Fortress of Eagles by C. J. Cherryh

knows I will press this to the uttermost, including breaking from the Quinalt myself if he denies me in this. My grandfather made the Quinalt what it is, my father preferred them over the Teranthines, and by the gods I can do the same for the Teranthines over them if they cross me.—Which is neither here nor there with us—I see your frown. Say only that my lady has declared herself Bryalt, she has a priest who will disappear from significance once she stands on Elwynim soil, and she will, in that tangled understanding, pass under the Quinalt roof on penny day with no statement whether she is a priestly or unpriestly sovereign—damnable nonsense, all. But such words entail power in this world. The Holy Father must perform the marriage. This is the sticking point. This is the difficulty. I need the Quinalt’s goodwill, Tristen, or I must break the Quinaltine’s power, and I will, if I must. But I have a war to fight. And I had far rather the Holy Father’s goodwill. We are almost to an understanding that will make the Holy Father my ally for benefits I can accord him, and if you could, by will or wish or whatever small, very small wizardry you or Emuin together might manage,…keep the pigeons away from the Quinalt porch.”
    â€œThe pigeons, sir?”
    â€œI know, I know ’t is such a small matter. But I need the Holy Father in a giving mood, and they have fouled his porch, they have continually fouled his porch, and they make him think of wizardy, and of you, in a most unfavorable light. His dignity is threatened. Can you prevent them?”
    He was utterly confused. “I can try. I shall try, sir.”
    â€œI knew you would. I know you have a good heart.” Cefwyn after all seemed to have something more on his mind, and Tristen waited, silent, until Cefwyn plunged ahead. “Never let them see you work magic. Not with the pigeons. Not with anything. Ever.”
    â€œIt’s not a thing one could see, sir, will I or will I not. I will try.”
    â€œIf you could only observe the forms of orthodoxy, Tristen.” It was not at all about the pigeons, now, but all in a rush, the desire of Cefwyn’s heart, he thought. “If you could banish the pigeons, and come under the Quinalt roof, and make that offering, thus acknowledging the authority of the Quinalt…”
    â€œLike Her Grace, do you mean? To tell a lie?”
    Cefwyn looked confounded. And finally said, “Yes. A small, an accomodating lie. For appearances. To let an important old man feel that his dignity has been respected and will be respected in future before witnesses he wishes to impress. Do I offend you?”
    â€œNo, sir. You can never offend me.”
    â€œI have given you the pennies. And best you send yours by some other had if you cannot come under that roof without some…without some manifestation. But I have seen you go into the shrine. I know that you can do it. Can you do it safely? Or will the…will the candles go out, or mice and bats break out, or any such thing?”
    â€œI don’t think so, sir. About the mice and bats, at least. And the candles. I can go in.”
    â€œCan you give the penny? Can you walk in, the place deserted, and drop a penny in the box? I do not ask you go in with the ceremony and the priests and all, in the morning, only to go alone in the afternoon, with your guard. And witnesses. Well that there be witnessess. I shall have to arrange someone to go in with you.”
    â€œWitnesses.”
    â€œIn case they lie. The court goes in the morning, in a great ceremony, singing and trumpets, all of that…”
    â€œAs it did when the barons swore.”
    â€œYou were there.”
    â€œI was there, sir. I watched from the door. I could attend with the court, if’t would serve.”
    â€œ Could you do that?”
    â€œI will.” He had attended in the shrine but he had not lingered. At summer’s end, Cefwyn had