If the future meant the death of every mer on Tiamat in exchange for the easy comfort of citizenship in the Hegemony’s new empire, most of the people sitting in this room would make that sacrifice—some guiltily, but most without hesitation. “The problem of the mers has not been resolved,” she said, raising her voice. “And that is important, to your future, and to the Hegemony’s future as well!” She was almost shouting, to make herself heard above the rising murmur of voices. “If the Hegemony destroys them, if we allow that to happen, in the end we will be losing everything we thought we had gained—”
“Why?” Flan Redstone said flatly. “Because they’re an intelligent race? Then let them look out for themselves.”
“If they’re so intelligent,” someone else murmured, “why have they let the offworlders kill them for so long, anyway? How smart can they be?”
“They are the Lady’s Children!” Capella Goodventure called out. “If you abandon them, she will abandon you—”
“She never took as good care of us as the offworlders, anyway,” Flan Redstone answered.
“It’s wrong to stand by and allow the mers to be slaughtered, whatever you believe,” Clavally Bluestone said sharply. But she looked back at Moon. “But what can we do to stop it, Lady? You said yourself that we can’t fight the Hegemony and win.”
“That’s true. So we have to find some other answer.” Moon rose to her feet, leaning on the circle of table.
“Well, you keep saying that this is bigger than all of us, that the future depends on it,” Sewa Stormprince said. “What does that mean? It’s only a tragedy for the mers—and they don’t seem to be concerned about it. What difference can it make to the future of Tiamat or the Hegemony if they kill all the mers? Then a few ultra-rich offworlders won’t be able to live longer than all the rest of us. That hardly seems like a tragedy to me.”
“That isn’t the point.” Moon shook her head, feeling the heavy plait of her hair slide against the back of her robe. “They are part of something far more important I know that … I know that—” She felt her face convulse with frustration, felt her throat close, paralyzed, over the words that could never be spoke. “I know … what I know,” she finished, looking down, her voice faltering, defeated. She sat down again, feeling too many eyes watching her with morbid curiosity, filled with doubt—even Jerusha’s, even her husband’s.
Her hands clenched together on the table surface. She studied the pattern they made, clinging to one another; feeling isolated in a way that she had never imagined possible—surrounded by people, people she knew and trusted and even loved, but people who could not help her….
“Maybe we should all consider this,” Jerusha said abruptly. “The Hegemony functions on trade. They’ll give you what you want—but not for free. They’ll want the water of life in return. But if you let them kill all the mere, there won’t be any more water of life. And what will this world have to offer them, when the mers are all gone—? Think about it.”
The tone of the muttering around the meeting table changed, more thoughtful now, but still querulous.
Moon looked up again, glancing gratefully at Jerusha, but still aware of the growing restlessness and noise. Surrendering, she opened the meeting to general questions about the Return and spent what seemed an eternity attempting to answer them all, hoping that her mind would stay focused on the matters at hand for long enough to provide a coherent answer when one was needed. Her gaze drifted to Kirard Set Wayaways, and she felt her face freeze as the images of her grandmother and Borah Clearwater blurred his face into an inhuman mask. Inhuman—
He looked up suddenly, as if he felt her gaze touch him. He looked mildly curious as her expression registered; but then something came into his eyes that looked like recognition, and he smiled. She felt herself turn cold inside as she realized that it was someone else’s expression that he was acknowledging … the Queen he had known in Winter.
“Lady,” he said, with the irritating, slightly mocking drawl that most of the former Winter nobles—even the ones she liked—seemed always to have, especially when they spoke her Summer title. He leaned forward, with a sudden intensity showing in his eyes. It’s coming now, she thought, feeling tension pull her taut as she waited for his words. “I think we have said all that can be said about the subject of the offworlders’ return. I would like to touch on local matters, if I may…. Specifically I would like to pursue my bid to buy out the rights to the Clearwater plantation, now that … the required time has passed since the tragic accident that claimed the life of my kin and yours—” He dropped his voice, and his gaze, in a show of regret and loss. She sat silently, her own face settling into a rictus. “As no relation has laid any first claim on it—”
“You’re wrong about that, Kirard Set Wayaways,” she said softly, and watched his own face freeze, midway into a look of smug anticipation.
“What do you mean?” he asked, in the sudden, perfect silence that fell around the room.
“I have decided to place a kin-claim on the land myself, as nearest surviving relative.”
He stared at her. “What?” he said again, and then, “Gods….” His eyes darkened. “You’re a Summer. You’re no kin of his or mine!”
“He was pledged to my grandmother.” Who died with him. And was it because of you? Was it—? She pressed her mouth together, holding back the words—the accusations that she could not prove, the loss and the suspicion that still burned insider her like live coals.
“ ‘Pledged’?” he said, his voice thick with anger and scorn. “That means nothing. It isn’t legal marriage; there’s no record of it—”
“A verbal pledge is accepted as binding in Summer,” Moon said calmly. “And you are in Summer now. Their shared property is mine to claim, if I choose.”
“What do you want with a stretch of underdeveloped coastline three days’ travel from the city?” he snapped, glaring at her.
“I’ll decide that in due time.”
“Then why not sell it to me, for gods’ sakes? You’ve been pleased enough with the way I’ve developed my other holdings. You know I’ve wanted this piece of land for years, but the … my late kinsman … wouldn’t sell.”
“I won’t sell it to you because I swore to him once that I would never let you have it.”
His disbelief shifted focus. He shook his head. “Fine,” he murmured, controlling his voice with an effort. “So I presume to please your old grandmother, you kept your promise. But she’s dead now, damn it. They both are—”
“And I have heard it said that you wished aloud on more than one occasion that your kinsman would disappear, so that you could get hold of his lands.” She met the sudden gleam of knives in his stare. Seeing only the capsized boat adrift in a deserted inlet under a clear sky, on a peaceful sea; and no sign anywhere of the two people who had been sailing to Carbuncle, their shared experience with the sea equaling more than a century, with no storms reported.
“Are you accusing me of causing their deaths?” he said indignantly. “They were old. Maybe his heart stopped. Maybe she fell overboard—”
“I have no proof that their deaths were anything but an accident,” she answered, hearing the toneless lack of belief in her voice. After the news had reached the city, Tor Starhiker had come to the palace, uneasy but unable to keep silent, and reported what she had overheard at her restaurant … and that she had seen Kirard Set down in the marketplace, where she had never seen him before, holding money under the noses of certain Winters of bad reputation, not long before Tammis’s wedding day. Moon had asked Jerusha to investigate; but no bodies had been found, and no evidence beyond hearsay. “But you Winters have a saying: ‘Today’s word is tomorrow’s deed.’”