And he wasn’t wholly sure he wanted Tabini-aiji to file Intent on his behalf, either, even if he could manipulate the situation to make that happen. Going after Machigi in an Assassins’ war would be messy. It would cost lives, as things stood now, and Machigi had far too many assets. Those had to be peeled away first.
Add to that the fact that Tabini was relying on a new security team—good men; but Tabini had lost the aishid that had protected him literally from boyhood, a terrible, terrible loss, on an emotional scale. He had lost a second one, which had turned out unreliable. The emotional blow thathad dealt someone whose psyche resonated to loyalties-offered and loyalties-owed, he could only imagine.
So Tabini himself was proceeding carefully since his return to powerc trusting his new team, but only step by step figuring out how far he could rely on them, both in how good they were, and how committed they were. Extremely committed, Bren thought; but Tabini might be just a little hesitant, this first year of his return, to take on the Marid, who had defied him from the beginning of his career.
Caution wasn’t the way he was used to Tabini operating. Reckless attack wasn’t the way Tabini was used to the paidhi-aiji operating, either. Of all people in the world—the paidhi was not a warlike soul. But the fact was, of persons closest to Tabini, the ones with aishidiin that absolutely werebriefed to the hilt and capable of taking on Machigi—amounted to the paidhi-aiji and the aiji-dowager.
God, wasn’t thata terrifying thought? He was grateful beyond anything he could say that Tabini, lacking protection, hadn’tyanked Banichi and Jago back to his own service. He couldn’t imagine the emotion-laced train of atevi thought that had persuaded Tabini notto do that—well as he knew the man, when it got down to an emotional choice, he couldn’timagine and shouldn’t ever imagine he did. Just say that Tabini hadn’t taken them. Tabini had left the paidhi-aiji’s protection intact and taken on a new aishid, himself. Man’chi, that sense of group and self that drove atevi logic, had been disrupted in the aiji’s household, and had to be rebuilt slowly, along with trust. And until that could happen—Tabini was on thin ice, personally and publicly. Tabini neededhelp. Tabini was, damn it, temporizingwith minor clans like the Farai, when, before, he would have swept them away with the back of his hand.
Meanwhile, starting during Murini’s brief career, Machigi had almost won the west coast, a prize the Marid had been pursuing for two hundred years. He’d come damned close to doing it, except for the paidhi-aiji taking a vacation on the coast. And now things were happening—the Edi organizing and gaining a domain, for one thing—that were not going to make Machigi happy.
Damned sure, Machigi was going to do something—and they were notstrong, here. Tabini’s organization was weakened. The paidhi-aiji was understaffed, always, and the aiji-dowager was operating in a territory completely foreign to her, taking actions she’d wanted to take for decades, but risking herself and the whole Eastern connection to the aishidi’tat.
At least Geigi had returned to the world to knock heads. He hadn’t come down with his full security detail either, but whatever operations the Marid had been undertaking to draw Maschi clan into its own orbit were going to suffer, now that Geigi’s feet were back on the ground, and that posed a threat to Machigi’s plans—to his life, if they took him down. Marid leaders did not retire from office.
All hell was going to break loose, was what. And there was no way the paidhi-aiji could request a major Guild action in support of his position. Tabini might not be eager to get himself visibly involved in this venture—he had a legislative session coming up in very short order, and likely didn’t want to involve himself in Ilisidi’s controversial solution for the west coast— even if he personally wanted to agree with her.
So it devolved down to theirproblem. They had to solve it with the assets they had packed into Najida estatec while Machigi had the whole South to draw on, probably including every member of the various Guilds who had too enthusiastically joined Murini’s administration. The various Guilds’ leadership had suffered in a big way during Murini’s takeover, from politically quiet ones such as Transportation and Healing, to politically volatile ones like the Messengers and, God knew, the Assassins. The way Murini’s people had purged the Guilds, the Guilds’ former leadership now being back in power had purged Murini’s people out of their ranks, and those people had run for protection to the one district that had supported Murini. The South. The Marid.
Machigi. Who consequently might be able to put into the field as many assets as Tabini-aiji.
Noc he didn’t want to challenge that power to a personal shooting match. No more than Tabini did.
Not yet.
He sat, elbows on the desk, with his hands laced together like a fortress.
One unlikely force had sat like a rock for centuries in the tides of Marid ambition: the displaced peoples of the island of Mospheira; the Edi, and the Gan. And the dowager—God, that woman was shrewd—had offered that force a prize it had never thought it could win.
And offered it with real credibility.
A knock at his door. Jago came in.
“The Grandmother of the Edi is on her way, Bren-ji. We are not interfering, but we are covertly watching, with Cenedi’s cooperation.”
“Good,” he said. “Lord Geigi?”
“Is aware.”
Which meant his security staff had informed Geigi’s.
Bren got up and picked up his coat. Jago assisted him to put it on. She was in house kit, augmented, however, by a formidable pistol that rode low at her hip: the ordinary shoulder holster might be under the jacket, but that thing looked as if it could take out the hallway. “House rules: we respect her security.”
“Yes,” Jago said. And added, in a restrained tone: “Barb-daja is asking to go into the garden at this moment.”
“No,” he said. Two people in the house were notin the security loop, and didn’t have staff to inform them there was a major alert going on. The movement of the Edi lady was a serious risk. “Tell Ramaso to attach two senior staff to my brother and Barb-daja. They should not let them out of their sight—and they should stop anyone who attempts to exit the house.”
“Yes,” Jago said with some satisfaction, and plucked his pigtail and its ribbon free of his collar.
He took the time to fold up his computer, lastly, and put his notes away, and locked the desk, not against hisstaff—just his personal policy, and precaution, under present circumstances. They’d had the house infiltrated once, and he didn’t take for granted it couldn’t happen twice.
Jago said, head tilted, pressing the com into her ear, “The Edi are arriving.”
Time to go, then.
8
« ^ »
Only the chief lords in a gathering sat to meet, in Ragi culture. Among Edi there was no such distinction. Every person present was entitled to speak on equal footing; so the household had prepared the room with every chair that could be pressed into service—including one large enough for Lord Geigi’s massive self, and three others small enough that the aiji-dowager, Cajeiri, and the paidhi-aiji would not have their feet dangling—Bren had made the point himself with staff about seating humans, and staff had cannily and tactfully extended the provision to the diminutive aiji-dowager without a word said.
The Grandmother of the Edi, whose name was Aieso, was a lady of considerable girth, but like most Edi folk, too, small of stature. The weathering of years of sun and wind and the softness of her well-padded body allowed deep wrinkles below her chin. She was a plump, comfortable lady—until one looked in her eyes. And no knowing which of the two, she, or the dowager, was older, but one suspected that honor went to Ilisidi.