Law of Survival (37 page)

“I have
nothing
to say to you.” Ulanova's voice emerged as a hiss; she turned and walked toward the door.

“Then you brought Peter home with you,” Jani called after her. “He lacked the skill and experience to act as a Cabinet-level Chief of Staff and it showed, but people laughed it off. Just a case of Anais's glands getting the better of her, silly woman. But that wasn't his purpose for being here. As
L'araignée
's point man, he needed access to the people the Chief of Staff job would bring him in contact with. He needed to feel out the Merchants' Associations, the other
Ministries. Mark the dangers with red flags and arrange their removal.” Jani watched Ulanova slow to stillness as she spoke. She knew she was right, but she appreciated the reassurance. “Nema was one of the dangers—he promoted Haárin business interests, and some of our trade groups were listening. So Peter tried to set him up as a traitor to his people.”

Ulanova laughed, a dry, old sound. “My poor Peter did that, did he?” She turned to face Jani, dark eyes shiny with hate. “My poor Peter, whom you killed.”

“Have you visited your Doc Chief in hospital, Your Excellency? Your poor Peter stove in the back of her head.” Jani pressed a hand to her aching ribs. “When he had a chance to plan, he did all right. With a few tweaks, The Nema Letter would have worked a charm. But when he had to think on his feet he fell back on the tried and true methods of his kind, and that's where he stumbled. When he realized that I had figured out that The Nema Letter was a fake, he abandoned his attempts to ruin my reputation with the white paper and just tried to have me killed outright.”

“Your
reputation
!” Ulanova paused to gain control of herself—her face had reddened alarmingly. “You stole documents, you and my Documents Chief. You forged, you deceived—”

“With Registry support. We were dealing with suspected fraud, and Dolly Aryton and I do go back a ways.” Jani checked her timepiece. She didn't have more than a few minutes left. “Funny thing—throughout all this, I found allies I didn't know I had. After the white paper came out, after the shooting, even after last night, the calls never stopped. Family members asked me to attend this meeting. They've asked my advice for months: how to work with the Haárin, how to deal with Cèel, how to function in a Commonwealth that's starting to blur around the edges. It's as if I've become the ad hoc Exterior Minister. They're coming to me for this information because they either know they won't get it from you, or they know they can't believe what they get. Your old friends don't trust you anymore.”

The first quiet ripple broke Ulanova's still surface. A
barely perceptible twitch around the eyes. “No, but they fear me, and fear is much the stronger.”

“Is it?” Jani leaned against the wall as her back tightened. “If I advise them that your actions pose a threat to the Commonwealth and that they need to shut you down, they may balk at first, but in time the idea will appeal to them. They're afraid of you, yes, but they fear for themselves more. The pie is shrinking, and it will occur to them that if they cut you out, there will be more for them. So if you keep to your present course, you won't be fighting me. You'll be fighting Li and Jorge and Yvette and Gisela and all those other old friends. All I'll have to do is show them where to slip the knife. What happened to Evan van Reuter could happen to you. Death by gutted home and confiscated fortune and no one answering your calls. And what will
L'araignée
do when they realize you're no longer the power they thought you were?”

The door leading into the embassy flung open. A diplomatic suborn stuck out his head, called
“Time,”
and slipped back inside, leaving Ulanova standing with her hand to her throat.

“It won't be simple, slipping out of the arrangements you've made. This water treatment plant fiasco, for example—awarding the short-term contract to the Elyan Haárin will cause you problems. You may have to up your security—I know someone who can advise you in that regard.” Jani walked to the veranda's garden exit, then paused and turned back. “I'd suggest mending fences with Nema, too. If he takes his place as full Haárin, the colonial Haárin will look to him for guidance. If he broaches the subject of an Haárin enclave, I'd listen to him.” She looked at her right hand—her ring flashed in the sunlight. “You might also let Dathim Naré follow through on that tile project at your Annex.”

Anais's face flared anew. “That—he
stole
from my office!”

“Did he?” Jani stared at Anais until the woman broke contact. “I'll see you back at table, Your Excellency.”

Tsecha followed ná Feyó back into the meeting room. He could sense many sorts of emotions in the humanish he passed in the hallways. Discomfort. Surprise. Confusion. He understood their reactions.
They believe I have shown disloyalty to Shai and through her, to Cèel.
Some, such as Li Cao and Anais, rejoiced in this since they believed his behavior would lead to his recall to Shèrá. Others such as his Jani despaired, for the same reason.

And so it may be.
Shai, now grown so mindful of humanish opinion, would retaliate, of that he felt most sure.
In the name of the worldskein,
she would entone as she condemned him.
In defense of order.
And so would Cèel support her in her decision, because he hated him so.

Tsecha lowered into his chair and looked about the room. Odd, to sit in this higher seat—he could see the tops of heads for the first time since his youth, before his ascension to Chief Propitiator.
Daès has a bald spot.
He bared his teeth at the discovery, but his enjoyment soon abated as less amusing thoughts intruded.

I should have challenged you before the war, Cèel.
At least their animosity would have been well and truly declared. As it was now it felt an unfinished thing, like Dathim's half-formed shell. And so it would remain, if the fate his Jani feared came to pass.
Will Cèel kill me outright?
Or would he let Tsecha live in a death of his own devising, a sequestered existence spent knowing that the future that the gods had foretold would never come to pass?

“I looked for you, nìRau. I thought we should at least con
fer before this starts up again, seeing as I am your suborn.”

Tsecha turned to find his Jani standing beside him. He looked into her eyes and joy filled his soul, expelling the despair. “Green as Oà—just as Dathim said!”

“Not dark enough yet. I have seen Oà, you know.” She looked about the room, her posture tense, as though she watched for something. “I thought ní Dathim might attempt to attend this.”

“He would not be allowed, nìa. He is not government Haárin.” Tsecha gripped Jani's chin, turning her head so that he could again look into her eyes. Even the fact that they were colored the same as Cèel's could not diminish his delight. “You should not have hidden them for as long as you did.”

“I may be sorry I didn't hide them longer.” She winced and pulled his hand away. “Ouch.”

“Ouch?” Tsecha slumped more formally. “Ah. Your graze gives you pain. Your inconsequential injury, which is as nothing and may thus be ignored.”

“I never said it didn't hurt.” Jani turned her neck one way, then the other, until bones cracked.

“Young Lescaux died trying to kill you. That is what ní Dathim told me.” Tsecha looked toward Anais's still-empty chair. The call to return had been given some time ago—why had she not yet come? “If she did not hate you before, she most assuredly hates you now.”

“Such is of no consequence.”

Tsecha again regarded his Jani. Her voice sounded odd, as it had during their talk in the garden, days before. Devoid of inflection. Stripped of emotion. The sound of words struck on stone. “Nìa, what have you done?”

“No more than was necessary.” She looked down at him. “And no less.” She had bent over the table, her hands braced on the edge as though she needed the support. The posture caused the sleeves of her jacket to ride up her arms.

Tsecha touched the soulcloth encircling Jani's left wrist. The material felt stiff. “No more. And no less.”

Jani lifted her hands from the table so that her sleeves slipped down. “Did you and the Elyan Haárin discuss any strategies to try to sway Shai's opinion away from isolationism?”

“How you change the subject, nìa, whenever you do not want to answer the question.”

“At the moment, the answer to
my
question is more important.”

Tsecha swept his right hand across the table. Not strictly a negative gesture, but not one that allowed for much hope either. “Shai does not wish the Haárin to trade with humanish, especially materials as sensitive as those that treat water. It is more blending than she can bear, and truly.”

“It is a vast step.” Feyó leaned forward so she could speak to them both. “Since we ourselves will not be drinking this water or attempting to reclaim the filter assemblies, we do not feel there is a violation of our dietary protocols. But nìaRauta Shai is born-sect, and as such is conservative in the extreme. We are at a loss, and truly, as to how to convince her to reconsider.” She looked up at Jani and held out her hand. “Ná Kièrshia. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Jani hesitated before shaking hands. “Glories of the day to you, ná Feyó.” She seemed to be trying not to smile, but since Feyó smiled at her, what difference could it make? “May your gods and mine allow for a seemly outcome to this muddle.”

Then Anais Ulanova reentered the room, followed closely by Li Cao, and brought an end to all smiles. Cao held her hands in front of her, as would a youngish who reached for her parent. She appeared as surprised, even angry. Tsecha had seen her look as such before, but never had her good friend Anais been the cause for her alarm.

Tsecha watched the women take their seats, then he looked up the table at his Jani. She had already sat down, her balance easy and sure.
Angel on a pin
. She watched the women, as well, her face as stripped of feeling as her voice had been when she told Tsecha what she had done.
No more than was necessary.
Whatever that was.

Then Anais lifted her gaze. She and Jani looked at one another in that intense humanish way that said something had occurred between them. Tsecha tried to analyze the look, define it as his handheld defined words, but the challenge of spoken humanish language was as nothing compared to this, their language between the lines.

His pondering was interrupted when Daès returned, followed by Shai. The Suborn Oligarch offered him her own intensity, a subtle rounding of her shoulders that foretold the tone of their next encounter.

Papers shuffled. Shai's suborn raised her head to speak, a sign that decisions had been made and this meeting neared its end. “It is considered that the contract signed between the representatives of the Elyan Haárin enclave and they of the Commonwealth colony should be set—should be—” The suborn's voice faltered. The murmurs from the banked seats rose once more as Anais Ulanova raised her hand.

She did not sit straight and tall as she spoke, as she had before. Her words did not emerge strong, but came softly, almost as a whisper. Several times, the swell of sound from the other humanish overwhelmed her, compelling her to repeat herself. “…reconsidered the Exterior position,” she said as Cao watched her, her own confusion displaying itself in the constant working of her fingers. “…safety of the Karistos water supply is of paramount importance…needs of the citizenry….”

Tsecha looked out at Burkett, who sat with his hand to his face, finger curled over his upper lip, his eyes on Jani. The other Cabinet suborns watched her as well, Standish from Treasury and all the others who found her during every recess or questioned her in the hallways. They did not appear triumphant, though. They did not seem pleased. Surprised, yes, as Shai appeared surprised, shoulders straightening in puzzlement as her suborn took notes, flowing script coursing across the surface of her recording board. For while it was Anais Ulanova who spoke as herself, it was Jani Kilian's words that she uttered, the same words heard in this room only a few days before. Words that Anais herself had denied as foolish and without merit.

Anais completed her mouthing of Jani's words. Then came the scratch of styli, the rustle of documents, the occasional swallowed cough.

The waiting.

Tsecha watched Shai. He had known her since their youngish days, when he lived at Temple and she schooled there. They had despised one another from their first meet
ing. But it had been a dull, simple dislike, not the pitched battle of wills and ideologies that would have led to an offer of challenge. Until now.
If you challenge my Jani, I will challenge you.
He watched her page through her documents using only her thumb and forefinger, as though she picked petals from a thorny bloom.
You even fear paper, Shai. How do you think to govern Haárin?

“I am surprised, Your Excellency, at your most sudden change of mind,” Shai finally said, after she had plucked the last of her pages. “I have known since my arrival of your distrust of idomeni, and I felt most sure of your decision in this.”

Tsecha felt the clench in his soul as his shoulders rounded. “You hoped for her to take action so you would not have to take it yourself. You wished her distrust of idomeni to obscure your distrust of humanish and of your own Haárin. You are dishonest, Shai.”

No murmurs followed Tsecha's words. No sound of any type, or movement, either. He could sense Jani's stare from downtable. But he knew that if he turned to her, she would try to compel him to silence, and now was not the time for such. She had already done what she felt was necessary, and bent Anais to her will. Now, it was his turn to bend Shai to his.

Shai's fingers shook as she reached for a piece of paper that she did not need. Such had been her way at Temple school, when she nursed her angers until they caused her stylus to shake and blot her writing. “Your opinion has no place here, Tsecha.” Her voice shook as well, as it had always done. “Your right to speak for Vynshàrau is no more.”

Tsecha gestured insignificance. Next to him, he could sense Feyó's surprise, the sudden spark of tension. “I have said already that I do not speak as ambassador.”

“Then you will speak not.”

“As Tsecha Égri, I will speak as Haárin. The Elyan Haárin traveled here to speak for themselves, therefore Haárin are allowed to speak!”

Shai's shoulders curved in extreme upset—if she had been humanish, one would think her violently ill. “You cannot speak as one, then the other, Tsecha—such is as ridiculous!”

Thank you, Shai—in your clumsiness, you provide me the
opening I require.
“But Vynshàrau and Haárin have always worked together, Shai. Haárin served us most well during the war of our ascendancy. Many of our military strategists have stated that without their assistance, we would not have won. That without their actions during the Night of the Blade, we would not have maintained that victory.”

“Vynshàrau have always acknowledged the acts of Haárin, Tsecha. You are not the only one in this room who remembers the war. Godly though it was, it changed us all.” Shai looked in Jani's direction, but so far had she come down the damned path of discretion that she did not mention Knevçet Shèràa. “We who honor our traditions wish to mend all that fractured during that time, and to reaffirm the pact between Vynshàrau and Haárin.”

“Tradition.”
Tsecha tugged at his red-trimmed sleeves, as he had at every meeting. His own tradition—he took comfort in it now. “In our born-sect tradition of dominant and suborn, we offer respect for respect, protection for honor. Even as a dominant compels obedience, so must their domination be as godly, as seemly. We do not misuse our suborns as humanish have at times misused those who served them.” That comment drew a rise of discontent from the banked seats, but such did not bother Tsecha. He liked humanish a great deal, but he had read their histories and he knew their faults. “We reserve that misuse for our Haárin. We send them to fight when it suits us. To kill. To die. We send them into this city, demand that they forfeit their souls so that our utilities function and our gardens remain alive. And then when they take one action to help themselves maintain the life they have, we demand that they cease, because we suddenly fear them when they do what they do.”

“To live with humanish!” Shai's humanish restraint shattered. She bowed her back and twisted her neck in an extreme exclamation of outrage as Tsecha had not seen since Temple. “To sell them the mechanisms of our food and water!” She flicked her hand in disgust at the Elyan Haárin. “To dress as they do, talk and act as they do! To behave in godless ways and then come here and demand our benediction as they do so!”

As one, Feyó and the other Elyan Haárin slumped into
postures of extreme defense. “Such have we always done!” cried the male in black and orange.

Tsecha raised a hand, gesturing for the male to restrain himself. “Indeed. Such have they always done. The Haárin serve as our blade, and a blade does no good in its sheath. It only serves when it cuts, even when it cuts the one who wields it. Such is as it is—it knows no other way!” He sagged back in his chair—the act of blessed disputation drained so. “To live as idomeni is to live in balance. Within our skeins, our sects, our worldskein, all must be as symmetrical. Cooperation occurs, even between the most opposite. Differences are acknowledged, but they do not eliminate collaboration. Or as the humanish say, give and take.” He bared his teeth at the phrase, since it reminded him of Hansen.

“Our gods do so,” he continued. “Give and take. Shiou and Caith have walked together on the Way since the birth of the First Star. They battle, yes. Such is their way. But for one to live without the other? Such desolation! How could one define themselves if the other did not exist?” He held his hands out to Shai in entreaty.
Think! As you have not done since Temple, think!
“How does the order of Vynshàrau define itself if the chaos of Haárin does not exist? And if you compel Haárin to draw back into the worldskein, to cease to function as our blade, where is our balance?” His hands dropped. So quickly he had lost the will to argue, but how long could he posit that air was to be inhaled with one who insisted upon holding her breath? “So speaks the priest, which I will be for not much longer, if Cèel has his way. Yet so I speak, regardless. Order must be maintained, and if the Haárin are not allowed to do as they must, then so ends order. Will you end order here, Shai? In this room, now, will you cause it to cease to be?”