Protector: Foreigner #14 (4 page)

Was that it? Was the old man making a move for influence in the new shape of the aishidi’tat?

“One is certain such a gesture will be well received across the aishidi’tat, nandi.”

“Well, well, all due to the aiji-dowager’s wise notions. —Ah,” Tatiseigi said, spying someone of immediate interest across the room. “I shall speak to you about this, paidhi-aiji. Be assured I shall. But remember the date!”

Tatiseigi was off, at fair speed for an old man, and the alcohol was curiously not that much in evidence.

Bren drew a slow and careful breath, and was relieved to note that their little conversation had not appeared to draw undue interest. Only a few steps away, Tabini was deeply involved with Geigi, and across the room, Cajeiri was still talking to his young female cousin from the East, as Ilisidi carried on a lengthy conversation with the Calrunaidi lord.

He hadn’t been able to intervene in
that
situation, which was not Ilisidi’s nicest move, damn the circumstances. Damiri was on a permanent hair trigger regarding the dowager’s influence over her son, and, making matters worse, there was a very political cast on that meeting of second cousins. Calrunaidi was the clan of the bride of Geigi’s miscreant nephew. That meant ties to Lord Geigi on the one hand, and ties to Ilisidi on the other. Cajeiri was good and he was perceptive, but an eight-year-old was
not
up to negotiating the tricky grounds between his mother and his great-grandmother . . . and the boy could not refuse either’s orders.

Oh, damned right Damiri was keeping an eye on her son, at the moment, watching with whom he formed associations—particularly female associations; and at the moment she did not have a happy look.

Bren shifted objectives, and went to be introduced to the Calrunaidi guests, which gave him a chance to bend aside and say, quickly and quietly into Cajeiri’s young ear—“Your
mother,
young gentleman. Go attend her. Quietly. Now.”

It was not a case of warning the average eight-year-old. Cajeiri was a veteran of literal fire-fights
and
palace intrigue.

Did the boy blurt out, I don’t care? Or ask, sullenly, What does
she
want?

No. The boy did none of those things. Cajeiri said in a low voice, with a deep bow, “Please excuse me, nandi. I have just received a request from my mother.”

Bren did not even glance at Ilisidi as Cajeiri left. Ilisidi knew exactly what he had done and he knew she knew he knew, and suspected there had been no message from Damiri whatsoever. Ilisidi might well make her displeasure known in some minor way, over the next several days. Bren paid that prospect no heed, smiled and bowed in all courtesy to the lord of Calrunaidi. “One is very pleased to make your acquaintance, nandi. The aiji-dowager speaks very highly of you.”

“Delighted, nand’ paidhi.”

Conversation then rapidly went from, “Will you be in the city long?” all the way to “If you find yourself in need on the East Coast, nand’ paidhi, consider my house open to you.”

So it was not a bad meeting at all . . . give or take Ilisidi’s grip on his arm as he left the conversation, and a whispered, “Paidhi,
do not meddle.”

“Forgive me, aiji-ma.” He was not in the least penitent.

Her firm grip headed him in Damiri’s general direction. As good as walking into a war zone.

“One advises against a meeting with the consort tonight, aiji-ma.”

“Nonsense. This is my granddaughter-in-law. What could possibly be amiss?”

The hell! he thought. If his bodyguard were present even the aiji-dowager would not take advantage as she was doing. But he dared not object as Ilisidi steered them straight into hostile waters. Cajeiri was in conversation with his mother, receiving some instruction when they arrived. Cajeiri shot them a very dismayed look.

“Granddaughter-in-law,” Ilisidi said smoothly. “The festivity is a complete success. We heartily compliment you.”

There was scant warmth in Damiri’s eyes when she said, “My husband’s staff deserves all the compliments for the evening, of course. You may recall my own staff is no longer in the city.”

Ilisidi stood, both hands on her cane. “Yet you are the hostess,” she said, and with a thump of the cane. “And you have been admirable. —Let us say something long unsaid, Granddaughter-in-law, which we should have said long ago. We
applaud
your choice to remain with my grandson. We
support
you in doing so. And we
entirely
understand your reasoning.”

“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.”

“One is relieved.” He let go a breath. “One should not have left him. Even here.”

“Oh, he has been on his own all evening. And he could not have gotten out the door unremarked,” Tabini added with a little wry humor. “My whole staff has their instructions. My son has entirely understood the current difficulty, and he has stayed very well within bounds.” A sharpening of focus, and a frown. “My grandmother. Did she plan that?”

That the aiji had to ask
him
what Ilisidi was thinking . . .

“One does not believe so, no, aiji-ma. One believes she was quite taken by surprise, reacting to your honored wife’s choice of colors this evening.”

“It was Damiri’s choice,” Tabini said somberly. “Her father has left her none. But these are not easy days in the household.”

“One well understands, aiji-ma.”

“Have you heard anything in the room?”

“Nothing regarding that matter, aiji-ma.”

“Come aside a moment.”

“Aiji-ma.” He followed Tabini to the far side of the room, through the door and into the deserted dining hall, tracked, at a slight remove, by Tabini’s bodyguards.

Servants, working at polishing the table, withdrew quickly. Two of Tabini’s bodyguards went across the room and shut those doors. The other two, from outside, shut the dining room doors. The likelihood of eavesdroppers on the aiji’s conversation outside this room had been very scant: nobody crowded in on Tabini without a clear signal to do so. But clearly there was something else, something that could not risk report. And they were in as much privacy as could be had.

“They have put a public patch on the matter,” Tabini said quietly. “But be aware Damiri is entirely uneasy, and unreconciled. She does not trust my grandmother, and I worry for my son’s impression of the situation. You talked to him. Was he upset by it?”

“Not discernibly, aiji-ma.”

“Were you warned?”

“Aiji-ma, I had no forewarning.”

“She planned it,” Tabini said, with utter conviction.