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

ring on his hand. As they studied one another, the man's expression ran the series of changes Owl remembered from his dream. With a very faint smile he gestured for Owl to approach. The man put fingers under Owl's jaw and turned his face to the light, much as the Lady had done. He brushed the greening bruise.
    "Did Ycevi do that? Or order it done?"
    "No. My brother beat me."
    "Brother?" Surprise widened the man's impossibly blue eyes; his gaze darted to the slave band on Owl's left wrist. 
    "Before he sold me."
    "What are you called, boy?"
    "Owl."
    "Owl? Why Owl?"
    "Ferret named me. She said I had owl's eyes." Unbidden, the whole memory surfaced: a younger Ferret, brash, laying out the rules. If you're to be one of us, you need a new name. Like me: I'm Ferret, not Frycce. You're Owl. You've an owl's eyes—and you've an owl's vision, too. Owls see in the dark; you see into the soul's darkness. It makes you good at begging—you recognize those prone to pity.  
    The memory stung. As his eyes swam with tears, he bit his lips together, determined not to cry. The man's face clouded with concern, and he smoothed a strand of Owl's tousled hair. "Oh, Owl," he murmured sadly.
    It was the tenderness that undid him. As his tears spilled, the strange man drew Owl gently into a comforting hug. Owl fought down his tears and pushed the comfort away. Without comment, the man handed him a handkerchief.
    Owl wiped his eyes and blew his nose. "I'm not usually such a baby," he said with disgust. "Sorry."
    Cynicism glinted in answer. " I'm not usually such a soft touch. My name's Cithanekh. How long have you been here, Owl?"
    "Four nights and three days."
    "Before your brother sold you, what did you do?"
    "I begged in the Temple Gate."
    His eyebrows rose. "You clean up nicely, for a Slum-rat." A sneering edge sharpened Cithanekh's tone. "You must enjoy this newfound ease—enough to eat, new clothes, a comfortable bed."
    "And such beautiful jewelry to wear," Owl retorted, displaying the slave band. " I hate it! Even when the food isn't drugged, it's too highly spiced; the bed's so soft, it smothers me; and the clothes itch. I'd far rather be at home, even with the filth and vermin. Happen life's hard in the Slums, but here, I'm naught but a piece of expensive Ghytteve property. And you think I enjoy it? Gods! " He spun away and stalked off. Halfway to the door, he stopped. "I canna even stomp out in a huff," he added, as wry amusement won out over anger. "She locked us in."
    Suddenly, they were both laughing. "Oh, don't leave, Owl; and don't be hurt. I apologize. My cousin Ycevi is a gifted manipulator. I hate feeling used; I can't imagine why I thought you wouldn't mind." Cithanekh held out his hands. "Come sit with me, and tell me all about life in the Slums."
    Owl took one step toward the man, then froze. He covered his mouth as he raised stricken eyes to Cithanekh's face.
    " Owl . What is it?"
    "Rhydev Azhere asked me what role I thought I'd play in House Ghytteve; and I told him I thought I was intended as bait. He laughed, and he said, 'Very likely; but for whom?' She must mean to use me against you ."
    He crossed to the boy, laid a gentle hand on his thin shoulders. "Heavens, Owl; that was obvious from the moment she sent you in here. But if you're not her willing tool...why, perhaps she's miscalculated."
    Owl met Cithanekh's eyes, serious. "I'm not her willing tool—but I am her slave," he whispered. "And I'm frightened."
    The young man's face softened. "So am I," he breathed. "Ycevi petrifies me—but it would never do to let it show. So come and sit down—and tell me about your friend, Ferret."
    ***
    Lady Ycevi moved away from the spyhole, satisfaction molding her lips. It was progressing just as she had planned: the trap was set; the prey was nosing the bait. Now to wait, to proceed slowly; she must do nothing to alarm her prey. Late or soon, Cithanekh would take the bait, and then— then , he would be well and truly caged.
    In a