold her in death forever. To be the last thing she saw as she died—to fill her mind and soul with my power to bring her down—
That would make her his forever. He would mark her, brand her as his, and take her away from Amberdrake at the same time.
“She’ll be at the ceremony at Shalaman’s side,” Noyoki told him. “And it fits our plans very well for you to get both of them at once. Unless, of course, you don’t think you have the strength and skill to kill the King.” He frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought that of you. Or is it that you haven’t the stomach or the courage?”
“I have all of those,” Hadanelith snapped. “It’s that I’m not—there’s no—I’m not interested in men!”
Noyoki’s eyes flashed for a moment, as if something had just come clear to him. Hadanelith ignored bis expression; this was a quandary, and no mistake about it. Was it worth wasting time on the King to get Winterhart?
I’ve done it before; gone through men to get to their women. Back in the camp, it was . . . and here, too. There is a thrill to that—actually—
When the women saw their protectors going down under Hadanelith’s skilled blade, when they realized that there was no one left to defend them—there was a real thrill in that. Could he possibly manage that in this case?
“We can get you all the time of the full Eclipse to do what you want,” Kanshin said persuasively. “Think of it—coming in out of the dark like a demon, striking and bringing fear as well as death! Besides, we haven’t told you the best part yet!”
The best part? There’s something more?
He felt his interest rising, and gave up trying to pretend otherwise. They had him, at least for the moment. He might just as well hear them out.
But he was going to do so in comfort.
He sat down again, assumed an expression of total boredom, and yawned. “All right,” he drawled, picking a tone of voice sure to infuriate both of them. “I can’t get rid of you until you get done trying to persuade me that you both aren’t fit only to be locked away, so you might just as well speak your piece.”
But they were neither infuriated nor offended, at least not openly, and Noyoki leaned forward in his chair with an eagerness that made Hadanelith think of a night-heron about to spear a fish.
“It’s very simple—” he began.
And before Noyoki was finished with the explanation, Hadanelith was giggling. This could be more fun than ever.
Nine
Skandranon spread his newly-dyed wings to dry in the hot sun, knowing he looked entirely too much like an oversized cormorant hanging its wings out to dry, and waiting for the inevitable sarcastic comments. Aubri would never be able to resist this opportunity.
“You look like a short-necked, crook-beaked, fisher-bird, old crow,” Aubri chuckled from his position atop a pile of pillows in the cool of the shaded garden. “Maybe one that ran into a rock because he wasn’t watching where he was going. I can’t wait to see the size of the trout you’ll pull up.”
“I am the one with the taste for fresh fish, lazy Aubri,” Zhaneel chided. “You are as forgetful as you are slothful.” She poked Aubri with a wingtip, then got up and circled Skan, eying him dubiously. “You will be lucky if those feathers dry at all by nightfall, as humid as it is.”