“Please understand,” she said. “It’s for the Indelis proposal. Your father and I designed it…” The words touched the unhealed wound in her heart; her voice quavered. “I couldn’t bear to let Xeref’s last gift to us vanish without defending it.”
“Oh!” Brinx exclaimed, and his face melted. “Oh, Mother. I—yes, of course it’s for Father…” He came close, wrapping his arms around her without another word. Under her cheek, his chest heaved. His arms tightened, and he gave a ragged gasp. The grief he’d been trying to hide burst out, powerful as the river Endro beneath the city.
“My treasure,” she murmured. She closed her eyes and rubbed his back with her free hand, riding the river with him while he sobbed. When she opened them again, she discovered Aven and Corrim had come home without her noticing, and now stood by the vestibule curtain staring at them, perhaps in shock at seeing the eldest in tears. Selemei beckoned them into the embrace, and for a time they all held one another. Then she cleared her throat.
“Let’s hang the globe.”
Brinx released her slowly, and put his arm around Corrim. Aven took Selemei’s hand. They walked together through the double-doors into the private drawing room. Here, the moon-yellow of mourning was everywhere: scarves had been draped over couches and chairs, and though the gifts had been opened, the hundreds of yellow cards that had accompanied them still hung along the stone walls. In the days since the funeral, the Household had installed a wire that dangled from the stone vault of the ceiling in one corner. Someone had also clearly been listening behind the walls just now, because no sooner had they all entered than Imbati Ustin and Imbati Grivi emerged from the master bedroom. Ustin set up a stepladder beneath the wire, while Grivi brought the globe in its wooden box, and held it out to Selemei with a bow.
“Pelli?” Selemei called. “Can you come out, big girl?”
The door to the girls’ rooms opened, and Pelli trotted out with her Verrid following behind her. “Mama?”
“We’re going to hang the globe for your father,” Selemei explained. “It’s fragile and we’re going to be very careful.”
“Care-ful.” Pelli trotted up, and patted Selemei’s skirts as softly as she did her sleeping sister, laying her cheek against the silk. She then proceeded to do the same to Brinx’s leg, and to Corrim and Aven.
Selemei opened the box that Grivi still held. She extracted the globe from its padded nest, careful to protect the hook and wire attachment dangling from the top. She lifted it to her lips and kissed the engraved glass twice—once for Enzyel, and once for herself. Then she passed it to Brinx for a kiss, and he passed it to Corrim; Aven took it for herself and then held it out for Pelli, with Imbati Verrid standing attentively by.
Pelli leaned her white cheek to it and whispered, “Cold…”
Aven brought it back, then, but Selemei shook her head. “Thank you, darling, but I can’t use the ladder. Brinx, will you hang it?”
Brinx nodded. He climbed the three steps and reached up—the globe had to be hung higher than the carven cornices, or it would not appropriately represent a star—and attached the hook and wire. The element at the center of the globe lit: dimmer than a wysp, promising neither cheer nor fortune, only a solemn, enduring reminder.
“Thank you,” said Selemei. She kissed them, eldest to youngest, each one so alive, so precious, so fragile. “I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to stay out of the sitting room for a few minutes. I have to go out at four, and I’d like to speak with Grivi and Ustin in private before I go.”
The two servants walked out with her. Surely they knew what this was about; surely they could see how she dreaded it. She didn’t sit down, but faced them with her back to Xeref’s office door. Grivi was the broader of the two, his strength evident even through his formal manservant’s suit; Ustin stood out for her height, the muscles of her arms hidden inside long black sleeves. The similarity of their bodyguard stances hid the fundamental differences in training that made this conversation necessary.
“You both know what I’m going to do,” Selemei said. You know it’s crazy. “I don’t know if it will work.”
Ustin nodded acknowledgment; Grivi remained motionless.
“I’m going to try one more time to represent the First Family on the Eminence’s Cabinet.” Saying it sent a rush of cold up behind her ears. “This time they won’t be confused. I won’t have any benefit of the doubt. If I make any errors, or even if I don’t, they may vote me out. Therefore, I would like to request that Ustin act as my manservant, just for this afternoon.”
“I am willing,” said Ustin. “Grivi?”
Grivi said nothing.
“I’m so sorry, Grivi,” said Selemei. “I don’t want to be unfair to you. You’ve always been faithful. You have kept me upright so many times—truthfully, you have kept me alive. But I have to try this.”
Grivi’s reply was barely more than a whisper. “Mistress, you witnessed my vow of service. Please understand how difficult it is for me to watch you put yourself in danger.”
“I do understand. But if I let you protect me now, I won’t be able to protect anyone else. This isn’t just for the sake of my own life, or even my daughters’ lives, but for all the ladies of the Race. I have to try to pass the Indelis proposal. This is my wish.”
Grivi bowed. “So let it be, then. May I be excused?”
“Yes. I’m really sorry.”
A good deal of her courage departed with him. Just for this afternoon, she’d said, but it still felt final; in good conscience she’d have to consent to release Grivi from his contract if he requested it, even if she failed. She walked slowly to the nearest couch and sat down, staring at the kuarjos-board without really seeing it. “I don’t know how to do this, Ustin. I’m not Xeref.”
“Mistress, let’s focus on today,” said Ustin. “You’re correct in your concern: it’s more than likely the cabinet will again attempt to declare the seat empty. Fedron supported you in the last vote, and I imagine he will support you again, but we can’t be certain he won’t have come under outside influence up to and including blackmail. For this, and for the Indelis proposal, you need to cultivate allies.”
“Fedron is it, though.” Selemei shook her head. “Unless he can bring allies of his own. I don’t know any of the others. Who is the bald man? The one with the big voice—he was kinder than most of them.”
“That is Cabinet Secretary Boros of the Second Family, Mistress. He had a cordial relationship with Master Xeref; they spoke often, and occasionally co-sponsored proposals. He would make an excellent ally. His good opinion is respected.”
“What am I supposed to do, though, invite him to tea?”
“I don’t believe there’s time for that just now, Mistress. We should be going, so we don’t have to hurry.”
“All right.”
Perhaps she’d practiced too much walking today. The way to the meeting felt interminable; the cane was awkward in the cramped spiral stairway. When she reached the top, Selemei realized how far they still had to go, and huffed in frustration.
“How did Xeref ever do this?”
“It’s true the walking was easier for him, Mistress. But you must remember, he didn’t do the job alone. He had four assistants.”
She couldn’t imagine having assistants. “And he had you.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
They passed the Heir’s suite—merciful Heile, please don’t let the Heir come out and see me—and entered the hallway. Several men stood not far ahead. Cabinet members. She was starting to recognize some of them.
“Tell me who they are, Ustin,” she whispered.
“You know Secretary Boros. Behind him is Amyel of the Ninth Family, one of Master Xeref’s allies. Beside him, Caredes of the Eighth Family…”