Over the eastern border, over in Kadagidi territory? Absolutely.

And did that father know he had a daughter newly arrived over here, in the target zone?

Less likely, unless the Ajuri had simply phoned the Kadagidi and said, “Oh, by the way, we shall visit Tatiseigi this week. We shall greatly appreciate quiet while we do so.”

It did limit Kadagidi options in dealing with this uprisingc as uprising it was, even while it got a number of people past the doors.

And on that thought, darker human worries leaped up, despite all thoughts of kabiu, thoughts that kept him mute and obscure in the general exchange of greetings and courtesies. Dammit, the outright artillery or bomb attack on this peaceful gathering that kabiu called unthinkable was in fact perfectly conceivable to atevi, or what in all sanity was the point of them all coming here and laying their bodies on the line to prevent it?

And was there anything the Ajuri could possibly gain in the scheme of things, except by coming in to take Tabini’s side, when Tabini’s heir was half Ajuri? Did they fear that young Cajeiri would be killed, and that the clan would be sucked into a bloody feud willy-nilly on Tabini’s side of the balance?

They were clearly moving closer to power. The old lord, frail as he was, was no candidate—but Damiri’s uncle, Kadiyi, had a strong presence, and if anything happened to Cajeiri’s other guardians, he certainly could assert himself as a relative.

Bren remained worried and silent, listening to the polite social chatter as the aunt settled down next to Ilisidi and chattered on, and (a flurry of servants with chairs and teapots) as Meisi settled in beside Damiri and Deiaja plumped down beside her. “Did you have a safe trip?” Oh, yes, no difficulties, but going by road was such an uncomfortable way to travelc discussion of absent relatives, another cousin in childbed and oh, so much regretting not being here— For God’s sake, Bren thought, as if the whole undertaking were a family picnic.

Then, then his ears pricked up at a few chattered bits from the half-Kadagidi girl: Uncle Murini was still in the capital. Indeed, said Ilisidi, brows lifting. And oh, yes, in the last few hours, the aunt said, he had called the tashrid to assemble and come into session.

The tashrid, the aristocratic half of the legislature, the half that approved successions and heard challenges and Filings.

It was the body that initiated a declaration of war or called for a Guild action.

“Has he the numbers?” Tabini asked, meaning, knowledgeable ears understood, the quorum and the favorable numbers of date and attendance to conduct any legitimate legislative action.

“Indeed, no, aiji-ma. The lords, being no fools,” Damiri’s uncle said, “are many of them finding travel difficult, mysterious breakdowns, disruptions in the rails between their homes and Shejidan.”

“Not to mention,” Aunt Geidaro said with a wicked smile, “an outbreak of sore throat circulating in the capital itself, a remarkably contagious affliction. It travels by telephone.”

Tabini looked amused. Others laughed. Bren, seeing that look of Geidaro’s, felt a band loose from about his heart at this strangely conspiratorial tone from a woman who had personal ties to the Kadagidi.

God, were they winning? Were there disaffections? Was resistence against Murini rising up in the capital itself, among the lawmakers?

And in this thawing of manner did he detect a certain glee in the Ajuri attitude toward the situation, and possibly—possibly, to judge by the aunt, even a little rift within the Kadagidi themselves, a resentment rising toward their power-grabbing lord? Was that what the Ajuri were here in such numbers to signal—full participation, and maybe some special connections for this little clan to contribute or to claim, by being here in such numbers?

At least the legislature itself seemed to be having second thoughts, taking a cautious, though stingingly public step away from Murini, a small step starting with, doubtless, a brave few. It was a step which—if their unity held, if their numbers were sufficient, if fear that Tabini might come home and demand an accounting had begun to trouble their thoughts—might infect still others with this sore throat.

But such a movement in the capital might throw fear into Murini and start other forces maneuvering, might it not—perhaps recklessly and desperately so in the rebel south coast and the loyal west coast, where armed force might come into play?

And just when had this disaffection begun to whisper through quiet meetings, with nudges and glances and backroom whispers?

Perhaps it had come the moment it became clear the dowager and the heir were back on the mainland and were receiving support from two and three clans.

Perhaps it had begun when it became clear a growing number of dissidents from Murini’s rule were all gathering here, defying calamity, daring Murini to do anything and suggesting by their growing presence that he couldn’t. Maybe the Ajuri represented a power struggle within the Kadagidi clan themselves, increasingly alienated from Murini, the more he tried to be a national leader and compromise their particular interests— that had happened in the past. What was the proverb? Kaid’ airuni manomini ad’ heiji. It is hard to see the provinces from the capital.

“If one might suggest,” Bren said, ever so cautiously, “if there is any phone link possible to the Guild, nandiin, perhaps the aiji might at this moment seize the initiative to inform them—”

“The aiji needs no lesson!” the lord of the Ajuri snapped, cutting him off.

“Grandfather,” Damiri said, a gentle intervention for which Bren was personally grateful, and in the same breath the ferule of Ilisidi’s formidable cane came down hard on the tiles.

“My grandson is no fool, to ignore advice,” Ilisidi said.

Then Tabini, in that distinctive voice that could knife through a parliamentary brawl, said, “The paidhi-aiji has a sensible point.

Hear him.”

A hint? A momentary caution, when favor and disfavor were on a knife’s edge?

The aiji needed desperately to keep the peace and not create difficulty with these clans.

“With most profound regard for the lord’s wise caution,” Bren said, trying not to hyperventilate, “and the aiji being most sensible of the true situation—the paidhi-aiji should go to Shejidan, to present the facts he has brought back from the heavens, namely that, without the mission the aiji ordered, the business with the human settlement would have brought foreign enemies to the world—a threat which—”

Tabini himself lifted a hand, stopping him right there. Bren braked, brimming over with facts and figures Tabini apparently had no interest in hearing or allowing to be heard, not here, not now, or not in front of these witnesses.

“Aiji-ma,” he said, and subsided into silence.

“We understand your position, nandi,” Tabini said with finality.

“Go speak with the staff.”

And do what? Bren asked himself. He had wanted out of the gathering. But he was dismayed to be so unexpectedly dismissed.

And say what to the staff, and learn what? He murmured a courtesy, nonetheless, and rose and bowed to one and all, finding he was truly, absolutely exhausted, frustrated with a situation out of control, and personally out of resources, now that Tabini tossed him out of the gathering, and presumably out of the state dinner as well.

Was it now secrecy from the Ajuri the aiji wanted around that report of his? Why? Did Tabini suspect that Kadagidi connection?

He reached the door, heard a rapid footstep, and found the heir at his elbow, outward bound along with him.

“And where is our great-grandson going?” That from the Ajuri lord.

“He is leaving in good company,” Ilisidi said sharply, and with a blow of the cane’s ferule against the tiles. “We were all awake all night. Doubtless we shall get little rest tonight. We are weary, out of patience, and hungry. Sandwiches, Tati-ji. At least give us sandwiches, or hasten this dinner! No more sugar!”