Plan B by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee

yeah, and formal, sure, and all those pretty words and modes and gestures were the weapons you used to survive in an unending, cut-throat competition. Melant'i and Balance. Face or no face. And here was tel'Vosti, who had lived a long lifetime immersed in well-bred in-fighting, giving her a non-standard greeting, there in front of delm and everybody. Tweaking her, he was. Trying her, to see what she'd do.

    She bowed, timing it to centimeter and millisecond. "My Lord tel'Vosti." High Tongue Equal, that was the mode; it leaned on Val Con's melant'i, but that was fine, since he was thodelm just like tel'Vosti, and the whole room had just heard the delm say she was a thodelm's lifemate. "I see you with appreciation, hear you with understanding, and acknowledge you with trepidation."

    The brown eyes gleamed; the rest of his face remained merely polite. No way to tell if she'd scored points. She didn't think she had. But she didn't think she'd lost any either. Even was OK; tel'Vosti'd said it himself, when he'd been talking about Val Con's uncle. Inside her head Val Con's pattern held steady, inscrutable as a mandala.

    The delm stepped forward, indicating Thodelm Tiazan with a backhanded wave. "Your cousin Bendara, daughter of your late cousin Cel Met Tiazan."

    The carrot-top gave a little bow, barely more than a heavy nod of the head. "Cousin Miri."

    Miri gave the bow back, "Cousin Bendara," straightened and felt Val Con shift, oh-so-slightly, at her side. She directed Bendara's attention his way with a copy of the delm's backhanded gesture. "One's lifemate, Val Con yos'Phelium."

    Bendara bowed again, a shade deeper than equality of rank demanded, as if maybe Val Con had more time in grade. "My Lord yos'Phelium."

    "My Lady Tiazan." His voice was soft as always. She couldn't see his bow.

    The delm waved for her attention again, this time for a man of late middle years, hair aggressively red, hazel eyes hooded.

    "Your cousin Dil Nem, son of your late uncle Kern Tiazan."

    Again the heavy nod, the exchange of names; the pass on to Val Con.

    "Your cousin Ilvin, daughter of your cousin Jen Sar Tiazan, who is from clan at present."

    "Your cousin Kol Vus. . ."

    "Your cousin. . ."

    Miri lost count, very likely lost names, after the first dozen or so. Her head was beginning to ache with all the cool, polite faces and she started to want a slug of kynak. She gritted her teeth and bowed kinship to tel'Vosti, damn him: "Your uncle, Win Den tel'Vosti, son of Randa Tiazan and Pel Jim tel'Vosti."

    There was another blur of names and faces after him; the next she took clear note of was the last.

    "Your cousin Alys, daughter of your cousin Makina Tiazan, who is from clan at this moment."

    Alys, who would be "very well," but never a Kea Tiazan. Alys, who they were going to offer as a contract-wife to Val Con, when she came of age.

    She made her bow, very serious, and stood tall, all three and a half feet of her, curly, orange-y hair held down by the brute strength of three formidable-looking combs. The brown eyes shone with something past curiosity or even friendliness and Miri caught her breath. She'd seen that look on recruits, sometimes, the ones who fancied themselves "in love" with the commander.

    "Cousin Miri," she piped up, "I'm happy to see you."

    Oh, hell. Like she didn't have enough trouble without an elf hooking onto her. Miri returned the bow with matching dignity.

    "Cousin Alys, I am happy to see you." She made the backhand wave toward Val Con and repeated the weary formula for the last time, moving the kid along. She wanted that drink bad, she thought, and looked up to find Emrith Tiazan watching her, something like approval in the lines of her face.

    "Appropriately done," the old lady said. "We now go in to dinner. Win Den, attend me, by your grace."

    tel'Vosti stepped forward and offered his arm, which she took, allowing him to lead her down the room toward the door at the opposite end. The mob of redheads