Starrise was a singularly unpleasant experience for Darame. Before the star had fully cleared the horizon, she was prostrate with dry heaves.
Now I am for it... must be some form of influenza. Wryly, she congratulated herself on picking the location of a hot healer. Sweet Mendülay, she hated to be only a little sick. It would be embarrassing to ask for assistance....
“Atarae?” Mailan’s soft, low voice was close by in the gloom. “I have brought you some water.”
“Thank you,” she managed. Sitting up took time, but she accomplished it on her own. Reaching for a mug was temporarily beyond her; Mailan finally poured her a small amount and closed her fingers around the ceramic sides.
“The body is always the weak link,” Darame said lightly, slowly sipping the water. Part of her wanted to rinse her mouth, but old habits died hard — this was the ciedär, and one did not waste moisture in the ciedär.
“Do you wish me to ask for The Dragoche?” Mailan asked.
After pausing for another sip, she said: “We must talk first.”
“About Garth Kristinsson?” Mailan’s rise to captain was threatening to make her garrulous; guaard did not ask questions often.
“Partly.” A night of restless sleep had crystallized several things for Darame. First and foremost was the need to tell Mailan about Kristinsson’s words. If Aesir was able to reach her, she was uncertain that even the guaard could prevent her death. But she could not leave Sheel to wonder why an assassin had struck in the night. “Kristinsson mentioned something in his murmurings that you should know about. He said ‘Aesir considers the debt to be paid.’ Are you familiar with that phrase?”
“I believe it has something to do with the Gavrielian underground,” Mailan said calmly, startling her Atarae.
“Now how do you know that?”
“The security forces of different worlds occasionally are pushed into alliance. During one of those times, the guaard had access to the data banks of the Reykjavik Internal Police.”
“Indeed.” Perhaps the Reykjavik police had not known they had volunteered quite so much information? “That is essentially correct. They are... have you ever heard of the Mafia? The idea of one nationality having a group which protects its interests... at a price?”
“Born on Earth, was it not? Somewhere in the nineteenth or twentieth century anno domini nation of Italy. They took the law into their own hands to satisfy blood feuds, and progressed into a strong criminal syndicate.” Mailan sounded momentarily like a history teacher.
“Exactly. The progression on Gavriel was much the same, only Aesir still exists mainly to settle wergild. Aesir loans money and seeks information, all to protect the interests of people who come to them — Gavrielians, mostly. Aesir gets a cut of the wergild, of course. If the person who borrowed metal or asked for information doesn’t pay up, his family may suddenly have even more reason to seek wergild.”
“And what has this to do with you, Atarae?” Mailan asked neutrally.
“I am not sure.” Frowning, Darame dug into memory. “Those words are traditional — Aesir uses them when they consider their part of a job to be complete. The question is, why was Garth Kristinsson using those words?”
“I would imagine he will be unlikely to volunteer a reason.”
“I imagine you are correct,” Darame said wryly. “Aesir said those words to Kristinsson, I would guess. Again — why? To signal that he, or someone close to him, had paid a debt? To offer ceremonially to someone else, once he had made sure that they had satisfied a debt? If he is Aesir, he is one of two things — an assassin, or a witness. If he is not....”
“You are in danger, Atarae,” Mailan stated.
“Possibly. Words spoken in a delirium may be long past — or not connected to me at all. So —” Darame carefully settled her robes around her knees. “If there is a threat, it is off-world — Aesir does not hire native mercenaries to make their lessons plain. But I am not sure the guaard can anticipate Aesir, even with prior knowledge. Should something happen, at least you will know why.” This last was brisk.
“Atarae.” This one-word sentence caused Darame to glance up from the hem she was smoothing. Mailan’s face was peaceful. “Did you in the past ask Aesir for either wealth or information? For any reason?”
“Lucy’s Light, no! I stayed as far away from them as possible.” Darame shuddered, wrapped in distant memory. “It was not wise to draw their attention to yourself... Aesir never forgot someone who was useful. I always thought myself fortunate that they never seemed to notice me. Perhaps I was hasty, thinking myself secure from their eyes.”
“Then they have another reason for seeking you, if they do. Are you not allowed to speak in your defense?”
Darame smiled mirthlessly. “Another reason to treat Aesir with respect; if they are satisfied with a claim, they do not bother with counter-claims while attempting to satisfy ancient law.” Sighing, Darame gave her shoulders a twist, and then pulled her first veil across her face. “It is time to approach Garth Kristinsson. Where to start....”
“From his advantage, of course — as you always do. But not quite yet,” Mailan replied, securing her own veil and rising to stand to one side of the tent slit. Fabric slapped as someone requested entrance.
“Come,” Darame said in Ciedärlien. Ah, to have Mailan’s hearing.
The warrior who entered was not familiar, but the individual behind him was The Dragoche. The woman did not wait for an invitation to sit but immediately lowered herself onto the cushions next to Darame. Reaching for her guest’s wrist, The Dragoche was attentive to every twitch and pulse.
“You are well, Atarae?” she asked gently.
“Well enough, Dragoche,” Darame said carefully. “Well enough to travel, and to take Kristinsson to the coast.”
“Yes,” The Dragoche agreed, releasing Darame’s arm. “Does your husband not know, Atarae, or did he choose to wait to tell you? You must be careful — the early time is the most delicate.”
Darame studied the woman’s dark eyes intently, weighing her words. Surely not... nothing like the other two times... but later ones were often different, either easier or harder —
“How long?” she asked steadily.
“Say rather how far,” The Dragoche answered, meaning it was still prudent to count from the beginning, rather than toward the end.
So new, this life... Darame had begun to wonder if three children was her allotment. How odd — before I came here, I would have thought that three was two too many. Yet fertility came and went, and sometimes the heat of the planet dulled its edge. Sheel, too, was still Nualan, for all his heritage of off-world men who had given their ragäree wives children. His fertility was cyclical, not constant, as was the case off-world.
“I will be careful,” Darame said aloud. Another child.... She felt a smile creep across her lips, and was glad no one could see it. Some things could not be shared with strangers, no matter how sympathetic.
Nodding once, almost as if giving Darame permission to use her own judgment, The Dragoche straightened her already upright stance. “Before we part, I would give you a gift, Atarae.”
Oops. Darame had nothing to match such an offering. “It is enough that I have spoken to The Dragoche, and heard her words,” Darame responded.
“Your promise means much to us,” The Dragoche continued, as if she had not heard Darame speak. “If it can be fulfilled, it will be fulfilled — though it take generations, it shall be fulfilled.”
“Yes,” was the simple affirmation.
“Your will is strong, ice woman,” The Dragoche said firmly. Startled, Darame did not reply. That was a nickname a sini of Lebanon had given her... had it traveled this far? “Not mere will, but sense of honor — I would pay homage to the morality of Atare.” Her hands disappeared momentarily into her voluminous robes; they reappeared holding a sheathed blade.
The leather was old and worn, but well-tended, the repeating gold design circling the hilt known as soft diamond. Ebony... the black must be ebony. It had traveled more light-years than she could imagine....
Gracefully The Dragoche extended both hands, offering the knife. “It has waited for one who cannot dishonour it,” she said gravely.
Hesitantly, Darame reached for the blade.
The grip was warm, that smooth heat only wood conveyed. So delicate, the worn gold tracings overlaying the woods... was there cherry in this blade? The only species she recognized for certain was osage-orange; its wood was blood red. At least three woods, with a grace that spoke of great age. This blade was so old it was almost sentient. Courtesy demanded she draw and examine it; the action almost lost her any claim to composure.
Just below the hilt, delicately engraved upon the alloy itself, was the fragile symbol of a crane....
Dear sweet Mendülay, it is a Crain. It was a very old name in metal lore, a family whose work spanned generations. Crain blades had been cherished by more than one member of the original Nualan landing party. She had thought all of them were in private collections, but one, at least, had escaped being buried forever beyond the sight of commoners.
Finally Darame lifted her head to meet the woman’s gaze. “I saw the look in your eyes when we first met,” The Dragoche said simply. “It was a look of blind terror... I must assume it was the young man’s words which inspired your fear. But you did not kill him; to place justice and moral responsibility before self-preservation is an act of which few are capable. We are no longer worthy of this blade, and have not carried it in generations. I trust you will prove a wise guardian.”
So that is how you knew... that I would keep my word to you. “I will do my best, Dragoche.”
One nod, as in satisfaction or dismissal. “Join me now in a cup of special tea, Atarae. It will help soothe your stomach. By the time the star has crested the sky, you will be ready to speak to Garth Kristinsson.”
They were slightly bitter, the pills; the slick coating on them was not nearly thick enough. There was no longer any choice, however — Garth knew when it was time to capitulate. So I take the pill series, he told himself grimly, downing the rest of a precious glass of water.
No one had to tell him the value of fluids. Shrouded figures appeared at regular intervals, offering coldseal containers filled with cool water. No one who came spoke Caesarean, but Garth figured he was meant to drink all of it — he had been there a long time, and had had no need to pass water.
My skin is doing the work, Garth told himself, trying not to move. So tired... he had done too much the night before. He found himself wishing he had one of the gauzy Cied robes. They were in three layers; an outer robe, a long-sleeved caftan over drawstring pants, and beneath that a skinsuit, which was light-colored and made of something highly absorbent. Actually, it’s rather stimulating, watching them peel off those layers.
A smile touched his lips. Who would have thought he’d have energy for sex? But he had surprised himself last night. The shadowed figure who had been present when he awoke had been female, but her amber-colored eyes indicated still another stranger. Without comment she had brought him an herbal tea and a moist, soft cheese, which he had finally let slide down his throat. What point in protesting, after she had pressed the pill packet into his hand — and two were already missing?
If the woman had been disappointed that he seemed languid, she had given no sign of it. Rather, she actually had a sense of humor about her presence — while removing her robes, she had winked at him. Garth had been surprised that she had stripped nude (hadn’t he read somewhere that the people conserved body moisture by always wearing clothes?) but after peeling off her skinsuit, the woman had pulled her caftan back on. Swiftly braiding her long, dark hair, she had curled up next to him and closed her eyes.
At first the added heat had been unbearable, but Garth had feared to offend her, and had not moved. Later on, sweat and desert shadow had cooled into comfort, and when the young woman’s fingers had trailed across the back of his right hand, Garth found that he had made a decision. Whether this was tribal courtesy, that a “guest” should not sleep alone, or private initiative, or even stud service in return for his rescue, was no reason to turn down an interested female with beautiful eyes and a friendly smile.
Morning bore a definite air of fantasy. Not only his companion of the previous night, but the first woman as well had been in attendance, accompanying the servant who brought them a light breakfast. The women had dismissed the servant and then removed their veils, revealing dark and golden beauty, both black hair and dark chestnut, and that same, slow smile....
The pattern of starlight through the tent slit drew him back to the moment. Another coldseal of water had arrived; how long had he been awake? He had napped again, after breakfast, once the pair had left —
“Enjoying your prison?” came a low-voiced question.
A sharp turn of the head, and Garth saw that others had entered his tent. Two more Cied, with different color patterns on their robes — The eyes of the smaller one were familiar. He knew that voice....
Garth struggled to sit up. Holy Jesu, where did she come from? And how did she find him, for pity’s sake? HE didn’t know where he was....
“They... have been kind, as far as they could,” Garth began slowly.
“You were lucky — their hot healer was nearby. Otherwise, you would have been dead yesterday.”
“I am a prisoner, then?” he said steadily.
“I have arranged to take charge of you, in exchange for some things the Cied want. They are great traders, and famous for getting the best part of a bargain. It all depends on whether you wish to leave here with me.” She stood with folded arms, a still, shapeless pillar of sand —
“You’re welcome to sit,” Garth blurted out.
He was correct; she had been waiting for an invitation. Irritation at his own lack of courtesy momentarily obscured the meaning of her last words. Whether you wish to leave with me? What is going on? Silently Garth watched the woman settle herself onto the floor of pillows. By the time she was facing him, eye to eye, her veils to one side, he was ready.
“Why are you here?” Garth asked simply.
“Looking for you, of course,” was the reply. “You left in a hurry, and without the proper paperwork. That smacks of fear. I suspected that you... overheard... some information that might be dangerous, and accordingly ran from those who might have silenced your knowledge.”
Had he imagined the pause, before the word “overheard?” “It seems a small thing for The Atarae of Nuala,” he suggested, probing.
“You are Lisbet’s son,” she stated, the spread of her hands indicating that there could be no question of her involvement. “Also, there is a very serious situation brewing on the coast. Some antimatter has been stolen. I was hoping that what you heard might be connected to the theft. I do not have to tell you the dangers of an antimatter trap in unskilled hands.”
“We will return to Amura-By-The-Sea?” Garth continued.
“Eventually. We will go to Andersen first.”
First. Ah — and if you needed to run again, there would be room. “How would I get out of the desert, if I did not leave with you?”
Darame smiled slightly. “I am not sure you would. Cied have a way of keeping stray off-worlders as long as they can. If they thought they could convince you to stay permanently, they’d put their hearts into it. Clean genetic material, you see. They might let you go, when the owners of the freighter came for their property. Then again... they might not.”
“What makes them so sure I am clean?” Garth responded evenly.
The woman’s smile widened. “I doubt they trusted to luck; I imagine that they ran a few tests of their own. Any young woman close to cycling would have been in the lottery for the first night with you... last night, I imagine The Dragoche sent the woman most likely to conceive. But it never occurred to them that someone who had failed to take the series would get this far into the ciedär. They have tried to make your stay as pleasant as possible, all things considered — and they sent for The Dragoche herself to heal you. As we have already discussed, you have given them return for their hospitality — a tenfold return, if either of those women conceived. You may leave them without a feeling of debt.”
“I do not know where the antimatter is,” Garth said slowly. “But I had a feeling... someone thought I knew too much.”
The look he received was intent; he was not certain she believed him. “That does not mean you cannot help me. At any rate, I can protect you.”
“There are some things Nualans do not waive,” Garth replied.
“I choose to be Nualan — and if you help my people, I can arrange many things. For the time being, I can get you away from here, and keep you safe from any who might threaten you. Few would have the nerve to cross the wife of The Atare.” Standing slowly, the woman pulled the lower veil across her mouth. “Think about it; my charter will not leave until the star is low.”
“I will go with you.” What was there to think about? And if she knew nothing, he was safe enough with her.
If she suspected his involvement? So far she was not pushing... so he was still safe enough with her.
For now.
Kee’s rays danced across the water; the reflection was as painful as light against metal. Clouds billowed across the horizon, promising rain. They had promised several days... it was as if the shore held its breath, waiting....
It was irrational, the guilt Sheel felt. He could not make it rain — why did he feel he should be out in the heat, suffering with the drooping plants outside his back door? At least Atare had something to be happy about — Avis had delivered a healthy son in the early hours of morning. Curled in a sloping chair, she cradled the sleeping child close, talking earnestly with her other children about the new arrival.
“Yes, he is tiny, but you were smaller, Jul,” she told her four-year-old daughter. Blonde curls bobbing, her mismatched pastel-hued eyes wide with interest, Juliana compared the bundle in her mother’s arms to her own long legs.
“What are we going to call him?” Drew asked.
“Well, your father and I have a few ideas, but there is time — we shall not name him for a good thirtyday yet. Your Aunt Darame and Aunt Leah will help.” Avis winked at Sheel and her husband Stephen as she spoke. Traditionally the mother, the eldest female of the House, and a friend of the mother’s choosing named a highborn child. Officially the family representative would be Leah and Darame the friend. If Darame had returned by then....
“Come along, troops,” Stephen told the small gathering. “Your mother could use some rest. You can come back later.” Bending to give Avis a quick kiss, Stephen scooped up Juliana to his shoulder and lead the way toward the door. “Rest,” he told Avis, his voice firm.
Chuckling, Avis nodded assent, her gaze already slipping back to the new life she held. She ignored tapping at the doorframe.
“Enter.” Sheel turned back toward the window as he spoke. Behind him, Avis graciously responded to compliments rumbled her way; Sheel waited to hear what news Zaide brought. It would not be good — that was a certainty.
Finally Avis asked: “And what else brings you here, Zaide?”
“You know me too well, Ragäree.”
“You always make purely social calls after vespers,” was the amused response. “Come now — what new horror have you dragged into the light of day?”
“Only a potential horror, Ragäree. Dielaan vessels are sailing down the Amber.”
Silence. Sheel twisted his torso toward the seneschal. “Not trade, then?”
“The wrong shape for traders, Atare. They are neither swift moonrakers nor heavy haulers. They can only be transports. And they do not fly colors.”
That was interesting. One side of the Amber River was controlled by Andersen, while the other paid nominal heed to Dielaan, much as Amura looked to Atare. Ships could sail without colors in their own waters, but not in open territory....
“How do we come by this information?” Avis asked, her concentration on her son’s face.
“Satellite, Ragäree.”
“So others know of this development.”
“Oh, yes — most of the omni stations have already mentioned the event.” Zaide’s voice hinted at unvented irritation.
“Have you taken any action yet?” Avis continued.
“I contacted a friend at an Amuran net link. More than one group has asked Dielaan for a statement concerning the ships. It is interesting to note that none of the embassies, either clan or off-world, have inquired about the vessels.” A familiar, deadly blandness had slipped into Zaide’s voice.
Sheel turned completely, leaning against the heavy thermal glass and meeting his sister’s glance. Her face was suddenly devoid of expression — Zaide’s last words had disturbed her. With good reason; when the clans were screaming and throwing insults at one another, the actual situation was sound. But when silence grew among them....
“Have we been contacted? Has anyone requested a synod meeting today?”
“No to both questions, Atare.”
“They wait,” Avis murmured. “I wonder how Dielaan will explain the ships.”
Vespers brought an announcement by the House of Dielaan. Sheel, Avis, Leah, and his sisters’ spouses watched the conference from the comfort of the Green Room, and then retreated to the starset level for an early meal.
Kee was low in the sky, slipping between the dark clouds like a wary ghost. “At least the cloud cover keeps the temperature lower,” Sheel said aloud as he moved to the wall-sized window.
“There is that,” Richard grunted, reaching for a hot roll and juggling it experimentally. “All we need right now is for the heat to touch off tempers. ‘Maneuvers,’indeed! Do they expect anyone to believe that? A perfectly good body of water off their own coast, and they need to practice maneuvers in the Alameda Sea?”
“Thr has been a flrry of messengers wheppin’ in an’ ert of Kilgor’ Herse,” Stephen added, seating himself and passing a covered dish to Avis.
Sheel gave his brother-by-law a hard look. Stephen’s Garrison accent rarely surfaced — especially when he spoke Nualan. Then he moved away from the windows and toward the small group. “Zaide, please join us.” Sheel gestured to a seat as the man entered the room. “Stephen tells us that Kilgore has had a great deal of activity today. Anything on the grapevine?”
“Their coastal watch is on alert,” Zaide said simply, nodding his thanks as Leah passed him the fruit. “Shall I arrange table service, Atare?”
“No. We can do without this evening.” Sitting down, Sheel let his long fingers toy with a utensil. “No more than could be expected, since they are at the curve of the coast. Anything else of interest?”
Zaide smiled. “I am not sure. Would you find it interesting to know that Lulani reb^Carlotta Dielaan left Amura today — for Andersen? And that Rebekah Finnsdottir was turned away at Dielaan House with the news that Quen reb^Livia Dielaan is ill, and cannot have visitors?”
The utensil paused in mid-flip. “And?” Zaide’s smile was satisfied.
“It is time to pass along the other news; I have been saving it for a time when we needed cheering, but the deadline draws near. In less than thirty minutes, Darol University will be making an announcement on the infonet. The intelligence branch of the guaard reports that the Physics Department has made an incredible discovery. They have been experimenting with the platinum group metals in antiproton targeting and lens work. Using trinium as the metallic target for a proton beam in a particle accelerator, the energy efficiency of antiproton production can be raised from a part in ten thousands to —” Zaide paused to take a sip of wine.
“Well?” Avis said, her expression curious.
“A part in hundreds.” Zaide’s amusement was clear.
Silence. Sheel kept his gaze upon Zaide, so he could not see Richard’s face as he spoke — but his brother-by-law’s voice reflected astonishment as clearly as a mirror. “Hundreds?”
“Hundreds,” Zaide repeated, reaching casually for a roll.
“We r’ rich,” Stephen exclaimed, amazement threading his words.
Avis started to giggle. “We were already rich, love. I do not think the tribe need consider the subject of wealth anymore. With this boost, we are considerably beyond the concept of ‘wealthy.’” Her gaze strayed to Sheel as she spoke. “Is it safe to celebrate?”
Stephen looked puzzled, but Leah’s and Richard’s demeanor was subdued. Leah said simply: “Consider how the other clans will react to this news.”
After a moment, Stephen said precisely: “Half the planet will be applying for entry to the tribe — pickaxe in hand.”
“The least of it,” Sheel agreed. “Seedar and Kilgore will not care for it... and I think I can guarantee that Rex Dielaan will go up in flames.”
“But it will mean both power and freedom,” Zaide pointed out, abandoning his offhand manner. “There are things Nuala requires; things our desire for trade forced us to set aside. Now we need have no fears, for they will line up at our door, attentive to our every word.”
“Hungry for our lifeblood,” Sheel murmured. Standing, he moved back to the huge window. The star was disappearing into a swirl of red, black, and yellow, the horizon seemingly burning. “Is Quen of Dielaan really ill, and why did Lulani leave Amura?”
“How can we find out?” Avis asked.
Sheel reached for the membrane of a RAM set inconspicuously to one side of a planter. Tapping in a code, he waited for selection to appear. “I am both doctor and healer, and I have access to medical information. If his illness is serious enough that he has no visitors, tests were run; the results will be at the hospice.”
“Can you do that for anyone?” Leah asked.
Smiling, Sheel placed a finger to his lips in warning. “And the answer is... Quen’s record has not changed since his arrival.... Lulani has been in her cousin’s shadow for months. Why Andersen and not home?” His wandering fingertips tapped lightly on the edge of the RAM.
“Kristinsson?” Zaide asked.
“Crow tells me it was the only probable direction for him.” His gaze shifted to Avis. “It is about time for you, is it not?”
She looked startled, and then nodded.
“As soon as you finish nursing, I think we should call Nadine... before Andersen’s announcement, if possible. I want her disposed to listen to us.”
“What will we discuss with her?” Avis asked, her gaze intent.
“Do you remember what I said about Stennis? Nadine was going to choose her time, and bring it up to the Dielaan ambassador... privately. And Kilgore has its ear to the waves, even as we guard the northern mountains.”
“I will send for the baby,” Avis said suddenly. “With some strategic draping, I can nurse him without anyone knowing — though I doubt Nadine would care. We should catch her before Andersen makes that announcement.”
“Of course she may already know,” Zaide pointed out.
“Everything is a risk,” Avis replied, rising and moving to a wall vid.
It took three different transfers to reach Nadine of Kilgore; fortunately, by Amuran standards, Kilgore House had meals at odd hours. Nadine appeared with a glass of white wine in hand, her mood clearly mellow.
“Redfish is always best with Sonoma River whites. I fear I envy you the vineyards, Atare. Would you care to work out a trade of some type?”
“A warm water shellfish bed for a vineyard?” Sheel suggested.
Nadine’s expression was momentarily remote. “Two vineyards,” she countered.
Smiling faintly, Sheel said: “Two beaujolais vineyards.”
“Chardonnay.”
Sheel shook his head slightly.
“A dozen bottles of this year’s crop?”
“For... “
“A preview of tomorrow’s Synod meeting.”
Silence. “Am I going to like the preview?” Sheel asked softly.
“Why do you think I am drinking before compline?” This was precise, the enunciation artificially clear.
Avis allowed her chair to turn slightly, angling her body toward the screen. “Burdens shared are halved.”
“For that, Ragäree, I shall arrange a basket of fresh shrimp for you.” She sighed. “I do not have the temperament for this, Atares. I fear I may have provoked something... but I am not sure what I triggered.”
“Let us reconstruct the scene,” Sheel suggested.
“Are we alone?”
Sheel glanced around the room. Leah, Richard and Stephen had left before the call was made. Zaide remained just beyond the screen.
“The seneschal listens.”
Nodding, Nadine said: “As we discussed, I intended to present the case of Stennis to the Dielaan ‘advisor’ earlier this afternoon. Our embassy representative had business with their ambassador, and I went along as backup. Upon arrival, I was informed that the man was not going to be available — that he was no longer attending to Synod business. Rex Dielaan would see me instead.” Smiling faintly, Nadine continued: “It is well-known the ‘advisor’ was sent to knock some sense into Rex. He is a partisan of Livia Ragäree.” Nadine leaned forward. “And at odds with his sister’s children, who are currently out of Livia’s favor.”
“Tsuga and his brothers,” Sheel supplied smoothly.
“Tsuga is heading up those ships, Sheel Atare. Now why would Tsuga leave behind all his responsibilities to conduct maneuvers in the Alameda Sea?”
Avis drew in a deep breath, but Sheel did not turn to catch her eye. Sweet Mendülay, Tsuga. The last three years he had quietly undermined Livia’s position... was he ready to openly back her son against her? Traditionalists would say Rex should go off-world, should find his wife and “serve his time” in the outer lands, as many put it. But others... outkin, outclan... what could they gain, if he tried to force Livia’s hand?
“Do you know anything for certain?” Sheel finally asked.
“We were able to tap a final message before their code changed... we have yet to break the new one. ‘Do not concern yourself with the regency problem, I have attended to it as per your instructions.’” Nadine was silent for a time, idly twirling her wineglass. “I told Dielaan that a man named Stennis had been picked up by the Amuran security force... and that he was claiming Dielaan immunity. I asked him if he was prepared for the questions Stennis’s claim was bound to raise in The Synod.” Her pause was fractional, but crisp. “Dielaan told me that if The Synod was so paranoid it saw enemies at every turn, it had failed as a body for mediation. It had failed,” Nadine repeated, “and as far as Dielaan was concerned, it had outlived its usefulness.”
“Finally he is pulling out?” Sheel said quietly.
“So I gather from his words.” She suddenly looked worn. “I was so careful, Atare... delivering a friendly warning. Dielaan was looking for insult. He told me through a sheet of ice centimeters thick that I should be careful of accusing anyone of having that antimatter — that I might be laying the groundwork for a ‘prolonged disagreement,’ as he put it.”
“Who was threatening whom?” Avis said dryly.
Nadine nodded, and downed the last of her wine.
“Let us speak before the meeting tomorrow, Nadine,” Sheel said.
“Call me,” she said simply.
“After sext, unless something comes up,” Avis promised.
“Good E’ven.”
The seneschal moved to disconnect the huge RAM vid. He stood by it, not speaking, his hand resting on the membrane.
“Zaide... have you heard anything from The Atarae?” Sheel asked quietly.
“No, Atare. Nor the captain.”
“If anything was wrong,” Avis said firmly, “we would have heard. Go put your children to bed.”
One last night... tomorrow will change everything.
It was only a refueling stop, but Garth wanted to leave the ship. “The inland sea is very different, isn’t it?” he asked The Atarae.
Shrugging, she responded: “The colors seem more intense here. Something about the combination of salt and starlight and particle density, I suppose. It is a beautiful body of water, but you will be able to see little right now; the star still sets early this time of year.”
“Do you care if I try to see from the tower?” he asked, keeping his voice relaxed. It was as good a time as any to examine their precautions.
“Not at all. We’ll all go.” Standing, the silver-haired woman led the way, her tall shadow only two paces behind her.
Why do I feel like you follow her but watch me? Garth knew better than to ask the guaard anything at all — his question was doubly unsuitable.
The Nualans knew their planet — it was already too dark to see the water, although several boats at anchor were outlined by tiny lights along their rigging. A different smell, this sea... saltier, harsher.
“Tomorrow morning in Andersen,” Darame promised him, nodding at the darkness beyond. “Directly across the water, oh, several hours by meth. The place I usually stay has a beautiful view of the sea.”
“You will like it even better from a ship,” came a familiar voice.
Garth whirled around, even as the guaard blurred past him into a solid wall between the voice and The Atarae. No, his ears had not deceived him — it was Lucy, with at least a dozen uniformed Dielaan warriors in tow. How in Seven Hells — Looking quickly at Darame, he saw the woman was watching his face.
Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her.