The Eagle & the Nightingales: Bardic Voices, Book III by Mercedes Lackey

the human Church, perhaps . . . though I am not particularly sanguine about one Haspur being able to overcome the interests of the Church, however optimistic Harperus may be. Religion rules the heart, and the heart is the most stubborn of adversaries. Rule the religion, and you rule the heart, and no one can oppose you — unless what you offer is better. Then, you must convince them that what you have is better, and people will die to hold on to what they already believe . . .
    T’fyrr twitched his tail irritably. Harperus was optimistic about a great many things—and T’fyrr did not share his optimism in most of them.
    Even if we can get in to see this High King, there is no guarantee he will be impressed with my singing. Even if he is, there is no guarantee that he will actually do anything about it personally; and from what I have seen, if he leaves my disposition up to his underlings, they will find a way to “lose” me. No, Harperus is counting on a great deal of good luck, and good luck seems to have deserted me.
    T’fyrr glanced out the windows again and was impressed, though in a negative fashion, by the homes he now passed. These dwellings—each a magnificent work of art, each set in its own small park and garden—were clearly owned by those of wealth and high rank. And the guards on that gate they had passed showed just how unlikely it would be for a commoner to get access to these lovely garden-spots.
    So the low and poor must crowd together in squalor, while the wealthy and high live in splendor. If I were low and poor — I think I would go elsewhere to live. My home would still be poor, but at least I would have sunlight and fresh air, green things about me and a little peace.
    But—perhaps these humans enjoyed living this way. Starlings certainly did. That made them even less understandable.
    Not that he had come close to understanding them so far. The humans’ own Sacrificed God spoke of fairness and justice and faith in the goodness of others. These things should prevent believers from doing harm to strangers. Why should an underling, clearly seeing his superiors doing vile things to another living being, believe that those things were justified? How could he be convinced that another being, who had done no harm, was a monster worth destroying? How could such a man be so convinced that those superiors were correct that he would spend his own life to carry out their will?
    Perhaps those superiors were right; perhaps T’fyrr was as potentially evil as they claimed. After all, he was the one who had killed. Perhaps he misunderstood what the Sacrificed God was all about—after all, if the Deliambrens could make white into black, maybe the humans could, too.
    I only hope that Harperus’ plan works as well as he thinks it will, T’fyrr thought, depression settling over him again. I might somehow redeem myself if only I can be in a position where I can do some real good — or perhaps this helplessness to affect anything for the better is punishment for my evil . . .
    T’fyrr was not as expert at reading human expressions as he would have liked, but there was no mistaking the look the Court official facing them wore on his refined visage.
    Disdain, Not all of Harperus’ Deliambren charm or magic had been able to remove that look from the face of this so-called “Laurel Herald.” He had taken in the splendor of Harperus’ costume—a full and elaborate rig that made the Deliambren look to T’fyrr’s eyes rather like one of those multitiered, flower-bedecked, overdecorated cakes that some races produced at weddings and other festivities. He had watched the coach drive itself off to a designated waiting place with a similarly lifted brow. Of course, he was probably used to seeing similar things every day, and his livery of scarlet and gold, embroidered on the breast with a winged creature so elaborately encrusted with gold bullion that it was impossible to tell what it was supposed to be, was just