by David Weber
If they believed anything of the sort was possible, they were even bigger idiots than he’d thought they were, impossible as that seemed.
“I need another five or six months,” he said now, looking at the others but focused on Parkair. “At least another five or six months. Can you give them to me?”
“Probably,” the seneschal said after a long moment. “It’s likely to get messy, though. And I’ll be honest, not all of my boys are as impartial as we’d all like to think they are. Some of them are going to have a pretty hefty thumb on the scales when it comes time to decide whose head gets broken.”
“I know, and I’ll give you all the support I can through the civil government, but I need to keep as many western delegates in my pocket in the Chamber as I can until they give me Henrai’s bank. After that, you can break all the heads you need to, and Samyl and I will be able to really turn the screws on the provincial governors and their chambers. But until then—”
He shrugged, and Parkair grimaced.
“I understand,” the seneschal half sighed, “and I’ll do my best. But—I hope you won’t take this wrongly, Henrai—I suggest you get that done as soon as you can, because I don’t see the situation getting a lot better anytime soon.”
.V.
Tellesberg Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis, Empire of Charis.
“Stefyny!” Her Highness Alahnah Zhanayt Naimu Ahrmahk, Crown Princess of Charis, crowed exuberantly.
“And good morning to you, too, Your Highness,” Nynian Athrawes observed mildly as the crown princess dashed past her to half tackle the dark-haired, gray-eyed young woman who’d accompanied her.
“Oh, hi, Aunt Nynian!” Alahnah said over her shoulder without interrupting her happy dance with Stefyny.
“I see your priorities are nicely developed,” Nynian said dryly.
“She gets that from her father,” Empress Sharleyan offered.
“With no input at all from the maternal side of her family?” Nynian nodded. “I see. Thank you for explaining that to me.”
Sharleyan laughed and opened her arms to embrace the older woman.
“It’s good to see you. We’ve missed you.”
“Some more than others, apparently,” Nynian said, turning to smile at Alahnah and Stefyny.
“Outside her immediate relatives—and the Breygart kids, of course—she doesn’t really have any close friends,” Sharleyan said a bit wistfully. “Not like Mairah and I were, anyway. I realize ‘Aunt Stefyny’ is family, too, but you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do,” Nynian said more gently, although she knew Stefyny was secretly amused at being “Aunt Stefyny” to someone a whole seven years younger than she was. Still, that was beginning to fade a bit. She was much closer to Cousin Stefyny these days, and there were times she must still wonder if she’d followed the white fox-lizard through the looking glass. Or the white rabbit, for that matter, since unlike anyone else her age on Safehold, Stefyny had read the original version of Ahlys in Wonderland.
Nynian felt her smile fade at that thought as she watched her daughter hugging the Crown Princess of Charis and thought about what it had cost Stefyny to become who she was. She remembered the waif whose iron courage—and love—had challenged the certain death of crossing the “kill line” in a Church’s concentration camp to find food for her sick father. Who’d survived and escaped the even more hideous rigors of the Punishment only because of Merlin Athrawes’ direct intervention. She remembered the little girl who’d waked up in Nimue’s Cave, and wondered if Nynian Rychtair was an angel. She remembered that little girl and her brother, and their father, learning the truth about how they’d been saved, about “Mother Church.” And she remembered the day she’d held that same sobbing girl in her arms. The day even Stefyny’s indomitable strength had almost broken forever.
The day Greyghor Mahlard, who’d become an auxiliary volunteer in the Tellesberg Fire Brigade, charged back into a burning apartment house in an effort to save one more life.
Nynian had adopted that little girl and her brother Sebahstean even before she’d married Merlin Athrawes in that very quiet ceremony in Maikel Staynair’s private chapel. She’d adopted them because they’d needed her, and because she’d needed them. They’d been her chance to fill the inevitable childless void left by her avocation as the Sisters of Saint Kohdy’s mother superior and the leader of Helm Cleaver. And they’d been her chance to help rebuild the lives of two youngsters who’d paid far too high a price.
A chance, she knew, which was perhaps even more important to Merlin than it was to her.
And it didn’t hurt that you were—that you both were—members of the inner circle, did it? she asked herself, feeling her smile return and quirk with amusement. Both of them “knew too much” to run around with parents who weren’t members of the circle! And, God, aren’t you grateful to Him for giving you both of them? And Merlin! Maikel’s right. Sometimes, He really does reward us more deeply than anyone could deserve, doesn’t He?
“May I go show Stefyny the new colt, Mother?” Alahnah asked now, and Sharleyan shook her head.
“After you hug Aunt Nynian, I suppose that could be arranged,” she said, and Alahnah laughed.
“Sorry, Aunt Nynian!” she said, bestowing a tighter than usual embrace by way of apology. “I just haven’t seen Stefyny in forever!”
“Forever,” Nynian reflected, had rather a different meaning for someone who would turn ten—the Terran equivalent of nine—next month.
Alahnah had returned to Tellesberg with her parents while Nynian and Stefyny and Sebahstean had awaited Merlin’s return from Boisseau before following. In many ways, none of them had wanted to insert Merlin into a situation as delicate as the one in the new “United Provinces,” but Cayleb and Sharleyan had needed someone whose authority to speak on their behalf could not be questioned. That had made Merlin the inevitable spokesman to present the “Ahrmahk Plan” to Baron Star Rising and Bishop Yaupang. He’d maintained a very low profile during his time in Pauton, and so far it seemed they’d kept anyone in Yu-kwau from realizing he’d been there. Not that it looked like it made a lot of difference to Zhyou-Zhwo and his council in the end.
“I quite understand that two months is an intolerable length of time to be apart,” she said now, very seriously, cocking her head at Merlin’s goddaughter. Alahnah looked back up at her, equally seriously … only to dissolve in giggles when Nynian slowly arched one eyebrow in an expression she’d learned from Merlin.
“Well, it seemed like that to me,” the princess said.
“And I really do understand,” Nynian assured her. “On the other hand, neither Stefyny nor I have seen your sister in two months, either.”
“She’s not much to look at yet,” Alahnah said. Her mother clucked her tongue, and Alahnah smiled. “At least she doesn’t cry all the time anymore, though. That’s better.”
“Do you really want to go there, young lady?” Sharleyan asked. “I can always start reminiscing with Aunt Nynian about someone else and voyages. Now, let me see. Who could I be thinking of?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Alahnah’s immense dignity was sadly undercut by the twinkle in her eye, but then she grabbed Nynian’s hand and started tugging in the general direction of the nursery.
“Come on! Mother has her in my old cradle—the one they made for me on Destiny. The boys didn’t get to use it!”
She lifted her nose with an audible sniff, and her mother shook her head.
“Only because they were twins and wouldn’t both fit, and you know it,” she said.
“That’s not what Poppa said,” Alahnah said smugly. “He said you were saving it for your next daughter.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Sharleyan glanced sideways at Nynian, then back at her older daughter. “Well, I think he and I are going to have to have a little talk, aren’t we?”
“Really?” Alahnah looked up over her shoulder with a gap-toothed grin. “Should Uncle Merlin bring the
potato slices?”
* * *
“She is a handful, isn’t she?” Merlin observed in a deep, amused voice as he stood on the palace balcony and watched Alahnah half-leading and half-dragging Stefyny towards the royal stables.
“Gets it from her mother,” Cayleb replied with a lurking smile. Then he turned to the seijin and grinned much more broadly. “I expect to be hearing from Sharley about that shortly, but she had it coming.”
“Don’t try to get me involved in this,” Merlin said mildly. “I’m only the godfather and unofficial uncle around here.”
“Nonsense. You are, by any measure, the senior member of the inner circle and, for that matter, of the entire human race. So, obviously, you have to be on my side.”
“You so do not want to go there,” Merlin told him. “Remember, before I was Merlin I was Nimue. Lurking gender loyalties, and all that.”
He smiled as he spoke, and his obviously genuine amusement warmed Cayleb’s heart. There’d been far too many dark places behind those sapphire eyes—still were, really—but thanks to Nynian, to Stefyny and Sebahstean, and to Alahnah and his other godchildren, Merlin Athrawes had finally learned to forgive himself. And how to be who he’d become, however he’d gotten there.
“I’m sure your essential fairmindedness and honesty will range you on the side of truth and justice—which is to say, my side—eventually, despite any lingering biases you may cherish,” the emperor said now, and Merlin laughed.
“I think I feel a bout of neutrality coming on.”
“In that case, I shall swallow my disappointment and sad disillusionment and suggest we get started,” he said. “It’s not getting any earlier.”
“No, it isn’t,” a female voice observed over Cayleb’s earplug. “In fact, some of us have supper coming up in a couple of hours,” Nimue Chwaeriau added.
“What you get for living in inconvenient time zones,” Cayleb retorted as he and Merlin left the balcony and entered the large library. He and Sharleyan each had individual working offices which connected to that library, and he led Merlin into his and pointed at one of the comfortable chairs.
Merlin settled into it with a nod, and Cayleb took his own seat behind the desk.
“All right, Nimue,” he said in a much more serious voice. “You said you have something important to tell us before we get everyone on the circuit.”
“Yes, I did,” the young woman who’d also once been Nimue Alban said from her chamber in far distant Manchyr. Her voice was … odd, Cayleb thought, and looked across the office at his guest. Merlin had obviously heard it, too, but he only shrugged.
“We’re here,” Cayleb said, and the others knew what he meant. The only people presently on the circuit were Nimue, Merlin, Cayleb, Sharleyan, Nynian, and Maikel Staynair. In a very real sense, this was the inner circle of the inner circle.
He waited, but she said nothing for several seconds. That sort of silence was very unlike her, and Cayleb wondered what was going on. Then Nynian, sitting in the nursery with Nynian Zhorzhet Ahrmahk in her lap, cleared her throat gently.
“Is there a reason Koryn isn’t part of this conversation, Nimue?”
More silence lingered, and then—
“Yes.” The oddness in Nimue’s voice was more pronounced. It sounded almost like … tears, Cayleb thought, and saw Merlin sit suddenly straighter in his chair.
“Why isn’t he?” Nynian asked with that same gentleness.
Gahrvai had become a member of the inner circle shortly after Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s execution. He’d made a lot of valuable contributions over the years since, but that didn’t explain the strange note in Nimue’s voice.
Or, Cayleb thought suddenly, why Owl wasn’t providing visual imagery of her. That could only be at her request.
“Because … because he’s asked me to marry him,” Nimue said finally.
“What?” Cayleb twitched upright. “That’s wonderful!” Then he looked at Merlin, saw the sudden thoughtfulness in his expression. “Isn’t it?” he finished a bit lamely.
“Speaking as someone who had the lamentable misjudgment to fall in love with another PICA—another iteration of you, now that I think about it—can I ask why that’s making you sit alone in your chamber and cry instead of dancing on the battlements?” Nynian asked. “Surely you have to know nothing in the world could make Koryn happier!”
“Of course I know that … for now, anyway,” Nimue half snapped. “But what about ten years from now? Fifteen?”
“If you’re thinking about his mortality, do you think that’s something that hasn’t crossed my mind?” Nynian riposted. “Don’t forget, I’m twenty years older than he is!”
“And even if you are,” Staynair said gently, “Owl’s almost ready to begin installing the new implants.”
Cayleb nodded. Aside from Merlin and Nimue—and Nahrmahn Baytz, who was a special case in every conceivable way—all of the inner circle relied upon contact lenses and earplugs for access to the SNARCs, the network of heavily stealthed orbital platforms which connected them to one another and to Nimue’s Cave. The PICAs had built-in coms, although Merlin’s high-speed interface was nonfunctional, as a consequence of the hacked software which had allowed Nimue Alban’s original PICA to remain online indefinitely. Nimue Chwaeriau had been built with different software, designed by Owl, and her high-speed interface worked just fine.
None of the circle’s organic members could match that capability, because none of them had the “wetware” implants which had been standard for citizens of the Terran Federation. They could have had them, but any Safeholdian healer who saw them would instantly recognize them as neither natural nor explicable. Undoubtedly, they’d be put down as the work of more than mortal hands, and that was something none of them could risk when the jury about whether or not they really did worship Shan-wei, not God, was still out in so many Safeholdian minds.
But it had occurred to Nahrmahn Baytz that perhaps there was a way around that. He’d discussed it with Owl, the artificial intelligence with whom he shared his virtual reality. And as tended to happen when Nahrmahn got involved, everyone else’s reality had suddenly shifted.
Federation wetware would have been impossible to disguise, but only because the Federation had never seen any reason why it should “disguise” it, any more than earlier centuries of humanity had seen any reason to disguise eyeglasses or fillings in teeth. Conceal the implants cosmetically, perhaps, but everyone had them, everyone knew what they were, and no one worried about it.
Would it be possible, Nahrmahn had asked, to design a set of implants that could be disguised, even from the examination of a skilled healer or an autopsy?
Owl’s answer had been no. On the other hand, it might be possible to design implants that would be difficult for a healer to detect … and wouldn’t be available for an autopsy to discover. It had taken him longer than he’d originally projected, but he’d succeeded in designing an organic-based implant. One whose components would be completely internal, woven into its recipient’s nervous system and hidden by skin and muscle, and would dissolve completely within twenty minutes of its recipient’s biological death. It was remotely possible an alert healer might spot them in someone who’d suffered an injury sufficiently traumatic to actually expose his or her central nervous system, and Safeholdian surgeons did do brain surgery upon occasion. So the risk of discovery under extreme conditions would remain. But aside from a small number of “ganglia,” they would be nearly microscopic. It was unlikely a physician dealing with such a severe injury would have any time to spare to notice them, and no one who’d received Federation self-repairing nanotech would ever need brain surgery.
Owl had completed his final simulated evaluation of the new system two five-days ago and it had passed with flying colors. Not entirely to Merlin’s delight, Nynian had volunteered to be the initial human guinea pig and the two of them would be flying to Nimue’s Cave in a few days.
“I know about the implants, Maikel,”
Nimue replied now. “In fact, I think that’s the main reason Koryn asked me now. I’ve been … I’ve been putting him off by reminding him about Nahrmahn and Ohlyvya, Merlin and Nynian. But if the new implants work as well as everything else Owl’s come up with, there’s no reason he can’t record his personality, as well, which means he can be just as ‘immortal’ as I am.”
“Then where’s the problem?” Nynian asked gently.
“He needs an heir,” Nimue said, her voice suddenly harsh and bitter. “And I can’t give him one.”
The new silence was intense, and Merlin found himself wondering if anyone else—except perhaps Nynian—heard the true, grinding sorrow in that voice. Nimue Alban had lived her entire life—and died—knowing she would never be a mother. That she would never conceive or bear a child who could only be killed by the Gbaba before she was out of adolescence. That no responsible human being would ever do that again.
Now Nimue Chwaeriau, the person who was Nimue Alban’s true heir, even more than Merlin Athrawes, found herself on a world where babies, children, were the most joyous treasure imaginable … and living in a body which couldn’t conceive.
“Nimue, he knows that,” Sharleyan said finally. “If he’s asked you anyway.…”
“He’s an only child, Sharley,” Nimue said. “He’s his father’s sole heir. He says that’s not important to him, but I know it’s important to Rysel. And not just because Koryn’s his son. The Earl despises most of the alternative heirs. And even if Koryn says it isn’t important to him, even if he means it, what will he feel like in twenty or thirty years?”
