One hoped to God she got it right.
Or was thatcjust a little professional jealousy?
Damn, he tried to be better than that. He was thinking so when the final guest arrived, with his bodyguard. Lord Tatiseigi—speaking of jealousy—came to sit in the same room as his grandnephew and his chief annoyance when it came to philosophy, political affiliation, and Ilisidi’s andCajieiri’s favor: Geigi.
“Nandi.” Bren gave the little duck of the head courtesy demanded. Then two voices at once, one lighter than the rest and full of enthusiasm, the rascaclass="underline"
“Great-uncle! One is so glad!”
“Well, well. A pleasant surprise, Grandnephew!”
The kid was acquiring the sly skills of a diplomat: happily diverting off a topic with Geigi that would send great-uncle into an apoplexy, to a cheery, apparently sincere how-do-you-do that elicited an astonished reciprocation out of Tatiseigi. Eight, and going on nine, for God’s sake, and absorbing his grandmother’s tactics like a sponge.
They were all seated—or almost seated—Tatiseigi the last, being a little stiff in the joints, as Cenedi and Nawari came in, preceding Ilisidi herself, so it was back up to their feet to give a courteous bow to their hostess, who arrived in splendid black lace with small ruby accents, and who bowed slightly in her turn, offering a serene smile and her ordinary manner. Her cane went to Cenedi, who set it against the buffet—she often kept it, but she exuded relaxation and good cheer tonight.
So they were all together, finally, in about as secure a place as existed in the Bujavid. And he was particularly glad to have Ilisidi safely back within Bujavid upper stories, where she was far safer than off in the East dealing with the neighbors.
They were five at table, a felicitous number, though containing a chancy two—and one knew exactly which were the Infelicitous Twosome: Tatiseigi and Geigi. One flattered oneself that the paidhi-aiji with the aiji’s son and the aiji-dowager posed the felicity in the arrangement, and thank God and thank Cajeiri’s clever start to the conversation, everybody was on good behavior all the way through dinner. In the course of dinner conversation, Lord Geigi avowed himself completely cheerful at the prospect of seeing his on-planet business neatly handled so he could go back to the station, and Lord Tatiseigi was rather caught up in hearing from Ilisidi the details of Baiji’s wedding—somewhat inconsiderate, had Geigi chosen to be take offense at having the scandal in Lord Geigi’s house aired, but Geigi remained in good humor and asked details himself, what his nephew had worn, and how Baiji, no great scholar, had gotten through his pledges without stumbling.
And both gentlemen quite enthusiastically, genealogy being a particular interest of Lord Tatiseigi, heard Ilisidi’s reckoning of the lineages and ancient associations involved in the marriage she had arranged.
“It is a veryfelicitous match, and you must understand, Tati-ji,” Ilisidi said, paying the old man personal attention—if she were human she would have patted him confidentially on the hand. She was not, and she simply nodded in his direction. “We have married that scoundrel Baiji to a lady of great good sense, not to mention her antecedents; the ancient connection of Lord Drusi with your own third-great-uncle, Tati-ji, might be argued to connect Atageini relatives as well. One has not forgotten nand’ Drusi’s Eastern wife, out of which the current lordship of the Atageini rises.”
“Now that is the most tenuous of connections!” Lord Tatiseigi said, and went on to trace exactly how the relationship ran, while Geigi added his own remote ancestry.
Cajeiri listened remarkably politely, though with his eyes occasionally glazing over, and a mere human attempted to connect the dots in a set of political and genetic relationships running back fifteen hundred years—long before humans had exited their own motherworldc
Arcane stuff. But it mattered to the traditionalists. It mattered because it contained history and subtext. That Lord Tatiseigi, traditionalist to the hilt, and Geigi, a Rational Determinist and a modernist, sat there comparing ancestors was amazing. Just amazing. The time had been when those two had been bitter, bitter opponents on the grounds of the very ancestors they now compared.
And thenc
Then there came into question, not quite a case of business at dinner, the matter of the Marid and the porcelains and the ravages to Lord Geigi’s personal collections. Geigi and Tatiseigi had the passion for porcelains in common as well, and, starting from the ancestor who had started Tatiseigi’s collection, the dinner dwindled down to last courses in the completely esoteric discussion of green glazes, which was somuch better than might have been. There was not a whisper yet about Lord Machigi.
But in conclusion of the meal, Ilisidi of course offered brandy in the sitting room, which would be the venue for serious, even disagreeable discussion, and Bren braced himself.
“One would very much wish to attend the after-dinner sitting, mani,” Cajeiri said quietly. “One will not say a thing, even if one should wish to.”
It was Ilisidi the lad addressed. Lord Tatiseigi looked a little put out at the idea, and he probably wanted to say the boy belonged home in bed at this hour.
But the things at issue were matters Cajeiri knew intimately—quite intimately, the boy having seen far too much of the warfare on the peninsula. Ilisidi had not withheld information of that sort from the boy. Ever.
“You will remember your promise,” Ilisidi said, “Great-grandson.”
“One assuredly will, Great-grandmother.”
“So, well,” Ilisidi said, and gathered up her cane, which her bodyguard Cenedi slipped conveniently under her hand in the same moment he moved her chair back. Ilisidi gathered herself to her feet, they all got up and filed out of the room, bodyguards arranging themselves as they went—Cajeiri’s youngsters adding a little confusion and inexperience to the process, but Cenedi sorted it out quietly behind them.
So they settled in the sitting-room, with brandy and one iced fruit juice—and faced one another for what was not going to be such a nice conversation.
“One does not wish, aiji-ma,” Tatiseigi said, “to offend young ears. But one must speak.”
“You will not offend him,” Ilisidi. “Nor, one hopes, Tati-ji, will our efforts to have peace in the south displease you. You know how very long we have desired a settlement, we do know that you hold opposing views in the interest of your region, and, fortunate third, we do hope to satisfy all your objections, because we have had them particularly in mind while arranging the agreements. You have been our instructor and our constant thought while we were working these things out. Do kindly hear us out before you frame an opinion.”
Neatlymanaged, Bren thought. A magnificent segue, delivered almost while the old man was drawing breath to object.
“Well, well,” Tatiseigi said, frowning, “but understand—” He used the all-inclusive plural. “—our objections reside in our concern for the aishidi’tat, which is an irreplaceable structure.”
“To that we heartily agree, nandi,” Geigi said. “And, speaking as one who has sometimes been at odds, but no longer, one hopes—we greatly appreciate your position. The aiji-dowager has often cited your opinions, and one now greatly appreciates the wisdom of your position, nandi. When one was young, one was far more reckless, but time and events are persuasive. Your objections are wisely made, and must be respected.”
Tatiseigi blinked. Twice, parsing that for traps, and Bren parsed it a second time himself, in some little admiration. God, Geigi had grown in office. Ilisidi looked on that with her usual calm demeanor and smiled a sweet little smile.
“So we do,” she said, “always consult with Lord Tatiseigi.”
The paidhi-aiji could hardly top that opening statement. He sat there sipping his brandy very cautiously, saying only, “One absolutely concurs, aiji-ma. Nandiin.”