The Lions of Al-Rassan by Guy Gavriel Kay

thoughts.
    â€œMuwaaris? Wha happ?”
    Ibn Khairan’s voice was grave. “Almalik is a subtle man, as I think you know. He wanted Fezana quelled, obviously. He also seems to have had a message for the prince.” He paused. “And another for me.”
    Jehane found her voice. “You really didn’t know about this?”
    â€œI wouldn’t bother lying to you,” Ammar ibn Khairan said, precisely, without even looking at her.
    Flushing, Jehane realized that it was, of course, quite true. Why would he care what she thought? But in that case, there was another obvious question, and she wasn’t especially inclined to accept rebukes from men who climbed in through the windows of their home: “What are you doing here then?”
    This time he did turn. “Two reasons. You ought to be able to guess at one of them.” Out of the corner of her eye Jehane saw her father slowly nodding his head.
    â€œForgive me, I’m not disposed to play at guessing games just now.” She tried to make it sting.
    Ibn Khairan’s expression was unruffled. “It isn’t a game, Jehane. I’m here to ensure that Husari ibn Musa is not killed by the Muwardis this evening, and that the physician, more brave than intelligent perhaps, who is assisting him to escape, is likewise enabled to live beyond tonight.”
    Jehane felt suddenly cold. “They are coming for him, then?”
    â€œOf course they are coming for him. The list of invited guests was known, and some of the Muwardis can read. They were instructed to execute every man on that list. Do you think they’d forgo the pleasure of killing even one, or risk Almalik’s reaction to failure?”
    â€œThey’ll go to his house?”
    â€œIf they aren’t there by now. Which is why I went before them. Husari had already left, with Velaz. The servants and slaves had been sent to their quarters, except the steward, who was evidently trusted. A mistake. I demanded of him where his master was and he told me he’d just left, disguised as a wadji, with the Kindath doctor’s servant.”
    She had been cold before; she was as ice now.
    â€œSo he will tell the Muwardis?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” said Ammar ibn Khairan.
    There was a silence. It was not a game at all.
    â€œYou killed him,” said Jehane.
    â€œA disloyal servant,” said ibn Khairan, shaking his head. “A melancholy indication of the times in which we live.”
    â€œWhy, Ammar?” Ishak’s question this time was astonishingly clear, but it might mean many things.
    This time ibn Khairan hesitated before answering. Jehane, watching closely, saw that odd expression in his face again.
    He said, choosing his words, “I already carry a name through the world for something I did in my youth for Almalik of Cartada. I can live with that. Rightly or wrongly, I did it. I am . . . disinclined to accept the responsibility for this obscene slaughter—as he clearly intends it to fall upon me. Almalik has his reasons. I can even understand them. But at this point in my life I do not choose to indulge them. I also found Husari ibn Musa to be a clever, unassuming man and I admired your daughter’s . . . competence and spirit. Say that it . . . pleases me to be on the side of virtue, for once.”
    Ishak was shaking his head. “More, Ammar,” he said, the sounds labored, dragging a little.
    Again ibn Khairan hesitated. “There is always more to what a man does, ben Yonannon. Will you permit me the grace of privacy? I will be leaving Fezana myself tonight, by my own means and in my own direction. In time my motives may become clearer.”
    He turned to Jehane, and she saw by the candle and the light coming in through the window that his eyes were still altered and cold. He had said enough, though; she thought she knew what this was about, now.
    â€œWith the