. . . Truffles continues
6
IN HUMAN TERMS, I’d opened the door, my reach to contact any nearby Clan having the unfortunate consequence of inviting contact I didn’t want.
The Clan Council.
Speaker, we need you here. Sawnda’at’s mindvoice was as querulous as his real one, and impossible to ignore. On Camos.
I touched a fingertip to my forehead, then waved apologetically at ’Whix, the Tolian well-accustomed to what it meant when my attention went elsewhere. I’m busy. There’s a problem with our truffles.
The Councilor’s astonishment was, I thought wryly, sincere. He knew better than to express it, knew to expend his own strength maintaining our link through the M’hir rather than ask it of mine, knew—so little, I felt a moment’s pity. Until he sent, You must! We cannot conduct a meeting of Council without your presence.
They could—they simply had a problem if votes were tied. As I usually heard about that, and quickly, this was about something else and I’d no problem guessing. What’s Acranam done now?
There has been Choice offered. Unsanctioned and against your direct command.
The Tolian’s emerald eyes were distracting. I closed my own. And the Candidate?
A confused pause. Any unChosen Candidate offered to a Chooser was, to put it in Clan terms, expendable. All Sawnda’at and the Council cared about was the flaunting of rules.
I put force behind it. What HAPPENED to the Candidate?
He survived, Speaker, with more appropriate—and wary—respect. The Watchers conveyed Choice was successful, and the pair have Joined. Which isn’t the point—
It was, in every way that mattered. Without such pairings, our kind would soon become extinct. A successful one? Where the Candidate hadn’t been pulled into the M’hir by a more potent Chooser and left to die there? Rare. We couldn’t afford any more losses. Couldn’t—and this was the point I consistently failed to get across to my kind—treat unChosen males as fodder, to be risked at whim.
It was why Bowman was now our ally. Why the Trade Pact had accepted the Clan and our problem. Why I’d forbidden any more offerings of Choice until a solution was found.
Does Acranam have any more Choosers? I asked, cold and calm.
We don’t know. They resist our requests for such data, Speaker.
Of course they did, having hidden their very existence all these years. Pretending to be dead. Part of me was willing to let them stay that way.
The better part knew we couldn’t afford their loss. Send congratulations and the usual gifts, I sent. They were lucky, at Sawnda’at’s stunned silence. There’s nothing gained by reminding them of it. Morgan’s influence, not that I’d tell the Clansman, my Human convinced the best negotiating tactic was to have others think they’d won.
Who knows, I thought. Perhaps a modicum of goodwill might result. Though, with Acranam, probably not.
As you command, Speaker, Sawnda’at replied, prudently holding back his own opinion.
I opened my eyes and smiled at ’Whix. Next time, Councilor? Sent with a surge of Power that burned his from the M’hir and likely would produce a significant headache. Unless it’s an emergency?
Use a com.
“He’s all yours,” Morgan told ’Whix when he arrived at our table. He aimed a thumb over his shoulder at the now-peaceful bar. “If you can pry him loose, that is.”
“A thankless task, but necessary.” The Tolian rose to his feet, dipping his beak to me, then my Human. “My gratitude to you both.” He left, stepping with elaborate care around the glistening puddles surrounding us.
“Ready to dance?”
I eyed Morgan and didn’t budge. He appeared remarkably unscathed, considering. “What about Officer E’Teiso?” I demanded.
“I could be wrong—” his eyes sparkled with mischief, “—but I don’t believe F’Feego dance.”
He was up to something. I recognized the signs with an inner thrill. Care to explain yourself?
The corner of his lips quirked. That obvious?
“Only to me,” I said aloud. You’ve a plan, don’t you? Something devious.
“Not at all.” Morgan bent to give me a firm kiss, straightening before my hair could entice him to linger. “If we needed devious, I’d call on another friend altogether.”