“There was a change in plans,” a voice said, seeming to come at him out of the walls. The Source. The sound of that voice made his flesh crawl, even without the physical manifestation of it, which was beginning now across the room. He watched darkness begin to gather at the head of the table, impossibly, out of nothing. The shadow deepened until there was a formless but undeniable presence among them. Sparks told himself that it was only a projection, a hologram. But he knew the reality behind it existed, here somewhere. … He forced himself to sit down with Kirard Set and Reede at the table.
“There was a situation,” the Source’s corroded voice went on, expressionlessly. “The meeting was postponed. But the Brotherhood wished to hear about your progress in your various activities, and so I am here to receive your comments. Sparks Dawntreader—”
Sparks pulled his attention away from Kullervo, from watching the sudden, feral hatred in the other man’s gaze as he watched the darkness take form. A trickle of sweat ran down Kullervo’s cheek; his mouth quirked as the drop passed it.
Sparks nodded, trying not to focus as he faced the darkness.
“How is your exquisite wife, the Queen? And have you had any success in your attempts to convince her that she would stand to profit from extending her protection to certain of our interests, and opening this port to a …” the voice smiled, “wider spectrum of trade, as her mother did?”
Sparks shook his head. “Not much,” he said.
The Source made a disgusted noise. “So your wife is still besotted by her ex-lover, the new Chief Justice—?”
Sparks felt his mouth thin; feeling Kirard Set’s eyes on him, and Kullervo’s “The Queen, my wife,” he said, “is getting everything she needs from the Hegemony.” He twisted the tight line of his lips into a smile. “So, unlike Arienrhod, she really doesn’t need either one of us.” He shrugged. Kullervo snorted with amusement; Kirard Set’s mouth inched upward in grudging respect.
“How unfortunate.” The darkness at the end of the table seemed to transform in a way he could not define. “Well, in the real world there are always several answers to any given question… . Kirard Set Wayaways—how is your charming family?”
Sparks shifted in his seat as the Source’s indefinable attention moved away from him.
“My son is lusting after Ariele Dawntreader, as usual. My wife is lusting after anything that can make her feel younger. This week it’s a cosmetic surgeon, I believe.”
“And what progress has been made in spreading the idea of the return of Winter to power at the Assembly’s visit?”
“Good progress,” Kirard Set murmured, with a faintly superior smile. “Most Winters are for it. Even the Summers are so infected with an itch for progress that they might accept a transfer of power, if the Queen keeps the balance of trade skewed by refusing to allow exploitation of the water of life … as long as the Change is brought about in the traditional way. Which suits our purpose admirably—”
“What do you mean, ‘the traditional way’?” Sparks demanded, leaning forward.
“By drowning the Queen, of course,” Kirard Set said.
Sparks froze, staring in disbelief, one part of his brain perversely aware of how absurd the expression on his face must be. “You motherlorn bastard. You sit here and tell me to my face you’ve been plotting to sacrifice my wife at the Festival, like it’s a matter of changing your tailor? Do your plans include drowning me too, like Arienrhod’s did—?” He pushed halfway out of his seat.
“Ye gods,” Kirard Set said, wincing and putting up his hands. “As hotheaded as ever, after all these years. Sit down, Sparks, and let me explain.”
“There is no real danger of the Queen being sacrificed … or, more pragmatically, yourself, Dawntreader,” the Source said coldly. “That is not the point of this exercise. You must learn to stop taking everything at face value, if you are ever to rise within our circles. You will never see the opportunities here, any more than you see them in your own life, if you assume everything is exactly what it appears to be.”
Sparks settled back into his seat, managing somehow to keep the betraying rush of blood from reddening his face. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “Enlighten me.”
“This is about the Queen, yes; but it is more about your rival, BZ Gundhalinu. He is in love with your wife—and only he has the power to override her wishes in the matter of releasing the water of life. We want him in the position of being forced to choose which is more important—protecting her, or protecting the mers. Either choice will cause him considerable difficulty and grief… . If he is caught in the bind between sacrificing the Queen, and violating her obsessive protection of the mers, which do you think he will choose?”
Sparks was silent for a long moment. “I think he’ll choose to let the mers die… . But that’s exactly what the Golden Mean wants him to do anyway. Then they’ll control the water of life, not the Brotherhood. What do we get out of that?”
“In the short term, until we achieve our own independent supply, it gives us simple availability. As long as the drug is actually being made, we have ways of getting our share. In the long run, the benefits of forcing this choice on the Chief Justice and the Queen are many, and not all of them are necessarily obvious to someone like yourself. For your own part, as a loyal Brother, be satisfied with the knowledge that this will cause no pain to you, and considerable pain to the man who is trying to steal your wife.”
“And even your children,” Kirard Set murmured, raising an eyebrow. “How are Ariele and Tammis bearing up under all this?”
Sparks looked at him, cold-eyed. “I told you before, I don’t have any children,” he said. “So you’d know that better than I would.”
Kirard Set grimaced, in what Sparks supposed was meant as apology. “Well, I suppose Kullervo knows more about Ancle’s intimate emotions than any of us, these days. How would you describe her, Kullervo?”
Sparks turned to look at Kullervo, feeling disbelief hit him in the chest as he imagined his daughter—not his daughter, but—his daughter in the arms of that walking deathwish.
Kullervo froze, caught by their mutual stare in the act of biting his knuckle. He lowered his hands to the tabletop, knotting his fingers together. Sparks saw the livid marks his teeth had left on his own flesh. “Did you ever have intestinal parasites, Wayaways?” he said, looking at his hands.
“No,” Kirard Set answered, nonplussed.
“Too bad,” Kullervo said.
“Yes…” the Source murmured, “do tell us about your relationship with Ariele, Reede. You’ve been with her almost every night, for some time now. This is a first, since Mundilfoere.…” His voice trailed, and Sparks saw Kullervo stop breathing. “Does she remind you of your lost love—?” The words were dark with insinuation, and threat. “Is she perhaps responsible for your failure to produce the blood sample you require for your research?”
“No.” Kullervo’s face went gray, as if he were suddenly in such terrible pain that he could not even cry out. He took a deep breath. “I told you what happened,” he said thickly. “I fell. I lost my weapon… . Ariele Dawntreader knows a lot about the mere. She spends a lot of time with them. I’ve been stringing her along because I want what she knows. She’s not my type.” He looked up again suddenly, almost defiantly, at the waiting darkness. “I’ve never even touched her.” He glanced briefly at Sparks, and away again.
“So you’ve only been collecting her data, that’s all?” the Source repeated, with heavy amusement.