“Yes, honored Father.”
His father took him by the arm very lightly and maneuvered him so that he could speak close to his ear. “Son of mine, you look particularly elegant, and so does your aishid—a credit to your great-uncle’s household, but one needs to forewarn you. Your mother is already having a difficult day, and so is the staff. Your mother had secretly ordered a coat and vest from your regular tailor, and she was not willing to deliver it to your great-uncle’s house, but your tailor is greatly out of sorts about this, and this being her present to you—it has set her out of sorts. If you wish to please your mother—and one advises you this would be very desirable today—send staff to your suite and have them bring the black and red brocade instead.”
He liked his black and gold brocade coat, which his mother would call too old for him, but he was nine today, and he had three red and black ones, besides. He said quietly: “Uncle had Master Kusha come in because of my guests, honored Father. They had nothing suitable, and Master Kusha and his staff worked very hard.”
“One will do everything to honor master Kusha’s efforts, but you would not be politic to ignore your mother’s gift, son of mine. And besides, the ’counters have figured red into the numbers.”
He was not happy. But he understood. “Yes,” he said, and to Jegari: “You know my coats. Can you recognize the new one?”
“Assuredly, nandi,” Jegari said, and with a bow to his father, hurried off through the servants and down the inner hall toward their suite. Cajeiri began sadly unbuttoning the elegant black and gold coat, and his father helped him, with that and with the vest, right there in the foyer in front of everybody. He was sure he blushed, and he was angry about it, but his father was on his side, which was the important thing. And he knew how much politics with his mother mattered, for everybody’s good.
Next time the ’counters did the numbers, however, he swore he was going to have his say in it. And wear black and gold if he wanted to.
But it would be his thirteenth birthday before he ever got another festivity, and his fifteenth before another big one, which he swore was not going to be public, either. He was verging on a bad mood. And could not afford to sulk.
“Very well done,” his father said, handing off his favorite new coat and vest to the major domo, who gave it to the servants to deal with. “Be agreeable, do not frown at your mother, and thank her nicely for the new coat and vest, if you can possibly manage it. Count it training.”
“Yes,” he said. By then Jegari was back, with the new coat and vest, which at least went well with the black trousers and boots, the new vest being shiny black with glittering red woven in, and the coat being nearly all black with a little red—the vest at least fit well, as it should, and the coat fit, and his father with his own hands helped him do all the buttons, in front of all the servants and their bodyguards.
“One is very impressed,” his father said. “You have grown in more than height this year, son of mine. One is very proud.”
That was twice for blushing, but this was for a different reason. He gave a little bow as his father finished the last adjustment of his lace cuffs. “Thank you, honored Father. One will try very hard today.”
“Come to the sitting room,” his father said, and showed him the way as if he were an adult guest in his own home.
His mother was there, in black and green, Ragi and Atageini colors combined. She looked pleased as he came in, and mani had taught him how the game was played. He bowed to his mother, who did not get up—getting up was increasingly hard for her—and bowed a second and a third time, and said, without any sulking,
“Thank you for your gift, honored Mother. One was quite surprised.”
“You look very fine,” she said, looking extremely pleased. “How grown-up you look.”
“One is happy to be a fortunate age,” he said. “Thank you, honored Mother.”
There was, of course, tea. There were very fancy teacakes, one of a flavor he did not like, but his mother did, and he got it by accident. He took one bite, and nerved himself and swallowed the rest of it, smiling and washing it down with tea, thinking it was rather like the change of coats. One could get through anything, if there was a reason.
“The numbers of the day are fortunate,” she said. “And the whole country has turned out to celebrate the day, son of mine. The banners are out and the whole city will be in festival. You may see them from my windows.”
“I shall look,” he said. He truly had no desire even to go into the nursery, which had all the windows, but he thought perhaps he should, at least once, so when he had had his tea, he did go, and stood with his mother looking out past the filmy lace of the nursery windows. Very small and distant, there were colorful banners, and the tops of the tents, and the main street, even farther, crowded with people.
“The city is happy,” she said, with her hand on his shoulder, “and so should you be.”
“One is indeed happy,” he said dutifully, already wishing to be back in the sitting room. “One is very happy.”
“Your father favors you,” she said, and her fingers pressed his shoulder hard. “He favors you so extremely your sister will rely on you for the least scrap of his favor. Say to me that she will not go wanting.”
He did not look at her until one fast, wary glance, and she was gazing out the windows, into the hazy distance.
“I shall take care of my sister,” he said, and her hand pressed once, then relaxed. “Have I not told you I shall? If she relies on me, I shall be her older brother.”
“As you should be,” she said. “Always remember that.”
An uneasy thought struck him. “You will be here, will you not?”
“That is always at your father’s pleasure. But someday it will be at yours.”
“You are my mother,” he said with complete determination. “I only have one.”
“That is good to know,” she said. “Shall we return to the sitting room?”
He was only too glad to do that.
· · ·
Getting three kids into unfamiliar garments and giving them a meaningful lesson on how to keep the cuff lace out of the soup and the soup from landing on one’s collar lace was no small undertaking. Turn your wrist to the outside covered the first; and Keep your chin up was the other. They practiced with water, as less damaging than soup.
“Very well done,” Jase said. “I shall try not to be the one to have soup go astray. You all have your speeches, if you need them.”
“Yes, nandi,” Gene said, with a very proper bow. “And one will pay very close aggravation to persons.”
“Attention,” Bren corrected quietly. It was a very easy mistake. “Elegantly done, Gene-nadi.”
“Attention,” Gene repeated, a little chagrined. “Yes, sir.”
Bren set his hand on Gene’s shoulder. “You three are extraordinary. Keep up the manners just until midnight, and don’t panic if you make a mistake. You’re all three very small, people won’t possibly mistake you for adults, and while children have all kinds of leeway . . . everyone’s very impressed when they get things right. So just bow and apologize, and if you really have an accident, you have several spare shirts in my apartment. We can rescue you if we must, but we’d so much rather not. And the farther we get from the apartment the harder it becomes. Security’s extremely tight.”
“Yes, sir,” Gene said in ship-speak. “We won’t mess things up. We really won’t.”
“Good. Good.” Bren let the boy go and cast a look at Jase. “We’re about due. Dur’s just made it up to the floor. I need to go. If you can follow with the youngsters, we’ll expect you in about ten minutes. Kaplan and Polano are ready?”
“Suited up and ready,” Jase said. “We’ll be right over.”