“No,” replied Reive. Her hair had fallen to her shoulders in loose, oily-looking coils, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked like a demented child, not the mannered scryer one usually saw at inquisitions. Âziz raised her eyebrows, beckoning a serving boy to refill her wineglass, and leaned over to say something to Sajur Panggang. Echion smiled very slightly.
Please, please stop, Ceryl prayed. Very faintly she could hear Rudyard Planck whispering her name. She glanced at Nike, still holding the broken ends of her candicaine pipette. The margravine was staring at Reive entranced.
The gynander continued, her voice oddly toneless.
“It is not a true dream, because you are no longer a true man. It is the last memory of your last life. Somehow it has entered your regenerated consciousness. Because it is not a dream you will never be free of it.”
The Aviator stared at her, motionless. Finally his voice rang out, so loud and deep that Tatsun Frizer gave a little shriek.
“You are right! It is not really a dream, because I am no longer a man.” He nodded at Âziz and Nike. “This is a very clever creature you have here, Margravines. Perhaps it will scry your dreams for us?”
Âziz coughed, wiping her mouth with her hand and pushing away the serving boy as he offered her a towel. She nodded slowly, and stretched her long hands out toward Reive.
“Yes. Of course.” Her eyes narrowed. “My dreams of late have been so— unusual —that I did not trust them to our usual seers. But you appear to be a rather unusual mantic, strange child.”
Murmurings and excited glances from the crowd. Âziz smiled a twisted smile and crooked a finger at Reive. “Come here, then, child. What’s your name?”
Reive blinked and looked around the room, as though just waking up. She glanced back at Echion, who nodded, and then across the room at Ceryl, who pretended not to see her. Âziz watched her patiently, still moving her hands to beckon her closer. Warily Reive crossed the circle to stand before her.
“Our name is Reive.”
“Reive.”
Âziz drawled the syllable, wrinkling her nose. Relieved laughter from the circle. “Well, Reive. You’re quite a talented thing. I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”
She reached to touch the gynander’s chin, tilted it so that Reive gazed back at her. Âziz drew her breath in sharply.
“Your eyes.” Reive struggled to look away, but the margravine’s hand held tight to her. “Where did you get such eyes?”
Reive’s reply was so low it could scarcely be heard.
“We were born with them, Margravine.”
“Born with them?” snapped Âziz. She let go of the gynander and turned to her sister. “Gynanders are generated on Dominations! They never have such eyes—”
Nike nodded. She said thoughtfully, “Shiyung has eyes like that—”
“Enough!” Âziz’s voice cut her off. She turned back to Reive, regarding the gynander’s slim figure in its filmy costume. Raising her eyebrows Âziz reached to stroke the edge of Nike’s fur cape.
“Here, Reive—you look cold.”
Âziz tugged at the cape; it slid from Nike to the floor, where she pointed at it, staring all the while at Reive. At first the gynander did nothing; then with a slow nod she took the cape and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Âziz stared at her through slitted eyes. “Very striking. I have not seen you here on Seraphim before.”
“We have only been here this week.”
“Are you Echion’s guest?”
Reive looked uneasy, finally shook her head.
“No.”
All around the circle people were whispering and glancing at each other. Many of them were staring at Ceryl. She coughed and looked around the room fiercely, trying to avoid the gynander’s eyes. Now Reive was staring at her. The powder on one cheek had been smeared, so that the green whorl there looked like a bruise. Beside Ceryl, Rudyard Planck whispered, “Don’t worry, there’s help if you need it.”
“Come now, Reive, you must be somebody’s guest,” Âziz said sharply. “ I’m not angry, I’m sure you didn’t intend to insult our new Aviator Imperator, and I’m sure he doesn’t feel that way. Margalis?”
She glanced at the Aviator. He shook his head, but it was impossible to tell what the gesture meant. Âziz went on, nonplussed. “See?”
Reive pulled the furs tight across her chest. Suddenly she pointed.
“Her.”
Ceryl gasped. She had indicated Tatsun Frizer.
“She gave me an invitation—this afternoon—at the Investiture—”
Tatsun Frizer cried out and shook her head.
“A charming place to meet, I’m sure.” Âziz smiled coldly at the stammering Tatsun, then turned to Reive. “And of course you wanted to come here this evening—”
Reive nodded. “Yes, Margravine…”
“She is fearless,” Rudyard Planck whispered to Ceryl. Tatsun Frizer was silent now, her face bright red and teary-eyed.
“She’s insane.” Ceryl closed her eyes and turned her hands so they faced palm-upward, and murmured the soothing verse the galli had taught her.
On the other side of the room the gynander and Âziz faced each other, the margravine still smiling that tight twisted smile.
“Well,” Âziz said at last. She traced the outline of Reive’s cheek, her finger smearing the rest of the gynander’s makeup. “We don’t normally allow uninvited guests into the Four Hundredth Room, especially at the beginning of Æstival Tide…”
She paused and looked across the room at Tatsun Frizer, who gibbered in protest.
“ But ,” the margravine continued, “seeing as how your scrying satisfied the Aviator Imperator, I am curious to hear what you have to say about my dream.” Her face grew taut as she drew her hand back from Reive. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I have not slept well for many nights, Reive. I would be very— pleased —with you, if you could discern the meaning of this dream….”
The gynander nodded silently. Ceryl found she couldn’t keep her eyes shut. Watching Reive, her own terror was almost overcome by pity—the gynander was trembling, her face smeared with powder and green kohl. She stared unblinking at Âziz as the margravine began to speak in a halting voice.
“It is two weeks now, I have not slept because of this dream….”
From the air vents wafted a soft odor, something redolent of lavender smoke and new leather. The faces around the circle grew more relaxed as the incense filled the room and the margravine recited her dream. Ceryl inhaled deeply, her thoughts drifting. She smiled, recalling Reive’s spindly figure declaring This is not a dream to the new Aviator Imperator. It would make a good story to tell, tomorrow, the stuff of tanka parlor gossip and much speculation among the pleasure cabinet. An unknown gynander appears and within a week is the margravine’s new favorite. The parallels to Ceryl’s own situation were obvious. Perhaps Reive would be given her own chambers on Thrones, or be brought up to Seraphim, there to tend to Âziz’s nightmares. Or even stranger things might happen.
This is the game that moves as you play it….
But then something broke Ceryl’s reverie. The pleasant droning in the background had stopped. Âziz, after speaking for some minutes, had suddenly fallen silent. In front of her Reive stood stiffly, eyes half-closed, her hands clenched. Ceryl rubbed her forehead. Had she fallen asleep? She looked up in time to see Âziz take a handful of white powder from a raku bowl and toss it on a tiny cast-iron brazier. A harsh scent cut through the lulling incense. Rudyard Planck fidgeted and Tatsun Frizer looked around anxiously, as did most of the other guests. Only the Aviator remained unmoving, staring at the gynander.