Waking was hard. Not that there was any reason to wake — what could be done on a ship at sea? A ship approaching harbor, Darame suddenly remembered, and fought her way toward consciousness. Your own fault. If your reputation was not so pervasive, they would have left you in Kristine.
But for some reason Lulani could not do that. There was a timetable involved... that worried Darame. Rex Dielaan’s cousin needed Garth, but wanted neither an alarm sounded nor a tracker at her heels. So Darame and Mailan had been “invited” to accompany them to Dielaan. Protective custody, my father’s black eyes.
Someone was placing a cracker in her hand. Well, yes, they did help, first thing in the morning. Convenient of the cook to have some on board —
“Atarae, can you hear me?” came Mailan’s patient voice.
“Of course I can hear you, you are shouting in my ear,” Darame mumbled.
“Can you open your eyes?”
That question was not quite right. Darame experimentally lifted an eyelid. The room was dancing without her permission. Slowly propping herself up on one elbow, she gave Mailan a blurred look.
The guaard was unruffled. “Drugged,” she said simply. “In the tea served last night. I did not drink of it, but they knew I would not leave you. We have had a seventy-five hour lock placed on our codes — we cannot call out of the city. Apparently there is no such thing as a cash call here — you must identify yourself to get net access. Other than that, we are alone. The remaining sailors will not prevent our leaving —”
“Since we would have to travel quite a distance to get to an outside line. A complete code block? How do they expect us to eat?”
“Food has been left. The sailors plan to host us several days yet.”
“Other avenues open to us?” Darame found that her head was no longer spinning and forced herself to stare at the guaard.
Mailan knew what she meant, even as both women glanced down to see the faint grey sheen tinting Darame’s roman. Their conversation was being monitored. “I sent a little bird two hours ago.”
More than ten hours before the satellite went over again. But Mailan had been able to tap directly into it. “How long was I unconscious?”
“From compline last night. None rang not long ago.” Mailan’s gaze was steady, her grey eyes full of questions.
Of course — Mailan was asking a question. Did they have any options? Were they forced to remain on shipboard for three days? If the warriors were gone, no one would stop them from seeking Garth and Lulani, but trying to track a cold trail through the maze of Dielaan would be a hopeless task....
“Is there still a regent?” she said abruptly.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly at the phrasing, but Mailan nodded.
“In the city?”
“There has been no mention of her leaving Dielaan.”
Slowly Darame swung her legs over the side of the berth. With exquisite caution, she raised herself to a sitting position.
“I am not sure it would be possible to approach the regent,” Mailan offered. “Dielaan news being what it is, I have not discovered the problem, but there is tension and hostility toward Atare right now. All Atare traders have been warned to remain in their hostels.”
“Wonderful.” Thinking furiously, Darame flexed her fingers and toes, wondering if the life-to-be had taken the drug in stride. Mendülay, if a miscarriage was triggered, what would she tell Sheel? What it would do to Atare-Dielaan relations —”The robes! We still have Cied robes!”
“Marked with the emblems of the royal line,” Mailan pointed out.
“Mailan,” Darame began patiently. “Does the average Ataran know any Cied patterns? The ruse only has to get us to the firerose garden before the Hall of Judgment.”
“Atarae?” Mailan actually looked skeptical.
“The trellis at the entrance to the gardens,” she specified. “There is a procession back to the palace every day at vespers. I know for a fact that Livia always glances at those fireroses. If we place ourselves carefully, we will be invisible to the crowd and in plain sight to Livia. And if it fails to work,” she added quickly, “We will return here for dinner and think of other ways to occupy ourselves. But Livia did ask me to visit before the turn of the year.” That for anyone who was listening.
“Very well, Atarae,” Mailan said quietly. “Would you care for another cracker while I locate the robes? That is one,” she added.
Darame struggled not to laugh, and lost the battle. Sweet Magdalen, were they back to owing favors? Whenever the young guaard had done something normally beyond her duties for her then-liege Serae Sheel, seventh son of Ragäree Riva, he had owed her an unspecified courtesy — whenever Sheel had done something normally not asked of the Line, she had owed him. Mailan had apparently decided that it had amused Sheel and drawn him out of his solitude. Do I seem to need a laugh?
“More than one, I fear,” Darame finally got out, knuckling away a tear. “Yes, Mailan, I will have another cracker. But I will get it myself.”
They reached the trellis of the firerose garden at the stroke of the vespers bells. Quickly taking in the area, Darame decided that the simplest arrangement would be to lean against the heavy trellis in full view. Leave her head uncovered? Perhaps that was too exposed... a curl or two trickling down her shoulder would be enough. Livia would recognize the ciedär patterns of Atare — Livia never forgot anything.
Fireroses were a late summer-early fall plant, but a few subspecies bloomed the entire growing season. A magnificent pink variety swarmed thickly up the trellis and across the arch like a bolt of velvet. Just the thing for Atare colors, Darame thought, choosing her corner with care.
“The unease in the city does not concern you, Atarae?” Mailan said quietly from the shadows behind her.
Then a horn blew, and there was no more time for conversation. Just down the street and across from them, the gates of the Hall of Judgment swung outward. Four pairs of warriors mounted upon black hazelles indicated that the regent of Dielaan was returning to the palace. Darame was intrigued to see that Livia was riding in a drawn carriage. I know we rode in a meth when I was here last. “Why a carriage?” she murmured aloud.
Correctly deducing that she was being addressed, Mailan said: “A meth can be tampered with; hazelles and carriages are harder to sabotage.”
Sabotage. Huh.... “Remind me to tell you about my little talk with The Dragoche,” Darame told her. “Someone else besides myself should know what was promised in return for cooperation.”
The carriage slowed and a young warrior stepped out onto the running board. With a spring to his step, he leaped from the vehicle and moved off into the crowded street. Darame watched as he momentarily disappeared into a shifting blanket of bodies, then tucked her hair back into her robe. He came up to her and, offering her a delicate filigree ring set with a marquis cut emerald, spoke without preamble.
“I am to escort you to the palace. A carriage will be sent.” Remaining silent, Darame accepted the ring. Spreading his legs, the young man folded into a resting stance and proceeded to ignore Darame.
A ring of passage... interesting. Announcing that she was under Livia’s protection; Darame recognized it as a gift from Livia’s mother, one that never, to her knowledge, left Livia’s hand. Necessary? Mailan had said there was a problem... she slid the band onto her right ring finger.
Reaching up above her head, Darame selected a firerose that had been creased by someone’s carelessness and gently broke the stem. Tucking the fresh blossom behind one ear, she gave Mailan her most confident smile and turned back to watch for transportation.
Dinner was full of exotic foods — an impressive spread on short notice — and the wine was a full-bodied Amuran cabernet. Cheese, chocolate, and madeira made up dessert, but Darame chose lemon-flavored water from the offered serving tray as she let her gaze flit toward the horizon. Good night, husband. Sleep well. Hours yet until Mailan could contact the satellite.
And tell them what? That they were free of the ship, but had definitely lost Garth? She would mention that they were guests of Livia — and host-guest law was practically engraved in granite. Safe for now.
A rustle of cotton skirts, and Livia reappeared from the inner dining area, moving languidly past the departing servant. Behind them Mailan and a Dielaan warrior stood like signposts on either side of the entry door. Below, in the courtyard, several warriors stood within the shadows. Did Dielaan always have so many present, beyond the usual door wardens?
Otherwise they were alone; Livia’s husband had joined them for dinner, but had excused himself after the meal. Darame had not missed the intent gaze he had given his wife before his departure.
“I have not seen us so quiet since right before Pamela and the twins were born,” Darame finally offered.
A faint smile touched Livia’s lips. “We were both carrying during the heat, as I recall. It was not a pleasant time to be dropping a child. And you,” she added, “looked like you were carrying every promise in Atare.”
“I was big,” Darame admitted. “But they were big babies.”
“How long were you on shipboard, my friend?” Livia asked quietly.
“Almost four days,” Darame decided to say.
“Did you have access to the infonet?”
“Not exactly.” This was dry, and amused. Livia must not think she was claiming insult....
“What part does Lulani have in this?” Livia whispered, sipping her wine. She still drank red grapes, the heavy, heady taste suiting her mood. “Were you aware of the announcement from Andersen?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Some physicist at their major university has been playing with antiproton production. He has discovered that platinum group metals raise the energy efficiency of production.” Livia took another sip of wine. “Trinium, especially.”
“It will be good for Nuala,” Darame chose to say. Would this help the trade balance? They just barely broke even some trips —
“It will raise the efficiency level from a part in ten thousands to a part in hundreds.” This was remote, as if Livia’s mind was elsewhere.
Darame was grateful that she was resting her water glass on the edge of her seat. A part in hundreds? For a moment the sheer value of it numbed her — the free-trader might be buried, but she was not lost within. Then ten years of casual wealth snapped her attention back to the moment at hand.
“Could Tensar have done anything?” Livia murmured. “Would his life have made a difference?”
She spoke of her eldest brother, the previous Dielaan, dead ten years and more at the hand of Darame and Halsey’s unmourned partner Brant. Sensing that Livia was struggling with something, Darame kept silent.
“It is over, for better or worse... the world I have known. I have tried to be a good regent, Darame,” the ragäree said steadily. “I have raised the standard of living among my people to new heights. I have opened lines of communication with ancient enemies, building for the future. I have borne six children... children I have been proud of.” Her porcelain features turned slightly, and Darame realized that she was crying. “Five days ago, my second cousin tried to poison me. He then took off with a substantial part of our navy. The order for the ships was issued in the name of Rex Dielaan.”
What was there to say? If Rex had ordered the ships, he had also ordered... what? Tsuga to take care of the problem of the regent? Dielaan was probably the craftiest and most violent of the tribes, but even they usually sent warning to a ruler that someone wanted them ousted.
“Obviously Rex does not know about the corner of hell the Cied claim is reserved for matricides,” she suggested.
Livia started laughing. It went on too long; finally Darame reached over and firmly gripped the woman’s shoulder, shaking her. Dropping her wine, Livia covered her face with her hands. The sound of shattered glass chimed discordantly; Livia’s emerald, returned to her hand, seemed to flash in reply. “What is he doing with those ships?” she whispered. “Have I built a new house only to have it pulled down — and for what?”
“Do you know where the ships are?” Darame said after a long silence.
“Two days out from the Amber Delta,” was Livia’s listless response.
“Heading...”
“West.”
Ah. Toward the west coast... Kilgore, Seedar, Amura, the sini alliance... Atare. Was it a simple threat, or a promise?
“You are a very good regent, Livia,” Darame whispered, her gaze shifting to the sky, where the stars began to come out. “All that has happened in the past few days, and your first thought is for your land and its people. That is as it should be.”
“But I am also a mother, Darame. What do I owe my children?”
“You are the ragäree of Dielaan. You are the mother of your people, as much as the mother of the heirs.” Darame spoke flatly, grinding the words.
“Those ships are full of outkin, Darame. Most of them trained warriors. And I have no idea what Tsuga and Rex are going to do with them. They could be planning on starting a war — and I have no idea whom they plan to fight!” This last was almost bitter.
“I can assume you frown on this decision?”
“How can I know what I think if they tell me nothing? Even my — contact — in Amura has not sent word. And if he knows nothing —”
“Or is unable to send you word.” Darame continued into the silence. “If someone tried to poison you, Livia, you must assume that they have set aside anyone they suspect of being your partisan. What is the provision when an heir reaches for the throne before he is confirmed? Livia...” Darame decided they were good enough friends that she could speak bluntly. “If you think Rex is taking a fatal course of action — stop him.”
“He has the right.” This was both tired and bitter.
“No, he does not!” Darame leapt to her feet and strolled angrily toward the brick wall. “All this talk about his rights. Damn it, is there no talk of his responsibilities? Does he have the right to throw his people into a war that would drag them back down into grinding poverty? That might even annihilate them as a tribe?” Turning back to Livia, Darame added: “We have spent so much time building our synod for trade we forget that others watch what we do. What do you think will happen to the prices offered to each clan, if we return to bargaining alone? We need each other! Do you think the other tribes will allow Rex to kill the goose laying golden eggs?
“I do not know what will happen, either, Livia. Rex may make some brilliant strike and have you all applauding. Or he may ruin all of us.”
Livia did not respond. A dark outline in her cushioned chair, she methodically twirled the wineglass stem she had retrieved; she would not look at Darame.
I cannot stand it. “Livia... there is a very good possibility that Rex and Lulani know something about the missing antimatter.”
That got a reaction. Straightening, the woman turned imperially toward her guest. “Ah. And that strange-eyed young off-worlder is also part of it? Of course — I was obtuse not to see it. But Luzige pays little attention to the cousins; I warned him not to leave them out of his thoughts.” That easily, Darame discovered the name of the diplomat recently sent to Amura. “This makes sense.” Her deep green gaze flicked out toward the horizon. “Now I can explain. Rex absorbed much at Tsuga’s knee... mostly poison against the other clans, I fear. Tsuga felt The Synod diminished the authority of The Dielaan, and so opposed it. I felt The Synod relieved The Dielaan of playing merchant, as well as gaining top prices for our goods. We stopped talking to each other for a time over it — you knew that?” Her sharp glance made it clear she asked a rhetorical question.
“So as soon as he was old enough to deal with The Synod, Rex started trying to dismantle it?” At Livia’s nod, Darame grew bolder. “You evade the question — what can you do? If Rex has the right, can you do nothing?”
“Not exactly.” Now Livia looked tired. “But there is only one thing to do, and it might... get out of hand.” A smile touched her lips as she studied Darame’s face. “Do not eat me. Officially I am regent. Although Rex is heir — is Dielaan, since he is of age — he is expected to take care of certain matters before coming to the throne. Of course, sometimes the requirements cannot be met... a time of war, for example, where the Dielaan dies and his heir must take over.” Livia’s smile grew brittle.
“To whom does he answer, if he fails in any of those matters... without a reason?” Darame asked.
“To the family,” Livia said steadily. “Not only outkin, but outclan. There are many septs of Dielaan; their power is the pyramid upon which our throne rests. If he is a failure as a Dielaan, others will move in to ‘advise’ him. To keep the septs at bay, the family must move first.”
“But the family is divided. Some of the outkin are backing Rex.”
Livia’s eyes reflected her anger. “Backing him in idiocy! If it was not so ludicrous, I would suspect them of trying to pull Rex down and push another branch into his place!”
“Why is that ludicrous?”
Silence. Livia slowly stood and walked over to the silver-haired woman. They were of a height; Livia’s gaze was now steady. “Because I have three sons, not one.” A dare threaded her words.
“Rex already watches Quen like the proverbial hawk. What if Quen conveniently dies during a nice little war someplace? Either Rex or someone with darker plans could arrange it. You are supposed to be dead; if you were, who would be Coll’s regent?”
“Lulani, oldest of the outkin... Lucy was named for her. But she....” Livia’s face grew remote.
“You do not know!” Darame said hurriedly. “You cannot begin purging your family because you see phantoms threatening you! Lulani the elder may know nothing about this mess.”
“Then what do you advise?”
Dielaan historians would blame her sons, but the true surrender to Atare supremacy took place on a dark terrace in a coastal desert city when Livia Ragäree of Dielaan asked the wife of Sheel Atare for a course of action. What the free-trader Brant of Caesarea had begun, Rex Dielaan was about to finish — the autonomy of the clans.
“Stop Rex. If you show — right now, before he can start a war with somebody — that Rex has done nothing to prepare for his role, and now throws his people into battle like toys, I imagine the tribe will back you. Give your net some rein, and they will slice him up like a stew. I know your people follow you blindly, but are they suicidal?”
“If I do this, there is no turning back. I may not be able to save his reign.” Livia’s voice was finally calm.
“You have three sons, lady. Quen and Coll were born for this day.” Sweet Jesu, Livia! Twohundredyear ago your many times grandmother would have had Rex die in an “accident” long before now! Darame realized with a shock how protective of Atare she had become, and felt momentarily ill. Is this best for Dielaan — or merely best for Atare?
“Can I save my house?”
The only way to make sure of her own motives was —”I have no authority to make promises, but if necessary I will browbeat Sheel into supporting Quen or Coll. Somehow, we will salvage from this wreckage.”
Livia laughed — a real laugh, shorn of bitterness. “Ah, if only you had come sooner or later. Someone of Dielaan would have given Sheel Mindbender a run for the race!”
Darame impulsively stretched out her hand. “Kin cannot choose. Friends can.”
The ragäree of Dielaan returned the clasp.
It was frustrating, knowing that there was an argument going on in the next room and being unable to understand any of it. Garth nibbled at a baked corn chip and considered his position. Still alive... that counts for something. But Lucy was arguing with Rex, via satellite, and Garth wanted to know what had made Lucy snap. Wandering over toward the window, Garth paused just beyond the opening that beckoned to him.
“Lebanon? #0! Sinis? #( )*!! * ?;<< —” Lucy stopped abruptly.
“That I have lost my mind?” Rex’s sudden Caesarean words were very smooth. “Must I start explaining things to you, dear cousin, like a small child? The mines give Atare too much of an advantage.”
“Where is the antimatter?” This was barely a whisper.
“Safe. Do not fail me, Lucy. I will be very disappointed if you do.”
It was a moment before Garth realized that the harsh “click” he had heard was Lucy abruptly signing off. Eat; the pills must have something to work on. Biting into his chip, Garth continued past the windows, settling onto a pile of cushions decoratively placed in the corner.
Lucy whirled into the room, her color high. Without comment she marched to the table and slammed her fist down upon the plate he had been eating from, shattering both the tortillas and the pottery beneath them.
Gods, what does Rex want of us now? Rising to his height, Garth walked over next to her. “Did you cut yourself?”
Rubbing her fist, Lucy muttered: “No.” She seized a glass of sangria and moved toward the terrace.
“Are you ready to talk about it?” Garth suggested. Lucy, I’ve got to know what’s going on, and your net doesn’t ever say anything!
Lucy froze, the glass millimeters from her lips; her intent black gaze focused on him. “Whatever makes you think that talking would help?”
“Help you, I mean... not the situation.” So, we’ve been given our orders. Queasiness touched his stomach.
“We are going to the Lebanon airfield. Lebanon is a sini village. Fortunately, we are merely going to ‘borrow’ their runways.” This was very tart. Lucy tipped her glass, taking a swig of the sangria.
Well, if she intended to drink herself into the ground, he would have to ask questions fast. “In the north, then. Why?”
“Rex seems to think that the trinium mines give Atare too much power. So he is going to relieve them of it.”
“The power or the trinium?”
Lucy snorted. “Both, I imagine. I have no idea. He may try to force Atare to divide the mines among the other clans; he may simply extort trinium from them; he may blow Atare to The Last Path for all I know.”
Garth stared at her. “With what? Our antimatter?”
A faint smile touched her lips. “Now it becomes ‘our’ again. A few days ago you were denying you knew anything.”
“I might as well be executed for a crime as for suspicion of one,” was the even reply. “Lucy, I’m serious. What is Rex up to?”
Irritably she waved him off. “Something that Andersen announced, about antimatter production. He seems to think it will give Atare control of The Synod — or of all trading, if our actions collapse The Synod.”
“I thought antimatter couldn’t be produced here commercially.” He poured himself some of the sangria and dug in his pocket for his pills.
“It cannot; the cost of protecting the facility is prohibitive... or always has been. I wonder if that will change?” For a moment she was distracted; then she announced: “No matter — we are all going to die.”
Fighting the nausea the rav pills always triggered, Garth moved to her side and took her arm. “Take a deep breath. Rex scared you — he likes to scare people. What did he say?”
Oddly enough, Lucy did take a deep breath; it seemed to help. “Metals are used in antimatter production. Yes?”
“Yes. For targeting and —”
“Targeting! That was the word. Physicists can use trinium in targeting! It will make production much cheaper. Rex was livid; he is probably still yelling about divine guidance.”
“In targeting? A better target?” From a metal found hardly anywhere else? “Gods, Atare is rich.”
“Yes, they are,” she agreed, starting to drink again.
Garth seized her wrist gently, stopping her movement. “No, I mean this will make them rich beyond anyone’s wildest dreams! If they can produce more antiprotons faster....” He considered it. “No wonder Rex is furious. Has anyone seen the process work?”
“Garth.” She gave him a long look. “We are going to die. What difference does it make?”
Irritated, he moved back to the table and retrieved his sangria. “Stop saying that. You said Rex wasn’t going to kill me — he just wanted to know where I was. Has it occurred to you that others might want to overthrow The Synod? That our movement signaled their movement?”
“He is not planning on killing you,” she agreed carefully. “Whatever he did to warn you to be silent, he underestimated its effect on you. He was astonished and angry when you vanished.” Crossing one arm over her torso, Lucy shivered. “He is not the one who will kill us.”
Maybe I should have told you what he planted on me. Suddenly uneasy, Garth asked: “Who is going to kill us?”
“Atare.”
“Lucy....” He only had to take one step; quickly she continued.
“Rex does not believe that you told The Atarae nothing about our plans. He wants me to bring her with us to Lebanon.”
“Kidnap The Atarae?” Garth stared blankly at her... and was surprised at the sudden rage that rose in his throat. “No. She’s my business, not Rex’s.” Whatever I finally decide is my business!
“Do not be foolish. He wants me to take her out of the palace from under his mother’s nose! Darame Atarae is a guest of the ragäree, Garth.” Seeing that he was lost, Lucy said: “Even an enemy is safe once he has been accepted as a guest. I would be tarnishing Livia’s — the tribe’s — honor!”
“Where is the antimatter?”
“He would not tell me.” Lucy was actually pale. “What am I to do?”
“Don’t take her.”
Wearily Lucy moved away from him, setting her glass down on the table. “You do not understand. Surely Rex switched his transmission to the leader of the group I brought with me. He has told them what he wants. I am sure the sergeant has already sent people to take care of it —”
“Then we won’t go.” Garth said it softly.
“They will make sure you go... just as they will make sure of Darame Atarae and me.”
Garth stared at her. It was not her words that shook him... he had suspected it would be difficult to elude the warriors of Dielaan. No, it was the tone behind her words that surprised him. Lucy was afraid.
“Lucy,” he said quietly. “Why are you helping Rex?”
“He... he is my cousin,” she replied, bewildered.
Steering her toward the door, Garth maneuvered them both onto the terrace. “No, Lucy. That isn’t good enough. Quen, maybe, I could see you storming the gates of Heaven for... or your brother. But Rex?”
“He has the right.” This was stubborn.
“So? Let him go find his wife and learn something about the rest of the Seven Sisters. Why help him get to the throne any faster than usual?”
Now her concentration was on her wineglass. Garth leaned against the brick wall and hazarded a glance at her.
“I think you owe me an answer.”
“You have what you wanted, do you not? Surely Atare has been embarrassed by this, their trade damaged —”
“Not the conspiracy. I think you owe me one.”
“Will you tell me why you came here?” She did not look up; her words were very soft.
He considered the idea. Was Lucy a good confidant? He realized that he had no idea. “I might,” he said slowly. “If I thought I could trust you with the story. Probably not now... but someday.”
“Might is not a promise.”
“I said probably. Do you think I’d lie to you?”
“You might.” She straightened, her frail form frozen, ramrod. “Words have power here... where you come from, words are so much noise.”
“I don’t think we’re quite that bad,” Garth managed to answer. “But you’re avoiding the question.”
“I know.” Another deep breath. “You will not understand.”
“Maybe not. But I’ll try to understand.”
“I was afraid,” she said simply. “I was suffocating... watching my brother Silas, who is a born mythmaker, deteriorate into a drunken fop. Watching my brother Madras drive himself to the brink of suicide trying to manage the family estates, and his judgeship, and a position at court — only his need to go to Caesarea saved his life. Have you ever spent time in a... a totalitarian regime? There is only one voice allowed. Otherwise, those in power risk losing control. They control everything, Garth. What you do, who you see, the art you view and hear... even what you think, if they can. I was becoming stupid and lazy and vicious, concerned only with the immediate future... thinking about going to Caesarea and not coming back.”
“And you thought Rex could improve things?” This was hard to believe.
“No, no —” Lucy was vigorously shaking her head. “Change, Garth. I wanted to force change. I wanted to bring down the house of cards we call Dielaan, and build something better. But I wanted to figure out a way to do it so no one was hurt, or disgraced... at least no Dielaan. If I had thought I could do anything under Livia’s regency, I would have. But she was so careful of her trust — nothing changed that could help me or my class. We’re nothing but pampered breeders, leading useless lives.... Even if Rex is no better, there is always a period of unrest after a new Dielaan takes over — things change.”
“You’re an odd sort of reformer,” Garth said finally.
Lucy chuckled. “Hardly. I scarcely notice the lower classes; why should I? It was not until... until I found out about the ships that I grew worried.” Her voice grew suddenly husky.
“Ships?” Garth realized he was whispering.
“Ships have set out from Dielaan, Garth. Down the Amber River to the Alameda Sea.” Finally she looked over at him, her delicate features backlit by the salon lights within. “I think Rex wants a war. My brother will lead soldiers from our lands into war, and they will all die.” This was ragged; intense. “Do you think the clans will tolerate this? What if this time our people say: ‘No, we have too few sons left? 80s they may be, but they are our life?’ Or Atare decides to wipe us from the planet?”
Garth knew he was staring at her, but he couldn’t help himself. First murder, and then war. Lucy is right; we are going to die.
Was this what he had sensed, the fear that had gripped him the moment he had heard Lucy’s voice in the terminal? Yet The Atarae had not been visibly afraid... Lucy couldn’t have gotten me out of the Ciedärlien camp — she as much as admitted that. Did she guess that Darame would go after me? Was it all chance? But Rex sent her... or did Lucy tell him she would find me?
“Lucy... do you realize what you’re saying?” It sounded stupid to his ears, but he desperately needed time to think.
“We have been used,” she said steadily. “My honor is stained. If I can make this right for you, I will.”
“Screw honor! We’re talking our lives, woman!” Garth thought furiously. “If I can get us off this planet — do you want to go?”
The silence stretched. “If we can stop Rex, I will go anywhere with you,” she said with simple dignity.
It startled him, her choice of phrasing... as if she knew the words meant more to her than to him. Stop Rex? “How do you plan on stopping The Dielaan from doing anything he damn well pleases?”
“We must find new allies.”
“Lucy, wars have a way of accelerating once troops have been mobilized. You’ve got to do better than ‘We must find new allies,’” Garth hissed. “If you’re going to find a conscience, find one with a few ideas!”
“You forget one thing. Because the warriors have gone to seize The Atarae, we will take her to Rex. Therefore, Rex has no reason to doubt me.” Lucy studied him with her dark eyes, as if weighing him against an unknown scale. “Will you help me make sure there is no war?”
“There won’t be a war. Your people hate war — that’s why they fight so rarely.” Garth stressed his words, trying to make them true.
“We only fight when there is something to gain... something we cannot acquire any other way. My father would never have started the last war if Sheel Atare had ruled. Trade routes and contacts caused it.” Lucy smiled wryly. “I think that is why I have a secret fondness for The Synod. If it had existed back then, there might have been no war... no wedge for off-worlders to wield among us. I resent it that an Atare thought of it first.”
As clearly as if she stood before him, Garth heard Silver’s voice. For prestige and power. To erode the power and prestige of the other. Sometimes you can win and still lose — or lose and yet ultimately win.
“Then we have big trouble, because I think Rex is more interested in humbling Atare than anything else.”
Lucy nodded, her face drawn. “He means to make sure none of the clans will trust Atare. This announcement by Andersen will help him, will it not?”
“Oh, yes, my love... no one trusts an individual who counsels gathering collective wealth and then suddenly ends up with the winning game piece.” Garth stared at her, his thoughts furious. Was it enough? To destroy their synod and drag them to the brink of war? He didn’t want anyone slapping a charge of localized treason — or murder — on him. And that was what he was facing. But he didn’t want to leave this kind of mess behind him, either.
Of course, if Rex held Silver in protective custody, that might be the final move necessary to make people suspect she was a part of the theft....
“You are sure Rex won’t hurt The Atarae?”
“Of course not. He wants a hostage to keep them at a distance.” Lucy spoke with scorn, but her eyes betrayed her.
You are no longer sure what he will do. That chilled him. Nothing happens to her without my permission. Sometimes you can win and still lose — or lose and yet ultimately win.... So it hasn’t worked out quite like you planned — Lucy’s right. You got most of what you came for, didn’t you?
“We stay,” Garth said briefly. “And every warrior in Dielaan won’t be enough to help Rex once we get inside his defenses.”
It was ridiculous how good he felt when Lucy threw her arms around him.
This section of the winter home had wooden floors; there was a board under the third hall window which creaked whenever a neighboring strip moved. Sheel found himself listening for the sound as he walked toward the family room. Two moons had already risen; just past the full, they illuminated the corridor with their silvery light.
“I would guess that Rex Dielaan is playing games, Atare — and with living pieces,” Crow suggested. “Mailan had to be brief — otherwise Dielaan might have monitored a surface-to-satellite communication. But worry is premature. Mailan is competent, and The Atarae has guarded her own back for many years.”
“And the middle name of the House of Dielaan is treachery,” Sheel murmured, moving past the dark guaard and into the family salon.
“Even Dielaan has its own honor,” Crow stated as he followed.
“Atare merchants being attacked on the streets of Dielaan, and you are concerned with honor,” was the terse reply. Sheel cut off his words abruptly as he realized Ardal was in the room. The boy had just switched off a vid. Now he turned to his father, his face alight with excitement.
“There was a riot on embassy row today!”
Sheel stared at the boy. “What?” he said gently.
“A riot!” Ardal insisted. “I just talked to Denis — he could see it from his window! Amuran security arrested everyone,” he added, sounding just the slightest bit remorseful. “I missed everything.”
There will be more than enough action in the next few days, Sheel wanted to say. “Was anyone hurt?” he asked instead.
“Some people had batons, but Denis did not see any hospice staff.”
“Do you know your lessons for class tomorrow?”
“Yes.” This was prompt, but not overly so — Ardal knew better than to appear in the family room without his assignments completed.
“I would try the infonet, if you want more news,” Sheel suggested. “But you should be in bed, oh, in an hour or so. Use the one in your room.”
“Yes, Sir!” Ardal started running toward the far door, his guaard in close pursuit. Slowing and drawing himself up, Ardal hazarded a look over one shoulder. “Has mother called?”
Such simple words.... “Captain Mailan called. They will be gone a few more days,” Sheel said easily. Ardal continued out, his last words echoing in the hallway.
“I wish she would take me sometime.”
Do you know what you ask? Oddly enough, Ardal might indeed know what he asked. Turning to Crow, Sheel said: “A riot? Who started it?”
“It was between some young Wallace clansmen and Addams, a sept of Dielaan. The culprits have yet to be released —” The wall vid chimed, drawing their attention.
Sheel touched the membrane; the face of Leo, one of his personal guaard, appeared. “A Dielaan ambassador is here to see you and the ragäree, Atare. The latest arrival. Avis Ragäree has said she will see him; he waits in the Green Room.”
“Why announce this afternoon that they were withdrawing from The Synod, then demand an audience tonight?” Crow was clearly off-duty.
“Rex Dielaan withdrew his clan from The Synod; this man was not present.”
The Alameda Sea was a sheet of ghostly flames, as if radiating from within. It was impressive, the view out the windows of the Green Room. Dressed formally in a long gown of powder blue, Avis had waited for him at the double doors. There was nothing to say in private; offering her his arm, Sheel had indicated that the doors should be opened. Guaard had mysteriously appeared at their backs, doubling the ranks.
Tall for a Dielaaner, this man, and naturally grave of expression. He turned at the sound of the doors, and nodded formally at their entrance. Ringed in ice, this one. Still dressed in silk mourning — for his wife, dead three years, Darame had discovered. But he had yet to offer his name.
“Greetings, ambassador,” Avis said warmly.
The atmosphere thawed noticeably; Avis always sounded sincere, and it was hard to resist her. Bowing over her hand, the man said: “May I congratulate you on the birth of another heir? Mendülay has been kinder to you than to your mother — she had a great deal of suspense, did she not?”
“If you mean there were a lot of boys and not nearly enough girls to suit her, you are correct,” Avis replied with a smile. “We have been fortunate. We do not hold formal court at this hour. Please, be seated.”
Lowering himself onto a divan, the Dielaaner allowed a frown to steal across his face. “Since we shall wave a formal court, shall we wave other pleasantries? I hope you will forgive my haste, but there are important things with which we must deal. To begin with, you are aware that there was an altercation this afternoon before the gates of Dielaan House?”
Downgraded already, Sheel thought grimly.
“We had heard that some young men of Wallace and Addams decided to play,” Avis said archly.
Smiling politely, the ambassador continued: “What has been kept darkly secret is that the Wallace youngsters were liberating me from a protective guard of Addams.” Silence; Sheel could hear Avis’s kid slipper slide across the loomed rug beneath her feet. “I say ‘liberating’ because I was truly in need of rescue. I have been virtually a prisoner within Dielaan House for several days now. In desperation I called out to the crowd as I was being taken from the embassy. I could not have hoped that a foreign clan would come to my rescue. Undoubtedly they welcomed the chance to pound a few Addams’ heads,” he added with grim humor.
“Have you come to ask for sanctuary?” Avis said carefully.
“I have come to ask for your help. The young Dielaan left Amura-By-The-Sea early this morning. He has gone off on some scheme of his own, without consulting the Dielaan Council or the regent, much less discussing his plans with the embassy staff. It is irregular at best.”
“What kind of help do you ask?” Sheel said formally.
“Stop him.”
“Stop him?” Sheel could not keep the surprise from his voice. “By what authority? Amura is neutral, and has control only to the end of its own boundaries. We are not the law here.”
His face harsh, the ambassador said: “He has taken a large meth, with the bulk of the embassy warriors. The import of Andersen’s announcement was not lost on him, Atare. Look to your own.”
Sheel was conscious of the waiting in Avis’s posture... she would let him address the topic. Where was the family? Mostly within Amura or Atare, except for some outkin. Behind them he could hear a guaard leaving the room; before this conversation was through, every Atare on the planet would have had their ration of guaard doubled. “Is this a threat, ambassador?”
The man’s face grew dark with blood. “No! It is a warning!”
“Has he begun moving troops?”
“I believe so. There are troop ships in the Alameda, of course. And I am suspicious of several traders just south of here — their manifests are odd. But what I fear is that he will strike somehow at the trinium mines. He sees them as the greatest threat in existence to clan autonomy.” Something quiet, even sad slipped into the man’s posture. “Cort Atare Ironhand did not come down heavily enough upon Dielaan, after the hostilities ended. And now we have the fruits of his kindness.”
“Ironic, that mercy is seen as weakness.” Sheel kept his voice mild.
“We have more in common with the Cied than we care to admit.”
“The Cied may fight, but they do not have war, ambassador. Dielaan chooses otherwise,” Avis said simply. She continued, her voice stripped of its chiming humor. “If Rex Dielaan thinks to threaten our livelihood, he has made a mistake. We shall not err as did Cort Dielaan.”
Now that was a threat. It seemed to surprise the Dielaan ambassador; it did not surprise Sheel. His sister took her role as mother of her people seriously. If a snake threatened your children, you cut off its head....
“Atare?” It was Zaide’s voice; he stood at the open door. “Alasdair of Wallace and Nadine of Kilgore are here. They wish to speak with you.”
Sheel was beginning to get a headache. “Please escort them in.” He flicked a glance at Avis as he spoke; her half-lidded eyes meant assent.
Zaide had not installed them far away; in mere moments the group had returned. Alasdair had several of his staff in tow, while Nadine was alone. Sheel noted the last with pleasure — she trusted them enough to arrive without the usual Kilgore battery.
Ready to breathe fire, my Alasdair, while Nadine is cold and silent. Is this more fallout from this afternoon’s meeting? His head still ached from that one. Short and sweet; Nadine had implied that Dielaan knew something about the missing antimatter, and the young ambassador (the only one left since Rex’s purge) had abruptly announced that he had his orders....
“Please forgive this intrusion,” Alasdair started gruffly. “But it seems that a few of our coastal students have been involved in a street prank. I was hoping you might have a bit more influence with the locals than I do.” He definitely had his eye on the Dielaan ambassador as he spoke.
“I certainly have not pressed charges,” the older man murmured. “I owe those boys my thanks.”
This completely silenced Alasdair. Taking advantage of the lull, Zaide stepped forward and said: “The Amurans are being very careful with information, but it seems they are keeping the antagonists locked up merely to insure the fighting does not break out anew. They will be released sometime tomorrow, after tempers cool.” With a nod, Zaide slipped back out of the room.
Now, what is he up to that he cannot leave it? Sheel wondered.
“Well... thankyou both,” Alasdair said, bowing slightly to Avis and Sheel. “Your staff is as efficient as ever.”
“No tea?” Nadine asked. Although the faintest of smiles touched her lips, it did not reach her eyes.
“We did not know it was going to turn into a conference,” Avis apologized.
“Your shrimp is on the way to the kitchens,” Nadine said simply. “I am leaving on the tide. I have been recalled.”
“Recalled?” Alasdair turned and gave her a daunting look.
“Dielaan ships are coming around the peninsula... and we have an arsonist loose. Someone has been torching the wheat fields.” Her tone was frigid.
“No!” Sheel rose to his feet; those standing actually stepped back a pace from him. “Can you not see what is happening? This is exactly what Dielaan wants! All of us, drawing into our enclaves, suspicious of each other —”
“How can we trust each other?” Alasdair growled. “Kilgore throws around accusations, but they are the ones who plucked this spy from the Alameda. No one else has confirmed any of this... although we caught Yang up to something, last night.” Alasdair’s face seemed to close.
“Do we really need confirmation of the essential fact?” Avis asked gently. “Rex Dielaan has gone off on a private vendetta. This ambassador tells us it was without the knowledge or approval of council or regent. Let us not be too hasty to blame Dielaan for all that hovers on our horizon.”
“If this is not a ruse, to trick us into believing we but witness a rebellious heir kicking up his heels?” Nadine spat out.
“Has Rex Dielaan invited you to join his private little war?” Sheel looked directly at Nadine as he spoke. Shrugging slightly, she shook her head once.
“Of course not,” Alasdair muttered. “Dielaan has no use for anyone but Dielaaners — and precious few of them!”
“Precisely. Dielaan dislikes us at best and even hates a few of us. A more subtle man would have sought alliances, even with intent to betray, before starting up disturbances.” The Dielaan ambassador looked as if he was going to protest, but did not speak. “Would any of you trust Dielaan as far as you could throw him?” This time Sheel watched Alasdair. “Will we allow him to pick his time and place, striking when and where he pleases?”
“What are you suggesting?”
Sheel gestured to the Dielaan ambassador. “The ambassador has suggested that Rex Dielaan has taken a meth plane north, heading into the coastal mountains. His immediate goal is the Atare trinium mines. Andersen’s announcement enraged him — which may be to our benefit.”
“It enraged my brother,” Nadine said dryly. “He is not starting a war over it.”
“But if Dielaan was already planning a spot of war? His ships are three days, at the least, from Kilgore. They could not reach the trinium fields for eleven or twelve days, even with the monsoon winds. Surely his leaving Amura is premature.”
The Dielaan ambassador seemed to be struggling with something. Avis gave him her lifted-eyebrows, entreating expression. “I think your guess is good, Atare,” the man finally said. “Since I was ‘safely’ under his thumb, Rex did mention several things to me — some which made no sense earlier. Now I believe this was all part of a plan to discredit and destroy The Synod, gutting its bargaining power and returning trade responsibilities to each individual tribe.”
“And return us to pre-synod prices,” Alasdair mumbled under his breath.
“But he was truly enraged over the announcement by Darol University. He kept screaming about an Atare conspiracy, and that he would not allow Dielaan to slip beneath the sands of time. Whatever his original plans, I believe he revised them heavily last night.” In the wake of his words, Livia’s uncle actually looked his age... an elderly, exhausted old man who feared he had betrayed everything he had ever loved.
If I can do it, your sacrifice will not be in vain. Before Sheel could continue, Nadine spoke up. Her voice was soft... regretful.
“All I see is that Rex Dielaan has blown a synapse and gone haring off into the north. What are you asking, Atare?”
“Instead of each of us sitting back and allowing Dielaan to come at us when and where he may, I suggest we all send people north — and stop him before he truly starts,” Sheel replied, studying Nadine for clues to her own feelings.
They might have been alone in the room. “Dielaan is right in one thing... he recognizes a threat when it presents itself.”
“Which threat is greater?” Sheel responded.
Nadine was quiet. Then she shook her head slightly, the amethyst crystals in her hair tinkling like wind chimes. “He may be right in another thing. Nothing will ever be the same again.”
“Do you think your arsonist is merely a random fool?” Alasdair asked carefully.
“My brother does.” Nadine raised her chin aggressively. “I believe in coincidence... but not in a half-dozen fools spread over several kilometers starting simultaneous fires.”
Avis’s soft voice intruded, startling them. “A moment, and everything changes. Will you help Rex Dielaan drag us back toward the darkness, or will you try for something better?”
As Avis spoke, Sheel became aware of Zaide’s presence. The seneschal had slipped back into the room sometime during their talk, and had activated the RAM which was inset behind a sliding panel.
“Zaide?” Sheel said, making a question of the name.
“The Amuran police have succeeded in convincing Stennis that he will still have his immunity even if he explains his involvement in the affair. Please note the highlighted portion of the interview.” Touching the membrane, Zaide also activated the audio portion of the feed.
“The controller and the trap were not quite compatible?” came a smooth, even voice speaking Caesarean.
“No, but that often happens. I’ve jury-rigged many portable traps in my time. A Stanford trap can be hooked to almost anything. There were several wheels of wire laying around the control room. I chose the heaviest gauge available and wired it in. Worked like magic.”
Zaide cut off the audio recording. Studying him from the back, Sheel noticed a slight tremor in the man’s body, and settled himself on the edge of his seat. Go ahead, Zaide. Now is not the time to be gentle.
“The Stanford magnetic trap is off-world issue,” the seneschal said as he turned to face them. “As was the pirated control box. The electrical wire used to connect the two was Nualan, and doped.”
“Well, man? What is the last word on it?” Alasdair demanded.
“I am not a metallurgist, but dissimilar metals are involved. Transference of molecules will take place slowly but steadily. Eventually the connecting wire between the trap and the refrigeration controller will fail. The superconducting rings will then overheat, and —” Zaide’s graceful hands gestured, turning palm-up and lifting slightly.
“Without warning?” Alasdair sounded incredulous.
“Without warning,” Sheel whispered. “Once the transference blocks current. And that is unique to the conditions surrounding the trap.”
A slight chiming noise... Nadine slowly sat on the couch near the door. “May I have access to a RAM vid? I need to make a satellite call.”
He was surprised to see Lulani... afraid of Lulani? Unable to sleep, Darame kept going over the events of the past few days. You did not imagine it; he was startled, even afraid... not necessarily of Lulani, but of what her presence meant. So, he ran from Dielaan... and Dielaan tracked him.
Her knife chafed her leg, but something in her refused to take it off. She had been sleeping in her blacks for several days, now. . . tonight was the first time she had laid her stiletto on the side table. She was a guest of House Dielaan; others would touch her at their peril....
“Why?” she whispered to the ceiling, her thoughts veering back to Kristinsson. “I think he spoke truth when he said he did not know where the antimatter was hidden. But there are other things he could know about it.”
At first she missed the odor. It was no more than a cloying memory, like hothouse blooms left to wilt. Exhausted, to be manufacturing smell along with sight and sound... Why that scent? It was disturbingly like —
Instinctively she rolled off the mattress, digging her way under the bedstead. Someone — or several someones — seized the entire assembly and threw it head over foot toward the door. Still moving in a dream, Darame scrabbled at the nightstand, her hand closing on the stiletto she had been wearing in her hair. Even as someone seized her from behind, she twisted her body and stabbed backward past her hipbone.
The scream made her head ring. Free, she was free, and there were the balcony doors —