“It hardly matters,” Walpurga said. “Sempronia isn’t of an age to marry without the family’s permission.”
Roland gave a furious little jerk of his chin. “So she’s run off with a man andcan’t marry him,” he scorned. “Is that supposed to make it any better?” His voice turned thoughtful. “If we sent police or private detectives after her, that would only make the scandal worse. Our only hope is a private appeal.” He turned to Martinez. “Do you have any idea—any idea—who it might be?”
“I’m thinking,” Martinez said, and what he thought was,Shankaracharya, you little bastard. He turned to Vipsania. “How was PJ?”
“Grief-stricken. In tears.” Her tone was disapproving. “It seems he’s made the mistake of caring for her.”
“Weall made that mistake,” Roland said grimly. He passed his hand over his forehead, as if swiping away any inconvenient sympathy. “We can’t afford to make enemies of the Ngenis,” he said. “They’re our patrons and are too critical to everything we hope to accomplish.” He turned to Walpurga. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but you’re going to have to marry PJ, and soon. We can’t drag out your engagement as we could with Sempronia.”
Walpurga took this news with a long breath and a hardening of her dark eyes. “Very well,” she said.
Roland took on a calculating look. “The marriage won’t have to last long, I think. And then”—he offered a reassuring smile—“then we can pay off PJ and find you someone more to your liking.” With one hand he thoughtfully brushed the soft leather of his chair arm. “I’ll contact Lord Pierre and make the arrangements.”
Martinez felt his anger rise. “Now wait a minute,” he said. “The whole engagement to PJ Ngeni was afraud. Iknow it was a fraud—it wasmy fraud, Ithought of it.” He turned to Walpurga. “This was never intended to be a real marriage. You don’t have to do this—not to pay for Sempronia’s mistake.”
“Someone has to pay for it,” Vipsania said levelly. “Otherwise we’re disgraced in the eyes of all the highest Peers and of the Ngeni family.”
“The Ngenis will get over it,” Martinez said. “So will everyone else. They all know how much PJ is worth. All they have to do is get PJ drunk andhe’ll tell them himself. ” He pointed at Walpurga. “Iforbid you to marry PJ Ngeni. You’re worth twenty of him and you know it.”
A light flush dappled Walpurga’s cheeks. She looked down at her hands. “No,” she said. “It’s necessary. I’ll marry PJ.”
Martinez slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. The sound boomed against the paneled walls. He turned to Roland. “If you think PJ is worth so damn much,” he said, “thenyou marry him.”
A soft smile played over Roland’s lips. “I don’t think PJ has the proper hormonal bias.” He looked at Martinez. “You’ve got to stop thinking like a military officer, Gare. You can’t carry the High City by storm. You have toinfiltrate. ”
Martinez rose to his feet and took an angry step toward his brother. “What prize are you playing for? What is there in Zanshaa High City that’s worth selling your sister to PJ Ngeni?”
Roland’s chin lifted. “We’re playing for our proper place in the order of the empire,” he said. “What else is worth the game?” His mild brown eyes rose to gaze at Martinez. “And what about yourself, Gare? I haven’t noticed that you’re free of ambition.You devised this sham engagement in part to benefit yourself—and now it’s Walpurga who pays when it goes wrong.”
Fury blazed in Martinez’s blood. He took another step toward Roland and raised a fist.
Roland made no move, and he regarded Martinez with a kind of dispassionate, studious interest. Then Martinez turned to Walpurga, and he slowly lowered the fist.
“I’m not going to fight for you if you won’t,” he said.
Walpurga said nothing, just turned to Roland. “Make the call,” she said.
“You’re all insane!” Martinez offered, and stormed from the room.
He bounded up the stairs to his room, still humid with the scent of hops, and stalked for a long moment in a tight angry circuit at the foot of his bed. Then he raised his arm and triggered the comm display.
“Urgent to Lieutenant Lord Nikkul Shankaracharya,” he said. “This is Captain Martinez. You are to contact me immediately.”
The answering call came in a few minutes, and it was from Sempronia. Her narrowed eyes looked at him from out of the sleeve display.
“Too late,” she said.
“It’s not,” Martinez said. “Your arrangement with PJ was a joke—no one ever intended for you to go through with it. I don’t care what you do with Shankaracharya, and maybe even PJ doesn’t—but now that you’ve run off, Walpurga is actually going to have to go through withyour marriage.”
Sempronia gave a contemptuous little puff of anger through pursed lips. “Good,” she said. “Walpurga had no problem with PJ whenI was engaged to him—now lether entertain him for a change.”
“Proney—”
“I’m not your pawn any more, Gareth!” Anger came hissing off Sempronia’s tongue. “Youshackled me to PJ! Andthen you wrecked Nikkul’s career!” The display whirled, and Martinez saw a flash of ceiling, of floor, of a table behind which sat the wide-eyed, meek figure of Shankaracharya. There was the sound of something crumpling near the sound pickup, and then Sempronia flickered back into the frame, holding a large, official certificate, all gold ink and elegant calligraphy, that she brandished before the camera.
“There!” she said. “We’ve both been to the Peers’ Gene Bank! Our visit will be posted in the official record tomorrow. We can get married now.” She offered the camera a defiant glare. “You told me to help Nikkul choose another path. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“You can’t marry without permission,” Martinez said, fearing as he said it that this would only provoke another storm.
“Then the family will give permission,” Sempronia said. “Or if you won’t, then we’ll just live together until we can marry on our own.” She dropped the certificate out of frame. “The one thing you won’t do is stop us. Because if you interfere with our arrangement, people will start to hear about some of Roland’s dealings, particularly with the likes of Lord Ummir or Lady Convocate Khaa.”
Perfectly respectable Naxids,as Roland had called them. Martinez suspected others might disagree with Roland’s description.
“May I speak to Lieutenant Shankaracharya?” Martinez asked.
He heard Shankaracharya murmur something in the background, but Sempronia was quick to answer. “No. You may not. He actually respects you, but I know better. Comm: end transmission.”
The orange end-stamp appeared in the display. “Comm,” Martinez said grimly, “save transmission.”
He called Roland. “Sempronia’s with a Lieutenant Lord Nikkul Shankaracharya.”
Roland’s brow clouded. “Isn’t he one ofyour officers?”
“He’s Sempronia’s officer now,” Martinez said. “I’m forwarding you the recording of the conversation I just had with her. I suggest you pay particular attention to the threat she made at the end.”
He sent the recording, then erased it from his own array’s memory and blanked the display, the chameleon-weave fabric returning to its normal viridian green.
Martinez stood in the silence of his room for a long moment, his anger burning.Isn’t he one of yourofficers? It was becoming clear who was going to get the blame for Sempronia’s defection.
He decided not to stay around to wait for the blame to descend on his head. He changed into civilian evening dress, brushed his hair, and descended the stair in silence. The doors to the parlor were still closed, he saw; the family conference was still going on, with marriages and condemnation being assigned on every hand.