A young woman—Adaro was her name: he had by no means forgotten—opened the door for him and bowed as he left. Banichi and Jago stayed in close attendance, down what was not an ordinary station corridor, but a section that might have been, give or take paneling instead of stone, the foyer of some great house on the mainland. In this corridor, various staffs shared duty, and kept order, and maintained—his heart was glad to note it—flowers of suitable number and color, so soothing to atevi senses, soothing to his own, after so many years of living in his green retreat. Safety, those flowers said, and Peace, and Refuge, speaking as clearly as the carpets on the floor and the hangings and the tables—three in number—fortunate three—which stood each beside a door of the trinity of established great households: his, the dowager’s, and lord Geigi’s.
Home, it said to him in every detail. Troubled it might be, by war and upheavaclass="underline" it was not the black deep, it was not the cold nowhere. It had a geography, it had a map, and he knew them as he instinctively knew the basic geometry of every atevi dwelling, and as he intimately knew the people he dealt with across the station.
He had every confidence, for instance, that Sabin would be getting details out of Captain Ogun, who’d presided over the beleaguered station and kept it fed and on an even political keel through this catastrophe.
He knew that Jase would be analyzing everything he got from Sabin and Ogun, with the ear of a man who’d spent years among atevi, and who understood significances that might float right past Sabin and Ogun themselves.
He was sure beyond any need to inquire that Gin Kroger was going to be calling down to the planet, to find out what she could from Tom Lund, down on Mospheira, to get the Mospheiran viewpoint in the crisis.
His mind swam in a sea of separate realities as he walked to Lord Geigi’s door, as Banichi signalled their presence. Lord Geigi’s major domo showed them in… he coasted, a little numb still, through the formalities. The majordomo ushered him to the drawing room, presented him to Lord Geigi in his own environment, and his mind was still half with Jase, and what Jase would likely ask Ogun, first off.
“Tea?” Geigi offered.
“It would be very welcome.” Atevi custom absolutely avoided rushing into bad news. The human wanted to blurt out a dozen questions, gain a rapid-fire briefing, race over the facts to get to the worst, but no, the atevi mind said settle, sit, have a cup of tea and get oneself prepared for the details laid out in meticulous order. Tabini might be deposed, possibly dead: bad as it could be, there was still hope for resurrecting the aishidi’tat, and that hope lay primarily in the persons in this small drawing room.
He took the offered teacup from Geigi’s servant, sipped the warm, sweet tea gratefully, reminded that even here, tea had surely become a luxury, and a generous offering. He sighed and settled back in the carved, tapestry-upholstered chair, cup in hands. Banichi and Jago had quietly gone aside, an expected absence. And the dowager must be arriving—he heard a faint stir in the rooms behind the shut door. His host, too, left him, personally to see Ilisidi in, he was sure.
Ilisidi did arrive, together with Cajeiri—a presence which might not have happened among humans, but it by no means surprised him that the heir was here. Cajeiri had his own reasons for being here, getting news firsthand—had his right, that was the point.
“Aijiin-ma,” he said, the plural, and rose and bowed to both arrivals in this formal setting, receiving a courtesy in return as Ilisidi settled in a fragile chair. A swing of her cane indicated a chair beside her for her great-grandson. The several of them made a triangle of chairs with Lord Geigi’s, as that stout lord took a more substantial seat.
Tea was the order, then, all around, solemnly served, solemnly accepted, a few sips drunk. Ilisidi’s countenance was unreadable; Cajeiri’s was solemn, quiet—if there had been words of comfort, they had been said in private. If there was lingering disturbance, it was evident only in the absence of light in the boy’s eyes. The young chin was set. Hard.
A full cup down. A second served.
“We shall hear it,” Ilisidi said then, and Lord Geigi lowered his cup, cradling it in his hands, and said, solemnly,
“The rebels said no word, offered no argument in advance of their move, and there was no provocation ever stated. Lady Cosadi of Talidi province had turned up in residence in the Bu-javid—” That was the center of government, the residence of every lord at court. “Accepting guests into the Tasigi residence.”
It was her right to bring in guests. It was always the most difficult challenge to Bu-javid security. The Talidi side relations were lucky to have survived the last dust-up in the aishidi’tat. They had lived and taken their place under Tabini’s tolerance.
“Cosadi,” Ilisidi said. “Is that the beginning of this tale?”
“Yes,” Geigi said shortly. “Cosadi.”
Daughter of the late Sarini of the Marid Tasigin, of Talidi province: bad blood from the beginning—involved in one conspiracy already. And Tabini had been an enlightened ruler, and had not cut their throats.
“Mercy has its reward,” Ilisidi said darkly. “Guests, is it? Who was scrutinizing these people?”
“That we by no means know,” Geigi said. “Nor have I heard any particular blame laid on house security in the matter, nor would expect to, given who is now in charge. But it was reputedly through Cosadi that Talidi of various ill dispositions gained access to the residencies. Certainly she now stands close to the lord of the Kadigidi, who has proclaimed himself aiji in your grandson’s place.”
“Murini?” Quietly asked, and a thunderstroke when Geigi said:
“The very one.”
“Go on,” Ilisidi said, and calmly had a sip of tea.
Murini, son of the former traitor, Direiso, who had conspired with Cosadi’s father to break the south and midlands out of the aishidi’tat. Murini, who had taken refuge with Cajeiri’s great-great-uncle in the last troubles, and under that roof had proclaimed himself unswervingly loyal to Tabini. Murini had risen, after Direiso’s death, and with Tabini’s blessing, to be head of the Kadigidi clan.
Now Murini thought he would turn coat and rule the Association, with Cosadi’s help.
There was a scoundrel from way back, Bren thought, one that had masqueraded as a victim of Direiso’s plots, and an ally of the ruling house.
But, more troubling still, was the fact that Murini had sheltered with the Atageini during Direiso’s uprising, and might maintain ties there. Cajeiri, having Atageini blood in his veins, now posed a serious problem to any claim Murini might make on Atageini loyalty. So great-great-uncle Tatiseigi, if his loyalty to Tabini had wavered toward that wretch Murini, now would find his own ambitions drawing him back to Tabini’s side… if only in Murini’s perceptions.
Tatiseigi’s life was therefore in danger. And so was Murini’s, from Tatiseigi, a canny and long-surviving man with resources of his own.
So had Murini that firmly decided the ship would never return, and that Tabini’s grandmother and Tabini’s son and heir would never survive the trip?
Certain significant people seemed to have relied heavily on that belief.
Or perhaps they had hoped to have everything so firmly in their hands before the ship got back that Ilisidi would necessarily arrive in a nest of enemies.
The rebels had not been able to get into orbit and take the station from Geigi, at least, and it might be because they thought they would not succeed—likely not, in unfamiliar territory, under unanticipated conditions, and involving the Mospheirans and the ship’s crew that had stayed with Ogun. But it might also be that Tabini hadn’t been taken utterly by surprise—because he refused to believe the alternative, that the rebels would have been at all content to have Geigi stay alive and powerful on the station…