Burning Bright

Haas nodded. “The problem is, the je cousins have been getting a lot of attention at court lately—Norio Mann is a je Tsinraan, and he’s been the All-Father’s favorite son since the petro strike on Hazuhonae. And the cousins are doing everything they can to consolidate their position.”

Chauvelin nodded back, wishing—not for the first time—that communications between the court on Hsiamai and the worlds outside HsaioiAn were a little more frequent. “If I had known—” he began, and bit off the words. The rivalry between je and tzu lines of the imperial family—between cousin and direct-line family—was ongoing; if he couldn’t anticipate particular events and shifts in favor, he should at least have made sure nothing in his report could have affected the Remembrancer-Duke’s position in that struggle. But I didn’t count on his dumping ji-Imbaoa on me. Or his household.

Haas smiled sourly. “For some reason, Tal, they’ve decided to pick on you—you are in an anomalous position, after all. And my lord is vulnerable through you, don’t forget.”

“I don’t forget,” Chauvelin said.

“Good.”

“Tell me this,” Chauvelin said, and in spite of his best efforts heard the anger in his voice. “Do you want me to retract my report? It’s my best advice—my lord never used to prefer a political lie to common sense, but I am at my lord’s command.”

“No.” Haas waved one hand in a hsaii gesture, negation and apology in one. “What’s done is done. But you might look for some way to reaffirm your loyalties in public, Tal. My lord would find it helpful.”

“I’ll do that,” Chauvelin said, a new, cold fear warring with the anger. He had earned his place on Burning Bright, earned the right to return to his homeworld, a favor almost never granted to chaoi-mon, and that did leave him open to just this accusation, that he favored his origins over the imperial clan that had adopted him.

Haas looked at him from under lowered lashes. “My lord is vulnerable through you,” she said again.

“The threat was clear the first time,” Chauvelin said.

“I hope so,” Haas murmured, and ran a finger along the elaborate enameling that decorated the cover of her implanted wrist spur. The picture wavered and died. Chauvelin swore, and reached for his own remote, closing down the local connection. Check characters flickered across the screen, and then the wall went dead, a blank grey space at the end of the room.

Chauvelin sat staring at it for a long moment, mastering his anger, and the fear that anger masked. So my lord will throw me to the wolves, he thought, testing the idea, and found he could view it without great surprise. So I will find a reason for him to have to keep me, and I think I will begin with finding something, or something more, to discredit ji-lmbaoa. Not that that will be that hard, or particularly unpleasant. He pushed himself slowly to his feet, wincing a little at the ache in his knees. Outside the window, the sky had lightened visibly, the sky even to the west, over the city, showing clear signs of dawn. There was no point in going back to bed—the conference had been scheduled at ja-Erh’aoa’s convenience, and he himself had other appointments later in the day. Better to eat— assuming the kitchen staff is awake, which they had better be—and then take steps to deal with this.

He returned to his own rooms to change clothes, discarding the unflattering bodysuit and heavy coat with a sigh of relief. One of the servants—the hsai preferred living beings to mechanicals; service given and received in kinship was the glue of their society, and this morning Chauvelin was oddly comforted by his place in the hierarchy—had laid out everyday clothing, shirt and plain trousers, and a less formal coat of green brocade. The fabric was of Burning Bright weave, shot through with strands of the iridescent pearl-silk rendered from the discarded shells of the sequensa after the more expensive paillettes had been cut, and he hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be more tactful to wear something less obviously identified with his world of origin, but then shrugged the thought aside. The damage was done; it was better to pretend he hadn’t heard about the rumors. And besides, the cool drape of the fabric was a reassuring luxury. He slipped it on, running one hand down the unshaped lapel just for the feeling of the heavy silk under his touch, and left the room.