His father, it turned out, had to make compromises, and the world was complicated, and no, he could not even ask his father for what he most wanted.
All his rank thus far had done for him was to see everyone he attached to had to leave him alone for his own good, because they weren’t perfect enough, in the opinion of his great-grandmother or his great-uncle, or even, in Bren’s case and his uncle’s and his grandmother’s, because they were important and busy and had no time to bring up a boy. His father had welcomed him, hugged him close, looked him in the eyes, and straightway gone off to talk to people about an assassination in the south; his mother had hugged him, remarked how he had grown, patted his cheek, and gone off to talk to Uncle Tatiseigi and the lord of the Ajuri about where they were staying and how they were going to deal with Lord Bren’s apartment.
He knew, because Great-grandmother had told him, that being aiji was necessarily a lonely job. He already knew that ruling the aishidi’tat meant owing no aiji-respect, only collecting it from others—he had made a start with Antaro and Jegari—and if one was born to be aiji, one had different sorts of emotions from the rest of the world. One was just peculiar, compared to other people. He would be sitting someday at the top of a pyramid of man’chi, and getting it all, but needing to dispense, well, very little, in an obligatory way, though Great-grandmother told him that a wise aiji was as good as he knew how to be or people left him in short order, the way they had left Murini.
So he could have a few people close to him, but mostly he had to deal with everybody equally and impartiallyc because that was good, and it kept everyone happy. Favoring certain people was a bad thing. If one was aiji.
Was he that peculiar-minded? He had no idea. Loneliness sounded—well, boring as well as painful. He had no way to tell if it meant something else to other people.
On the ship he had been amazingly safe, and comfortable, and could do almost anything he liked when he was off with Gene and their other associates—and was that not having power, even when he had to worry about getting caught? It was never serious. Nobody died. Nobody even got hurt—well, muchc Here he had to slip about to do the least little thing, and invent somewhere to have been, if he was not where someone expected him. Overall, it had been so pleasant up there, being attached to people. There had been endless things to do. There had been surprises, and plans and plots.
Now he had won the place he was supposed to havec and everything had changed for the worse. He was bored and irritated most of the time he was just with Jegari and Antaro, bored and lonely when he was by himself. Great-grandmother no longer gave him his daily lessons. She forgot he existed.
He was a prisoner, was all, not even invited to breakfast on the balcony.
He pushed his plate back. “Nadiin-ji,” he said to his young bodyguards, “I have no appetite. But one has no wish to worry Cook. Will you make it disappear?”
“May we ask, nandi?” Taro asked, the sister of the pair.
A deep sigh. And two devout faces stared at him, concerned and with their own world out of sorts, because he frowned at them and said he was out of sorts.
He saw how the atmosphere was of his own making. He decided it was time for a supreme effort, and that he was going to break several rules at once.
“I shall talk about Gene and Artur,” he said solemnly. “About the ship. About how we lived aboard.”
“We will be glad to hear,” Jegari said earnestly, as if Jegari really were glad, even relieved. Antaro’s face brightened, too.
“I might have an egg or two,” Cajeiri said. Having made up his mind to talk, and having met actual enthusiasm for a change, he found something of an appetite to go with it.
He had shared tea with a kyo, a being neither Taro nor Jegari could imagine, even having seen pictures of that event. He could tell them about that association.
He had done so very much in his young life, and to have Great-grandmother telling him—but not directly ordering him—to drop all his former associationsc Well, but it was just stupid! Breaking with associations was not his value in the scheme of things, was it? Had not Lord Bren said that? Had not Great-grandmother and Great-uncle agreed? He mixed most of the continent in his bloodline, and it had turned out the lords were considerably wrought about that, each vying to claim a share of him for their province, their people. They all thought those connections he had were a good thing.
So, and had he not gained human associates, including Lord Bren, who advised his father. He was never going to give Lord Bren up, was he? Did not Lord Bren serve his father, and his father approve him?
So he could make these two who were so devoted to him understand how that was, and maybe get them to stop objecting about the rules.
He decided, he was not going to sit on his hands—Bren’s word for doing nothing. He was not an island. He was not born for that. He connected everything. Was that not why everyone who wanted the aishidi’tat to survive—had cheered him in the streets when he came here?
“Gene and Artur were my associates during the voyage home,” he began, attempting cheerfulness toward two maddeningly attentive faces. He decided to be patient. Great-grandmother had taught him to be, and thwacked his ear when he fidgeted. He decided to fight with words. Lord Bren had taught him that. “Gene and Artur and Bjorn. They made fortunate three.” That hurt to think of, because, up there, they still would be fortunate three, without him. Gene had somehow invited Bjorn into the group. Or Bjorn had added himself, and confused him, since he had known his great-grandmother would disapprove. “I said Irene should join us because it made us five— though humans hardly think in numbers.
They were born on a space station we never even knew existed, a few years agoc”
“A number of matters have to be attended to,” Ilisidi said to Bren, and spared a glance up. “Are you chilled, nand’ paidhi?”
“Only a little, aiji-ma. Please, finish your tea.”
“Well, well.” She poured her cup, and by gesture, offered the same to him, from her own hand, in this breakfast with few servants.
“Honored, aiji-ma.” He took it, and warmed his hands and scalded his mouth with the first sip.
“Bitter?”
“Hot. Heat is welcome.”
“Well, well, but I shall be leaving the Bu-javid. Things must be said while we have the chance, nandi-ji. The repairs of Tirnamardi are one thing. The repairs to the fabric of the Central Association—those are far more urgent.”
“Indeed. Whatever you wish said, or done, aiji-ma, I shall do.”
“There have been too many assassinations in our absence from the world, even into the East. Lord Mesi is dead.”
That was a neighbor of hers, in the Eastern Association, her distant home.
“One regrets to hear it.”
“Poisoned. And he was such a careful man.”
“One urges the dowager take very great care at Tirnamardi. We already know its risks.”
“Disaffection in the district. A house neighboring the Kadagidi.
Not to mention marriages across that border.” Of which Cajeiri’s mother’s relatives in Ajuri clan were several key ones, nominally interested in mending fences—and likely to make approaches, honest or otherwise. Ilisidi pursed her lips, the cup stayed on its way to her mouth. Her gold eyes darted a sharp glance aside to the doorway and back. “Tatiseigi asked remuneration from my grandson for the damages to the estate. He will get it. He will be quite astonished.”
So Tabini himself was going to foot the bill for the battle. Or the national treasury was. “It seems just,” Bren said. “But the province at large suffered, too.”