“Nand’ dowager, it is a clan matter.”
“So was your marriage,” Ilisidi said sharply, thank God in a low tone of voice. “Age grants us some perspective on these things, and since our chances for conversation have been limited in recent days, Granddaughter‑in‑law, bear with us: we are moderately private in this noisy crowd. I freely admit, I counseled my grandson against taking an Ajuri consort. I knew the peace between Ajuri and Atageini would be temporary . . .”
God, Bren thought. There was no way to stop the aiji‑dowager once the aiji‑dowager had decided to say something. At least the buzz in the room had not quieted: no one had appeared to notice the exchange.
“We were keenly aware of your opposition, nand’ dowager.”
Ilisidi tipped her head back a little, giving Damiri, who was much the taller, a somewhat oblique look. “I was opposed to the union and strongly opposed to the formal marriage. Granddaughter‑in‑law, I am rarely wrong. But you have astonished me. You have grown far beyond what subtlety Ajuri could ever have taught you. You have qualities I attribute to your Atageini blood. My grandson chose very well, and I freely admit it.”
“Do you?” Damiri’s glance was steel‑hard. “Your approval is some years late in coming.”
“Whether or not we can ever be allies is questionable. But one would prefer alliance.”
There was still the general buzz and motion of a crowded room about them. Their voices had remained low. Bren stood there with his heart racing, he, the diplomat, frozen in dismay, and not seeing a damned thing he could do to divert the train wreck. Tabini was the only recourse, and Tabini was not looking this way.
“Alliance?” Damiri said stiffly. “Alliance with you, nandi, is dangerous for an Ajuri. What do you want that I can give? –Because I am well assured this is not an act of generosity.”
“Peace,” Ilisidi said firmly. “Peace in my grandson’s household and my great‑grandson’s life. Peace in which my great‑grandson can enjoy having a sister.”
“You have never called on me,” Damiri said. “Ever. Only on your grandson.”
“You have never invited me,” Ilisidi said sharply.
“I am inviting you,” Damiri retorted in the exact same tone. “Tomorrow, morning tea.”
“Perfectly acceptable,” Ilisidi snapped. The dowager, in fact, had never accepted invitations from those of inferior rank or junior years. Tonight she had solicited such invitations at dinner, and now as good as asked for another, far harder come by. The tones involved, hers and Damiri’s, were steel on steel.
But that was the way of these two; and the lords of the aishidi’tat, when they made war or peace, did so for policy and in consideration of clan loyalties. A second try at harmony, in changed circumstances, could well work. Bren just held his breath and courted invisibility.
“Our division is well‑known,” Ilisidi said. “Come, leave the young gentleman to the paidhi’s very competent care and walk about with me. Let us lay these rumors of division and amaze your guests, who think they know us so well.”
“Ha,” Damiri said, and off they went, a tall, young, and extremely pregnant woman side by side with a diminutive grandmother with a cane. They walked slowly, Atageini green and white and Ragi black and red, moving through the crowd, pausing to speak to this and that person.
Bren cast a look at Tabini, who had stopped talking to Geigi and gazed at a Situation that was bound to have its final act sooner or later in private–likely with both women in his sitting room.
Bren drew a deep breath then, and exchanged a look with Cajeiri. “Well, young gentleman?”
“Do you think they really are making peace, nand’ Bren?”
“They are both very smart,” Bren said. The show out there was the focus of Tabini’s attention, and Calrunaidi’s; and Tatiseigi’s, and Geigi’s. It was an Event. It was going to make the news, no question, like Damiri’s wearing Atageini colors–two pieces of news that would probably overshadow Geigi’s return to the station.
That part would suit Geigi. A blowup between the dowager and the consort would not.
“My great‑grandmother wants something,” Cajeiri said.
“One is very certain she does,” Bren said uncomfortably. “One only hopes they both want the same thing.”
“I am on my own right now,” Cajeiri said, stolid‑faced as any adult, then volunteered. “Not just for the party. My bodyguard is away at the Guild for days and days. Antaro and Jegari are getting certified.”
“For weapons, nandi?”
A nod. “I have two servants, now, all my own. And my tutor. I wish I could come stay with you, nandi. I am so bored. And the place is very quiet at night.”
“When will your aishid be back?”
“A day or so, they said.” A pause. “My father is too busy and my mother is very uncomfortable. And I hope I am going to get my party. Please see to it, nandi.”
“One wishes one could help, young gentleman. One very much wishes it. Why are they advancing your bodyguard’s certification? Do you know?”
“My father did it. Antaro and Jegari know about guns, of course.” A shrug. “They have hunted since they were little, in Taiben. But Lucasi and Veijico say they have to have a certificate to have guns in public places. And to use Guild equipment.”
“That is so,” Bren said. “So no one is staying in your suite with you?”
“Just Boji.”
Boji was small, black, and furry, and lived in a large cage in the boy’s room.
It was unfamiliar solitude for a young boy, particularly a boy who, in his life, had traveled on a starship, dealt with aliens, been kidnapped by his father’s enemies, nearly run down at sea, and habitually went armed with a slingshot–which was probably in his pocket even here. The empty rooms must be particularly unnerving for a boy who, in the last year and in part because of his tendency to collect adventures, had acquired an aishid of his own, four bodyguards dedicated to keeping him safe in every moment of his life.
“And how is Boji?”
“Very well, nandi! I am training him to be without his cage sometimes.”
“Excellent.” The women had made half the circuit of the room. And unfortunately, he could not afford to be a babysitter at the expense of the Marid treaty. He spied, finally, a committee head he urgently needed to talk to. “One has to speak to this gentleman a moment. Will you be well for a moment, young sir? Will you stand right here?”
Cajeiri gave a two‑shouldered shrug, a little grin and a wink. “Oh, with no trouble, nandi. There are no kidnappers here. And if they come back arguing, I shall have to go with my mother.”
Of course the scamp would find his own way. He had been doing that all his life. And Cajeiri absolutely had the priorities straight. Bren went off to intercept the head of Transport, and the head of the Commerce Committee walked up to join the conversation.
The talk became intense, and substantive, and encouragingly productive.
When he looked for the boy again, he found no sign of him. He did see that the aiji‑dowager and Damiri had gone their separate ways, busy about the fringes of the room, and that conversation, which had hushed progressively as the two went about the room, had resumed.
Tabini‑aiji, however, looked his direction, gave a little nod, and that was an immediate command appearance.
He went. And bowed. “One is currently looking for your son, aiji‑ma, and one is just a little concerned.”
“His servants took him to bed a moment ago,” Tabini said. “He is quite safe.”