pace away from Shebat, saying: “And to you too, brother, greetings. I trust you have been caring for the woes of Lorelie in my stead?”
The two did not embrace, but stood apart. The teal-cloaked brother looked curiously at her, smiling just slightly. Shebat straightened, tossed her head.
Still looking at her, the mage (for so he must surely be; how else to explain artful, indolently cultivated beauty in a man?) said: “Parma wants to see you. He wanted to see you twelve hours ago. Why so late, now of all times?”
“I overslept.”
That turned the ultramarine, discomforting stare away from her, to Marada, whose own eyes were deep in their hoods. “Chaeron, my half-brother, meet Shebat, your—”
“Do not think you are going to determine that particular relationship, oh fallen one. This time you have dug yourself a pit too deep to climb out of. Where is our most lamentably deceased sibling’s corpse—and that of our guests’ bondchild, by the bye?”
“In the Hassid , where they will stay until someone restores services at the dock. Whose idea was it to empty the crew out of there? What if there had been a problem?”
“Then you would be dead and there would be no problem.”
“Labaya is here?”
“With his brood about him.”
“And Parma?”
“Sharpens his claws. I believe you are the main course, and she—” he inclined his head slightly to where Shebat stood forgotten, “is merely dessert.”
“You are enjoying this so much, Chaeron, it is almost worth it, to see you smile.”
“You, too, will enjoy this moment,” he whirled half-around, speaking to Shebat from a near-crouch, “once you learn enough to know what you are seeing.” He peered down into her face. “Can she speak? Say something!” And he put out his hand to touch Shebat’s cheek. “Speak, child.”
Shebat forced herself not to step back, and gave a good Consulese greeting as Marada had coached her. The hand touching her cheek was withdrawn with no more ill effect than a slight tingle where Chaeron’s flesh had touched her own.
“Nice,” spoke Chaeron to Marada, straightening up and stretching widely, “but hardly worth all you will soon have paid. Shall we go, or do I need to convince you further?”
“Your very presence convinces me,” said Marada with a flash of teeth. “Come, Shebat, and you will meet our father.”
“I do not think so,” said Chaeron, putting out a hand.
“Then think again,” advised Marada, brushing it aside.
She found herself being dragged by the hand; the arbiter’s grip was slick, crushingly tight, yet unsteady. For the first time she feared for the efficacy of her spell, and what its failure might mean. What use, after all, was her meager coil of twelve against the might that could set a jewel world spinning about in space?
Chaeron Kerrion bowed them into an anteroom, and disappeared: to expedite the funeral arrangements, he said.
Marada circled like a guilty pup around a hearth before he settled in the corner of a grandly damasked couch, and indicated that she should follow suit.
But Shebat was still pressed into a vacant corner while Marada bit a broken nail, sunk in his thoughts, when the doors bearing the Kerrion eagle over the circle of seven stars opened.
The oldness of the man was not of physical age, for he was robust and heavily made; but a smell of temper, a ponderous, seasoned surety that exuded from him so that he seemed to bulk like two men, rather than one. When Parma Kerrion embraced his son with a dour smile that she had first seen on his child Chaeron’s face, he proved to be of a height with Marada. But as soon as the two stepped apart, Parma Alexander Kerrion swelled up to twice life-size once again.
“Introduce me to your companion,” said the father to the son in a carefully gentle voice, and sank down on the couch with an explosive sigh. “Come here, little one.”
Shebat had no choice but to move her leaden feet; closer; too close; finally, the
The two did not embrace, but stood apart. The teal-cloaked brother looked curiously at her, smiling just slightly. Shebat straightened, tossed her head.
Still looking at her, the mage (for so he must surely be; how else to explain artful, indolently cultivated beauty in a man?) said: “Parma wants to see you. He wanted to see you twelve hours ago. Why so late, now of all times?”
“I overslept.”
That turned the ultramarine, discomforting stare away from her, to Marada, whose own eyes were deep in their hoods. “Chaeron, my half-brother, meet Shebat, your—”
“Do not think you are going to determine that particular relationship, oh fallen one. This time you have dug yourself a pit too deep to climb out of. Where is our most lamentably deceased sibling’s corpse—and that of our guests’ bondchild, by the bye?”
“In the Hassid , where they will stay until someone restores services at the dock. Whose idea was it to empty the crew out of there? What if there had been a problem?”
“Then you would be dead and there would be no problem.”
“Labaya is here?”
“With his brood about him.”
“And Parma?”
“Sharpens his claws. I believe you are the main course, and she—” he inclined his head slightly to where Shebat stood forgotten, “is merely dessert.”
“You are enjoying this so much, Chaeron, it is almost worth it, to see you smile.”
“You, too, will enjoy this moment,” he whirled half-around, speaking to Shebat from a near-crouch, “once you learn enough to know what you are seeing.” He peered down into her face. “Can she speak? Say something!” And he put out his hand to touch Shebat’s cheek. “Speak, child.”
Shebat forced herself not to step back, and gave a good Consulese greeting as Marada had coached her. The hand touching her cheek was withdrawn with no more ill effect than a slight tingle where Chaeron’s flesh had touched her own.
“Nice,” spoke Chaeron to Marada, straightening up and stretching widely, “but hardly worth all you will soon have paid. Shall we go, or do I need to convince you further?”
“Your very presence convinces me,” said Marada with a flash of teeth. “Come, Shebat, and you will meet our father.”
“I do not think so,” said Chaeron, putting out a hand.
“Then think again,” advised Marada, brushing it aside.
She found herself being dragged by the hand; the arbiter’s grip was slick, crushingly tight, yet unsteady. For the first time she feared for the efficacy of her spell, and what its failure might mean. What use, after all, was her meager coil of twelve against the might that could set a jewel world spinning about in space?
Chaeron Kerrion bowed them into an anteroom, and disappeared: to expedite the funeral arrangements, he said.
Marada circled like a guilty pup around a hearth before he settled in the corner of a grandly damasked couch, and indicated that she should follow suit.
But Shebat was still pressed into a vacant corner while Marada bit a broken nail, sunk in his thoughts, when the doors bearing the Kerrion eagle over the circle of seven stars opened.
The oldness of the man was not of physical age, for he was robust and heavily made; but a smell of temper, a ponderous, seasoned surety that exuded from him so that he seemed to bulk like two men, rather than one. When Parma Kerrion embraced his son with a dour smile that she had first seen on his child Chaeron’s face, he proved to be of a height with Marada. But as soon as the two stepped apart, Parma Alexander Kerrion swelled up to twice life-size once again.
“Introduce me to your companion,” said the father to the son in a carefully gentle voice, and sank down on the couch with an explosive sigh. “Come here, little one.”
Shebat had no choice but to move her leaden feet; closer; too close; finally, the
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