Kinston frowned. “I don’t know how extensive your diplomatic experience actually is, Commander, but nothing is a given in these matters.”
Erik looked straight ahead, saying nothing.
Kinston studied Erik’s face, looking for some sign of capitulation. “Look, you have both versions of the agreement here for comparison. Underline where you have problems, cross out what’s totally unacceptable, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow morning.” He pushed the envelope over to Erik’s side of the table.
He seemed to shake off the previous difficulty almost immediately, and his smile returned. “Now, we need to review last night’s meetings so that I have a better idea of where we stand, and what needs follow-up on my part.”
“You were there for most of it, other than the mingling and casual introductions. Chitchat, mostly.”
“Nonsense. You were gone for quite some time early in the evening. I assume you were pulled aside by one of our Senators or senior staffers for a conference. I need to know the details.”
Erik was silent.
“You were in a private conference?”
Despite everything, Erik found himself grinning. He felt like a teenager again, but not in a bad way this time.
Kinston’s mouth opened, and hung that way for a moment. “Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh! You were alone with Miss Harrad.”
Erik felt his grin spread.
Kinston took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Commander, excuse me for prying into a client’s private affairs, but you have the look about you of a man who is smitten.”
“Smitten?” He sighed. “I suppose that’s possible.”
Kinston pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Oh, this is awkward. I assumed you knew. I assumed that this was all part of one of those espionage intrigues that you House Davion types always have in your holovids, that you were just—playing her.”
He frowned. “Kinston, what the devil are you talking about?” He said it, and yet he knew. At some level, all along, he’d known.
“Miss Harrad is a Capellan spy.”
The restaurant where Elsa had arranged to meet him was located just across the street from the Hereditary House. Once he and Kinston had finished their business, he offered the facilitator a ride. There was an awkward silence as they stood waiting for the car.
The drive was only about a kilometer, but they were quickly snarled in city traffic.
Erik looked at the thick envelope in his hand, feeling sorry for himself. “You don’t have any real evidence, though?”
Kinston looked up from where he was sitting, across from Erik. “About what?”
“Elsa. Being a spy.”
“Evidence? No, I suppose not. But it’s a well-known fact that she collects information for them. I mean, it’s not like she’s stealing people’s files or breaking into places and photographing our secrets. She really is an art student. She merely has other interests on the side.
“She’s… tolerated. As I said, Shensi has deep historical ties with the Capellans. In a sense, I suspect many people in the government are glad that they’re keeping tabs on us. Perhaps they even consider it their right.”
Erik shook his head. How was he supposed to turn these people against the Capellans in any way? It was madness, and he had no one to blame but himself. He should have left as soon as he’d seen the Duke’s real intentions regarding this mission. All he wanted to salvage from this now was Elsa, and he couldn’t see how that would be possible.
One night. How can one night change so much?
He dropped Kinston near Senator Prescott’s office, where he announced he planned to spend the afternoon reviewing a land-use bill with a top aide.
Erik arrived at the restaurant early. With a few whispered words to the maître d’ and the exchange of a hundred-C bill, he arranged to change their table to an intimate private dining room in the back. He ordered a bottle of wine, and was already sipping when she arrived.
He stood as she was escorted in. She took his hands and leaned forward to kiss him passionately. She put her arms around his neck and he held her close, smelling her perfume, enjoying the moment despite himself, knowing it could be the last time.
They sat, and she studied his face, seeming to sense something was amiss.
He poured her a glass of wine. She took a deep drink. “Erik, what’s wrong? Is it last night? Are you having regrets?”
He put his hand over hers. “No. It’s not that. Last night was—Last night was something I’ll always cherish.” He licked his lips. “I—I heard some things about you today.”
She smiled nervously, eyes wide, head shaking. “What?”
He took a deep breath. Out with it. “Are you a spy for the Capellans?”
“Who told you that?”
“Never mind that. It’s true, isn’t it?”
“I’m not a spy, Erik. It’s not like that at all.”
He stared straight into her eyes, offering no comfort. This was hurting him more than he could have imagined. “What is it like, then?”
She hung her head. Took another big drink of wine. Silence. She tipped the glass back and drained it. “Erik, you know what it’s like to depend on others for everything you have, everything you are. I was Daddy’s little girl, and Daddy was a rich and powerful man. He sent me here because they have one of the finest art schools in The Republic, and I loved it so much. That was all I wanted. To paint.” She looked away at nothing. “To paint.”
“What happened?”
Her eyes were moist. “I’d been here six months when they sent word. There’d been a scandal at the mining company, and my father was dead. They said it was suicide. I never believed it. Everything we had was tied up with courts, lawyers, and accountants. The rest of the family disowned mother and me—took control of what was left of the business.” She chewed her lip. “I think they were behind it somehow.” She looked at him, her eyes full of shame. “I know. How could people in a family do such things to one another?”
His resolve was melting. “I know all too well.”
“I was all alone here. Mother was having enough trouble taking care of herself. I had tuition bills, and not even enough money for passage home. But Daddy had friends, business contacts in the Capellan Confederation. They came to me with an offer of help for Mother and me. All they wanted was for me to go to some parties, talk with people, let them know what I heard.” She smiled through tears. “I’m not a spy. It’s just been fun. It’s no more than a game, really.”
“Was I part of your game?” He recalled his initial suspicions and chided himself for not listening to them.
“No! I mean…” She looked away. “It was no coincidence that I ran into you the other day. They told me you’d be here—that they would be very grateful for anything I could tell them about the Duke’s intentions and your mission here. But that’s all. A chance meeting, and the rest just happened.” She looked at him. “Erik, I’m not a prostitute! How could you think that? I go to parties. I flirt, I talk. Men like me, and I like them back. But that’s all. I don’t sleep with people for information.”
He drained his own glass, poured another. “I want to believe you.”
“What was between us was real, Erik. Please believe me. It still is.”
“This changes everything,” he said.
She hung her head. “I know. I’m sorry, Erik. I can’t help what I am, any more than you can. People like us, we’re never really free. We’re always beholden to someone.”
The words were especially bitter, because they were true. Yet what could he do? Uncle Aaron, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, the Capellan spy. There would always be lingering doubts.