Burning Bright

Satisfied that everything was at least temporarily secure in that quarter, Chauvelin looked away, searching the crowd for Ransome. He owed him thanks, as well as money, for the stones that paved the garden paths, and he was more than a little surprised that the imagist hadn’t already collected. He found him at last, standing by the arched hallway that led in from the garden, and lifted a hand to beckon him over. Ransome raised a hand in answer, but glanced back over his shoulder, toward the tall woman who followed at his heels. Chauvelin lifted an eyebrow—he had thought that he knew most of Ransome’s friends and proteges—but made no comment as the two made their way across the crowded room. The woman was striking, not at all in Ransome’s usual line—his taste in women, such as it was, ran to flamboyant Amazons like LaChacalle—and she wore her clothes, Burning Brighter clothes, by the familiar cut and fabric, with the bravado born of unfamiliarity. Then he saw the way Ransome was watching her—she was even with him now, moving shoulder to shoulder with him through the room—and felt the touch of an unfamiliar pain. That intensity of gaze should be for him, not this stranger, and he resented the shift in Ransome’s attention. He put that thought aside, frowning slightly at himself, as Ransome approached.

“Sia Chauvelin.”

The tone even more than the choice of title was a warning that Ransome was in one of his more playful moods, capable of almost any mischief. Chauvelin nodded warily, said, “Good evening, I-Jay.”

“I’d like to introduce someone to you,” Ransome went on, still in the light tone that Chauvelin had learned to distrust, and motioned to the woman at his side, not quite touching her shoulder. “This is Quinn Lioe, one of the better Gamers I’ve seen in years. I’m enjoying my return to the Game much more than I’d expected.”

“Na Lioe,” Chauvelin murmured, and the woman answered, “Ambassador Chauvelin.” Her voice was deep, soft and rather pleasant, the clipped Republican vowels adding a tang to her words.

Ransome smiled, but it did not quite match the expression in his eyes. Anger? Chauvelin wondered. Or triumph? “I’m very grateful to you, Sia,” the imagist went on. Look what I found in the Game, his expression implied.

Chauvelin made himself keep his expression neutral, though his mouth wanted to twist as though he’d bitten something sour. The woman Lioe— the pilot Lioe, he realized abruptly, seeing the hat hanging at her shoulder—recognized that there was some undertone of passion here; she was watchful, but uninvolved, her face set in a serene and stony calm. Whatever Ransome thinks he’s doing, Chauvelin thought, Lioe will have her own ideas. The recognition steadied him; he said, “I still owe you part of your fee.”

Lioe lifted an eyebrow in mute question, glancing from one to the other, and Chauvelin said, “I-Jay was good enough to hurry a commission for me—the stones on the paths in the lower gardens.” He took a petty pleasure in emphasizing Ransome’s subordinate position.

“Was that your work?” Lioe said, and Ransome nodded, still grinning. Lioe nodded back, her expression still serene. “Yes, I can see you don’t like people to be comfortable.”

There was a little silence, and Chauvelin wanted suddenly to cheer. Ransome said, “Why should they be? I’m not.” He paused again, and added, striving for the earlier lightness, “Who have you been talking to, anyway?”

Lioe smiled slightly. “Other Gamers.”

“I should’ve expected that,” Ransome murmured.

“I still owe you money, I-Jay,” Chauvelin said, riding over whatever else either one of them might have said. “You must have had workshop fees.”

Ransome nodded. “Oh, I’ve submitted the bills, have no fear. But I think the result was worth it.”

“It is spectacular,” Chauvelin agreed, and, to his surprise, Lioe nodded.

“The faces are very beautiful,” she said. “It must have changed your garden completely, Ambassador.”

“It did,” Chauvelin said.

“For the better, surely,” Ransome said.

“I think so,” Chauvelin said, and smiled. “Certainly it was a change.”

His eye was caught by a sudden movement, a subtle gesture from across the room. He looked toward it, past Ransome’s shoulder, and saw je-Sou’tsian standing a little apart, one hand lifted in mute appeal. Ransome saw his eyes move, controlled the impulse to look, said instead, “I don’t want to monopolize you, Sia.”

“Not at all,” Chauvelin said. “But something seems to have come up.” He nodded toward je-Sou’tsian, and Ransome glanced over his shoulder.

“Ah, the Visiting Speaker’s arrived?”

“My honored guest the Speaker has been here since the first arrivals,” Chauvelin said, not without irony. “Na Lioe, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope I’ll have the pleasure again.”