He didn’t bet on it, however. He set himself to be hungry only for items he was relatively sure of and knew that the real danger attended the main course, which there was no dodging.
There was a good deal of small talk: Ilisidi caught up on neighbors’ births and deaths, endured a few small barbs with remarkable patience, and generally remained in fair humor— which meant, Bren thought, that Ilisidi thought there was a very great deal to be gained here.
The main course turned out to be adichara, a fish recognizable in its presentation, the head and dorsal spines set on one side, the tail on the other, in a bed of autumn berries. He was vastly relieved, and took a child’s portion, with no berries.
“The paidhi-aiji hardly eats enough to keep alive,” Drien observed, and Bren bowed his head.
“At my size, nandi, I forever leave too much of my servings. It is by no means a slight to the cook, whose skill is extraordinary. One will remember this dish, indeed.”
“One is hardly sure that is a compliment,” Drien said, looking at Ilisidi. “Do you think his taste can judge anything good?”
“The paidhi’s own table matches any lord’s,” Ilisidi said. “Even mine.”
“One is extravagantly grateful, nandi,” Bren said with a little bow of the head toward Ilisidi.
The small barbs went back and forth, right into dessert, which was another variation on autumn berries—Bren declined, professing himself full, and wondered quietly to the server if there might be co di suri, instead, a white, sweet liqueur he knew was safe.
It appeared, duly served. The one attempt to poison the paidhi-aiji fell aside, whether a test of his aplomb, or his knowledge, or whether it was the mere mischance of an unaccustomed cook. He sipped, and the dowager and their hostess ate, and got down to brandy. Then talk moved to the salon, the room with the fire, which was blazing high this wintry highland evening.
All this time Banichi and Jago had stood by, as Cenedi had, with Nawari, this time stationed outside the salon doors, which a servant shut. The room was the very essence of the East: the beamed ceiling, the ancient hangings on ancient stone, the wooden floor overlain with carpets which had seen at least a hundred years of wear: the sitting-group, of carved wooden chairs with rich cushions.
“He does persistently go with you, ’Sidi-ji,” Drien remarked rudely.
“He certainly does,” Ilisidi said with a tight smile. “And will go where we go.”
“Perhaps he might stay behind when you go. He has a certain interest.”
Bren’s heart did a little jump. The last time Ilisidi had gotten him involved with local lords, he had ended up with a broken arm. It did another jump when Ilisidi answered: “Perhaps. Why would you wish it?”
“Curiosity,” was Drien’s answer. “Mere curiosity.” She sipped her brandy.
“We were speaking of my great-grandson, nadi,” Ilisidi said sharply. They had not been speaking of him since before dinner.
“One has no idea, nadi,” Drien said.
“We did not ride all this distance for dinner and a dance, cousin.
Out with it! You have an opinion. Let us hear it!”
“My opinion. Now when has Malguri asked that?”
“I am asking,” Ilisidi said in a low voice. “I am asking, Dri-aba.”
Drien drew a long, slow breath. “Perhaps there have been exchanges of letters to the south, nand’ ’Sidi.”
Bren’s heart sank. He had hoped they could dismiss that fear. It was the worst news.
“And?” Ilisidi asked.
“Distraction,” Drien said. “Distraction serves the southerner.
That fool Caiti did have the sense to hold apart from him while he ruled. Now, seeing your absence, your preoccupation with affairs in the west, one suspects he has ambitionsc not favoring Murini, no.
But favoring his own agenda.”
“One suspects he has ambitions.” Ilisidi’s tone was contemptuous.
“One has no proof except his actions. He has made a move which he alone cannot sustain. What profit to him, if he must invite more powerful allies? He has offended the Ragi and their association. Of what profit is this to him?”
It made an unwelcome sense. Caiti had made a move that could only draw Ilisidi here, that could only alienate the Western Association, and that could only serve to divide Tabini’s attention and divert it from pursuing Murini.
Only one thing made sense in that context—that the most likely target was Ilisidi herself. Take down Malguri, and Caiti had the heir to Malguri in his lands. If Tabini attempted to intervene, the East might fall away entirely, and Caiti would rule the East, a situation that would make Murini court him for an ally.
Murini had already spent all his credibility with the west, and might not gain power there. That leftc of potential aijiin of the entire aishidi’tat c Caiti.
“It is aimed at you, nand’ dowager,” Bren said out of turn. “By this account, it is aimed particularly at you. With you dead, Caiti has the heir to Malguri. And a great deal of leverage with the south.”
“Well,” Drien said with a little astonishment. “It speaks. And it is not stupid.”
“No,” Ilisidi said, “nand’ Bren is not stupid. Nor are we, aba-ji.
You knew they were about to move. A letter would have been courteous.”
“And dangerous, nand’ ’Sidi. Your power here has grown dim, and we have no man’chi to the West. You have not bothered to visit here. How should we know you remember us?”
A direct statement, and on the surface, rude. But Ilisidi nodded slowly. “You wish us to inspire you.”
“Astonish us, nand’ ’Sidi. Prove you are what you were. Get the boy back. He is with Caiti, and he is, one is certain, in the Haidamar, not the Saibai’tet. I have said what I would say to a guest under my roof. I ask you nothing, until you have the power to promise something.”
Ilisidi gathered her cane before her. “Then we shall not linger to distress your hospitality,” Ilisidi said. “We shall ride back tonight.”
“Folly, cousin! The snow is coming thick out there.”
“We have no time to lose,” Ilisidi said. “And you will help us, Dri-daja, you will communicate to us anything you learn. Cenedi will leave you the technical means, and despite your distaste for western ways, one would advise you take advantage of a resource your neighbors would not expect you to possess. Use our secure communications, Dri-daja.”
“Western nonsense.”
“Like nand’ Bren, you are not stupid, Cousin. You are far from stupid. One would even suspect you are better equipped in this household than rumor has it, though not with a secure line. Every call your household makes is doubtless overheard. Yet these conspirators still fear you. They have not coerced you into their company despite my absence. They made a particular effort to slander you at my table. In very fact, you want Malguri to succeed.
You have every reason to wish that, and you know it.”
Drien’s nostrils flared. “Give us our independence, nandi, signed, sealed, and sworn to. That is my ambition. Freedom from your man’chi.”
“What, we should cede all claim to Ardija?”
“What is better, Cousin? Man’chi held by force or man’chi won by performance? Promises will by no means suffice with me. Malguri must win this challenge, and free us from all claims. This duality of man’chiin has always been unfortunate, in more than numbers.
Now you think we should help you recover this son of the western aiji.”
Ilisidi stared at their hostess a moment, a flat, uncommunicative stare. “Your cousin, Dri-daja.”
“None of mine!”
“We have spent two years aboard the ship educating my great-grandson in finesse and tradition—”