He also found himself steadily emotionally closer to Weft. She was lovely and talented, yes, and considerate of his needs and limitations, and the sex was great, but she was also competent and serious about her mission. She arranged to pay for every memory she borrowed, leaving a trail of well satisfied people who otherwise would have had no break in their indifferent existences. As a person she was in no way inferior to her siblings.
"I have a special one," she said, after one of her searches. "Not a memory; I discovered it when questioning for memories. A Black/White romance."
"Question?"
"A Black Chroma zone lies adjacent to a White Chroma zone. They have periodic gatherings, social events, dances, where they two meet, trying to maintain relations."
"Familiar," he said. "It is best to get along with one's neighbors. Typically they make people dance only with those of the other Chroma. Sometimes they get interested in each other, for the novelty, but it's pretty much no fault. I dated a Red Chroma girl once, after such a dance, but we both knew there was no future in it, because neither could desert the home Chroma."
"Exactly. It is to the king's interest to facilitate trade and prosperity for all, to the extent feasible. So I checked with dad, and he said, sure, take care of it, honey."
Fifth remembered that Weft's ultimate romantic interest was the one man she couldn't have, her father Havoc.
Havoc played along with it, pretending that he would marry Weft if he were free to do so. It was a safe game, because Havoc truly loved Gale, and she would not be passing from the scene. But there was a suspicion that it was more than a game to Weft. "Affirmation," Weft agreed. He was startled to see a tear in her eye.
"Affirmation," she said again. "I have loved him since I was a baby, and always knew it was doomed.
Because I love mom too."
"Inadequacy," Fifth said, unable to make any relevant comment. Weft was more woman than any he had encountered except Gale. It was ironic that Weft had oriented this way.
"Flame calls me Electra. I call her hothead. She is more accurate."
"She is only teasing."
"She is not a tease."
He had to yield the point. When it came to the social graces, Flame was not in the same class as Weft.
"Understanding," he said. "If there is one other than Flame I love, it is your mother, Gale. She was kind to me, and she understands me. I can relate to the way you feel about the prime man in your life."
She gazed at him with honest appreciation. "I need to find another man."
"That might ease the situation," he agreed.
"Unless I took Flame's."
He froze. He had thought there could be no other woman for him than Flame, but now he knew that Weft was that other. Suddenly he was in the middle of a potential quarrel between Glamors. "Inadequacy," he repeated.
Weft returned to business. "A White Chroma girl loves a Black Chroma man, but his family stifled their romance."
"Families do, if they are otherChroma romances."
"We are going to have to try to shame them into acceptance."
Fifth shook his head. "Unlikely, unless you mess with their minds. What is it about this particular romance that makes it relevant to the king's interest?"
"There is a passion flower bed in need of exploitation."
"That would do it," he agreed.
They went to the Black Chroma Village the morning before the dance. Fifth remained at the inn while Weft conjured herself across to the White village to talk with the girl. Soon she returned. "She has agreed, of course."
"And his family?"
"I will need your help."
He knew from her mind what she wanted. He was not fully pleased with it, as there was an element of coercion, but did want to facilitate her mission. "Agreement."
The young man was Carl, seventeen. His parents were Carver and Cassie, the Village elders. Form was very important, for this was a Moral Village. That was why Carl had been required to break off the relationship; too intimate an association with an otherChroma girl was too irregular.
The parents liked to take daily walks to a private place where they had rendezvoused when young. It was a shell; the romance was long since gone from their relationship, but still they went. As a matter of form.
Fifth and Weft intercepted them there. "Greeting," Weft said. "I am the king's daughter Weft, and this is my no fault friend Fifth. We have an interest in your son's prospects for marriage."
"The king's daughter is a Glamor!" Cassie protested. "Take my hand."
The woman took her hand. "You are she! Apology for doubting."
"Needless. This is a special situation. I wish to impress upon you and your husband some tolerance for inter-Chroma romance."
"That White Chroma girl!" he said angrily.
"Hussy" his wife echoed.
"When they trysted," Weft said evenly "before you made your son back off, they discovered the reason for their attraction. They were near a patch of passion flowers."
"Mythology," Carver snorted.
"Reality," Weft said. She produced a large flower. "Here is one. Cut, its potency will fade in hours, but if you smell it you will appreciate its power." She proffered it to Carver. "Aversion!" he said, backing away.
"What harm can it do, if it is mythological?" Weft asked.
Reluctantly he accepted the flower and sniffed it. His eyes dilated.
"What's this?" Cassie demanded. She took the flower from her husband's flaccid fingers and sniffed it. "Oh!"
The two moved into a clinch. Then, embarrassed, they broke apart.
"Carl and Jasmine were just walking together, honoring the two-villages protocol," Weft said.
"They did not know of the flower bed, which formed only recently. Now perhaps you can appreciate what happened."
"Our poor son!" Cassie said.
"Loving a girl he can't marry," Weft said. "Required to marry another girl he will never love. This is certainly unkind."
Cassie still held the flower. She and her husband were moving together again. Realizing, they jerked away again. Cassie threw away the flower.
"Consider," Weft continued. "Such flowers are so rare as to be considered mythological. The village that farms such a flower bed could profit handsomely from trade with other villages. The bed is in the small shade-of-gray overlapping between the two Chroma zones; either zone might claim it. The White Chroma village is more liberal; it is surely better to let it have it."
"Jezebel!" Carver snapped.
"Or perhaps it could be shared. But who could be trusted to supervise such a property without being overcome either by greed or lust?"
"A married interChroma couple," Fifth said on cue. "Neither would care to cheat the other."
The expressions on the faces of the Village elder and his wife were pained. They wanted the profit, and did not want it lost to a rival village. But they would have to make a moral sacrifice, by their definition.
"Tomorrow at the dance Fifth and I will dance and sing, telling the story of this flower bed," Weft said. "I suspect both villages will see the fairness in what we propose. All you need to do is nod. Your village will appreciate your personal sacrifice in the interest of benefiting it. Your son will surely do his part."
"Jezebel!" Carver repeated. He and his wife departed.
Weft smiled. "They will make love in the middle of the day. Highly irregular. They haven't done that for decades."
"I gather you don't approve of moral villages."
"They're entitled. But a girl like me would never fit in."
"Agreement!"
That night in the inn they made love as usual, which meant the unusual, using a bottle of berry juice and several orifices. Fifth had never before had such delight in such varied sex. Anything he could imagine, Weft could and would do with joyful abandon.