“So Elas took me in,—to use.”
“No,” said Kta quickly. “We would never have opened—”
His words died as Kurt kept staring at him. “Go ahead,” said Kurt. “Or do I already understand?”
Kta met his eyes directly, contrition in a nemet. “Elas is holy to us. I owe you a truth. We would never have opened our doors to you—to anyone—Very well, I will say it: it is unthinkable that I would have exposed my hearth to human influence, whatever the advantage is promised with the Methi. Our hospitality is sacred, and not for sale for any favor. But I made a mistake—in my anxiousness to win your favor, I gave you my word; and the word of Elas is sacred too. So I accepted you. My friend, let our friendship survive this truth: when the other Families reproached Elas for taking a human into its rhmei,we argued simply that it was better for a human to be within an Indras house than that you be sent to the Sufaki instead, for the influence of the Sufaki is already dangerously powerful. And I think another consideration influenced Djan-methi in hearing me: that your life would have been in constant danger in a Sufak house, because of the honor of Shan t’Tefur,—although I dared not say it in words. So she sent you to Elas. I think she feared t’Tefur’s reaction even if you remained in the Afen.”
“I understand,” said Kurt, because it seemed proper to say something. The words hurt. He did not trust himself to say much.
“Elas loves and honors you,” said Kta, and when Kurt still failed to answer him he looked down, and with what appeared much thought, he cautiously extended his hand to take his arm, touching like Mim, with feather-softness. It was an unnatural gesture for the nemet; it was one studied, copied, offered now on the public street as an act of desperation.
Kurt stopped perforce, set his jaw against the tears which threatened.
“Avoid t’Tefur,” Kta pleaded. “If the housefriend of Elas kills the heir of Tefur,—or if he kills you—killing will not stop there. He will provoke you if he can. Be wise. Do not let him do this.”
“I understand. I have told you that.”
Kta glanced down, gave the sketch of a bow. The hand dropped. They walked on, near to Elas.
“Have I a soul?” Kurt asked him suddenly, and looked at him.
The nemet’s face was shocked, frightened.
“Have I a soul?” Kurt asked again.
“Yes,” said Kta, which seemed difficult for him to say.
It was, Kurt thought, an admission which had already cost Kta some of his peace of mind.
The Upei, the council, met that day in the Afen and adjourned, as by law it must, as the sun set, to convene again at dawn.
Nym returned to the house at dusk, greeted lady Ptas and Hef at the door. When he came into the rhmeiwhere the light was, the senator looked exhausted, utterly drained. Aimu hastened to bring water for washing, while Ptas prepared the tea.
There was no discussion of business during the meal. Such matters as Nym had on his mind were reserved for the rounds of tea that followed. Instead Nym asked politely after Mim’s preparation for her wedding, and for Aimu’s, for both were spending their days sewing, planning, discussing the coming weddings, keeping the house astir with their happy excitement and sometimes tears, and Aimu glanced down prettily and said that she had almost completed her own trousseau and that they were working together on Mim’s things, for, Aimu thought, their beloved human was not likely to choose the long formal engagement such as she had had with Bel.
“I met our friend the elder t’Osanef,” said Nym in answer to that, “and it is not unlikely, little Aimu, that we will advance the date of your own wedding.”
“ Ei,” murmured Aimu, her dark eyes suddenly wide. “How far, honored Father?”
“Perhaps within a month.”
“Beloved husband,” exclaimed Ptas in dismay, “such haste?”
“There speaks a mother,” Nym said tenderly. “Aimu, child, do you and Mim go fetch another pot of tea. And then go to your sewing. There is business afoot hereafter.”
“Shall I—?” asked Kurt, offering by gesture to depart.
“No, no, our guest. Please sit with us. This business concerns the house, and you are soon to be one of us.”
The tea was brought and served with all formality. Then Mim and Aimu withdrew, leaving the men of the house and Ptas. Nym took a slow sip of tea and looked at his wife.
“You had a question, Ptas?”
“Who asked the date advanced? Osanef? Or was it you?”
“Ptas, I fear we are going to war.” And in the stillness that awful word made in the room he continued very softly: “If we wish this marriage I think we must hurry it on with all decent speed; a wedding between Sufaki and Indras may serve to heal the division between the Families and the sons of the east; that is still our hope. But it must be soon.”
The lady of Elas wept quiet tears and blotted them with the edge of her scarf. “What will they do? It is not right, Nym, it is not right that they should have to bear such a weight on themselves.”
“What would you? Break the engagement? That is impossible. For us to ask that—no. No. And if the marriage is to be, then there must be haste. With war threatening,—Bel would surely wish to leave a son to safeguard the name of Osanef. He is the last of his name. As you are, Kta, my son. I am above sixty years of age, and today it has occurred to me that I am not immortal. You should have laid a grandson at my feet years ago.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kta quietly.
“You cannot mourn the dead forever; and I wish you would make some choice for yourself, so that I would know how to please you. If there is any young woman of the Families who has touched your heart—”
Kta shrugged, looking at the floor.
“Perhaps,” his father suggested gently, “the daughters of Rasim or of Irain ...”
“Tai t’Isulan,—” said Kta.
“A lovely child,” said Ptas, “and she will be a fine lady.”
Again Kta shrugged. “A child, indeed. But I do at least know her, and I think I would not be unpleasing to her.”
“She is—what?—seventeen?” asked Nym, and when Kta agreed: “Isulan is a fine religious house. I will think on it and perhaps I will talk with Ban t’Isulan, if in several days you still think the same.—My son, I am sorry to bring this matter upon you so suddenly, but you are my only son, and these are sudden times. Ptas, pour some telise.”
She did so. The first few sips were drunk in silence. This was proper. Then Nym sighed softly.
“Home is very sweet, wife. May we abide as we are tonight.”
“May it be so,” reverently echoed Ptas, and Kta did the same.
“The matter in council,” said Ptas then. “What was decided?”
Nym frowned and stared at nothing in particular. “T’Uset is not here to bring peace, only more demands of the Methi Ylith. Djan-methi was not in the Upei today; it did not seem wise. And I suspect—” His eyes wandered to Kurt, estimating; and Kurt’s face went hot. Suddenly he gathered himself to leave, but Nym forbade that with a move of his hand, and he settled again, bowing low and not meeting Nym’s eyes.
“Our words could offend you,” said Nym. “I pray not.”
“I have learned,” said Kurt, “how little welcome my people have made for themselves among you.”
“Friend of my son,” said Nym gently, “your wise and peaceful attitude is an ornament to this house. I will not affront you by repeating t’Uset’s words. Reason with him proved impossible: the Indras of the mother city hate humans, and they will not negotiate with Djan-methi. And that is not the end of our troubles.” His eyes sought Ptas. “T’Tefur created bitter discussion, even before t’Uset was seated, demanding we not permit him to be present during the Invocation.”
“Light of heaven,” murmured Ptas. “In t’Uset’s hearing?”
“He was at the door.”
“We met the younger t’Tefur today,” said Kta. “There were no words, but his manner was deliberate and provocative, aimed at Kurt.”
“Is it so?” said Nym, concerned, and with a glance at Kurt: “Do not fall into his hands. Do not place yourself where you can become a cause, our friend.”