A Mere Formality

by Ilona Andrews

  Timur intoned the words. Deirdre tuned him out, going back to her notes. She already knew the answer.

  “Yes,” Timur relayed.

  Robert leaned back. “So here it is. Nagrad Junior doesn’t waste time, does he? Thirty billion is a bit steep, but it’s doable.”

  “I’ll do it. It’s my responsibility.” Nina rose with dignity, her voice hoarse. “You may tell Lord Nagrad that I accept his proposal.”

  “He doesn’t want you,” Timur said.

  “Well, who does he want?” Robert asked.

  Deirdre finally hit on the correct recording, thirty-two years ago, one of the first contact missions to the Reigh. The ceremonial trading of the swords, and sharing of the food. She zoomed the picture, focusing on the platter before the Survey Captain and a young-looking Reigh warrior.

  Robert’s face penetrated the projection. She looked up at him.

  “Deirdre,” he said, his voice quiet and earnest. “Do you remember your oath to the Diplomatic Corps? The part where you promised to dedicate your body and mind.”

  “To serve to the most of my ability and to sacrifice my life should my duty demand it. Of course I remember.”

  Robert tried to pick up her hands but they were covered in the liquid interface. He settled on holding her shoulders instead. “How do you feel about sacrifice in a form of a marriage?”

  “Lord Nagrad desires a meeting with his bride,” the Reigh said. “He wants to determine that she is of sound body and free of mental retardation. She must be ready in one hour.”

  Robert wheeled about. “Our shuttle. Tell him our people are coming with her and we want her safely delivered back or the deal is off.”

  After a momentary pause, the Reigh inclined his dark head. “Agreed.”

  Chapter 4

  The hallways of the Nagrad Keep looked unlike anything Deirdre had imagined. She had pictured bleak dark walls; instead she found wall-long windows and a palette ranging from rust to fresh mint green. As she walked down the corridor between Timur and Johanna Bray, the red rays of the rising sun danced on the wall and slid on her gray dress, adding color to the fabric.

  It didn’t make her feel any better.

  She recalled Robert’s briefing: You’re going there to haggle. Get him down to twenty billion. Take the initiative and don’t let him control the conversation. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you, but I promise you, I won’t send you to him without backup again. This is just the first step, Deirdre. We have a long way to go before we’ll agree on the amount.

  The fact that she was being appraised like a cow at market apparently didn’t bother him at all.

  Their escort, a Reigh woman in black leather, led them to a wooden door and stepped inside, closing it behind her.

  “Why me?” Deirdre murmured.

  “Because you’re hot,” Timur said. “Because he hates blondes. Because a bug bit him this morning when he got out of bed.”

  “He had it on the first one,” Johanna said. “You’re pretty hot. Don’t worry, we’ll get you back up to the Orbital in one piece.”

  The door opened and their escort invited them into the room with a sweep of her hand.

  Deirdre stepped through. Despite the large window, gloom pooled in the corners and snuck across soft rug. A single table stood in the middle of the room, lit by soft yellow light of a cluster lamp. Two chairs flanked the table. In a far chair sat a Reigh. Lean. Dressed in black like all of them. Black hair, cut short. He sat just outside the circle of light, and shadows masked his face. What a cheap trick.

  The escort moved forward, silent like a shadow, and held the second chair out for her. Here we go. Her knees trembled. This is so stupid. Why am I scared?

  She forced herself to walk across the carpet. Timur followed. The Reigh gave him a flat stare and the chief of security halted a few feet away. Deirdre sat.

  “Lord Nagrad, I presume.” Her voice sounded almost normal.

  The Reigh inclined his head. She could see him now. He had a hard face, not handsome but not unpleasant. Square jaw, strong nose. The same sharp intelligence she saw in his father’s eyes showed full force in his. How old is he? Thirty?

  “I am.”

  “Deirdre Lebed. I know.”

  The sound of his voice almost made her jump. She looked past him, trying to collect herself, and saw four shadows in the depth of the room. Bodyguards.

  Take away the initiative. Right. “Would you mind if I asked you a question?”

  “Please, feel free.”

  “Why choose a foreign wife? One who is unfamiliar with the traditions and culture? Why not just take the monetary restitution?”

  He braided the fingers of his hands into a single fist. “To accept a bribe for the loss of life is forbidden by the doctrine. Besides, a woman from outside the Reigh has several advantages. The man is the trunk of a family, but the woman is its root. In our society, men own the children and the means of war. Everything else is owned by the woman. And too often a woman’s first loyalty is to her mother instead of her husband. It tends to make matters complicated. A woman of the foreign blood has no one to turn to. She would exist solely at the mercy of her husband.”

  Fantastic. This conversation was going a long way to allay her concerns about becoming a bride.

  “And,” the Reigh Lord permitted himself a small smile. “Our traditions are rather binding. There are certain things a man could ask of foreign woman that would be considered unclean by the women of the Reigh.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Things of sexual nature. Do you consider yourself open-minded in those matters, Lady Deirdre? Would you do all those things at my request?”

  If he was willing to walk down the road, it was perfectly fine with her. With Reigh being as rigid as they were, it was likely he’d bail first. Deirdre arched her eyebrows. “Very few women within the Empire do all things, Lord Nagrad. I cannot confirm what I may or may not do without knowing what you have in mind. Would you be more specific?”

  She smiled and waited for him to back off.

  “Would you suck my cock?” he asked.

  She stared at him for a long moment, trying to make sure she didn’t mishear. Behind her someone made a strangled noise.

  The Reigh Lord waited for her answer. His face was perfectly solemn.

  “Well.” She cleared her throat, desperately hoping she didn’t blush. “I suppose that could be hrhm arranged under certain circumstances. Is there any other requests you would like to make?”

  He raised his hand. One of the shadows detached itself from the gloom and brought a platter with a thin pseudo-paper magazine. She hadn’t seen pseudo-paper since her days at Altair museums during her graduate on the Colonial Journalism.

  Nagrad took the magazine off the platter and put it on the table. The digital photograph on the cover left no doubt as to what kind of a publication it was. He flipped the pages and pushed the magazine toward her. “Would you do this?”

  “Yes.”

  He flipped another page. “This one?”

  “Possibly.”

  “This one?”

  She felt the blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Yes.”

  “What about this one?”

  She squinted, trying to make sense of the naked shapes. “Is that even possible? Wouldn’t you have to have low G for this?”

  “Or a very strong woman.”

  “I’m not sure I’m that strong.”

  “I suppose we could arrange a shuttle trip than,” he offered.

  “No, thank you. Thirty billion is an outrageously large sum.”

  “You think so? Considering the scale of the injury, I believe it’s just right.” He flipped the page. “How about this one?”

  Chapter 5

  Robert’s face was incredulous. “You didn’t drop him at all? Not even by half a bil? Oh Hermes, a child could’ve done better.”

  Deirdre threw the recorder onto the table. Nagrad’s face, frozen on the screen, mocked he
r with grey eyes. “What do you want from me, Robert? Every time I tried to bring up the money, he would show me more porn. The man asked me if I would suck his cock! How do you counter that?”

  A soft voice interrupted, “By saying, ‘That would depend on the size of your instrument, my lord. Would you care to take off your pants so I can determine if it would be a good fit?’”

  Robert bent in a half, “My lord.”

  She turned to see an older man in soft green tunic. He gave her a light smile, as if he was too polite to laugh at his own off-color joke.

  “Holy crap, the Duke of Rodkil.” Fatima’s heels clicked together.

  Deirdre bowed. The living legend placed his hand onto her shoulder. Imposing on the portraits, in person he appeared rather slight, short with narrow, bird-boned frame. “No need to bend your back, my dear. I understand Robert called me as soon as he knew, but despite all of our progress, there are times when the interstellar travel isn’t quite fast enough.” He nodded at Nagrad on the screen. “A very shrewd man. Let’s see if we can cut him down a bit, shall we? I’ll need all of the background you have.”

  Chapter 6

  Deirdre shrugged the interface off her hands and leaned back against the seat. Her head throbbed. The ancient diplomat was still speed-reading, submerged in the interface up to his elbow.

  “What’s the significance of kneeling? Submission?”

  She rubbed her temples. “Not exactly, Your Grace.”

  “Jason,” he corrected.

  “Jason,” she repeated, trying to ignore the absurdity of referring to a recipient of the Diamond Sword by his first name. “The Reigh don’t submit. Not even in battle–when they surrender, they raise their hands to the sides, daring a thrust to the stomach. The kneeling It’s more a gesture of ultimate respect. A Reigh kneels only before his Lord and only once, at the acceptance into service. A Reigh Lord kneels before no one.”

  “A quaint culture. So many references to the vegetative symbolism.”

  “Yes.”

  The Duke Jason glanced at her. “You should sleep, my dear. You look exhausted. He’s likely to call for another meeting tomorrow.”

  She sighed. “Why? I couldn’t haggle him down. He’d be smart to avoid us so he can hold on to the original sum.”

  “But he knows you don’t control the proverbial purse strings. He’s perfectly aware the real fight is ahead and he doesn’t want to give us enough time to regroup.”

  She sighed. “He caught me off-guard. I expected coldness, some sort of brutal physical test, perhaps a ritual where I’d have to untangle tree branches without breaking the leaves or untie an impossible knot. I didn’t expect dirty pictures. It goes against everything I know about them. It makes me question my assumptions.”

  Jason shook his head. “What I’ve seen so far is both thorough and well documented. Your conclusions are logical and, I wager, quite accurate. Robert is very lucky to have you, and he knows it, otherwise he wouldn’t have called me.” The Duke chuckled. “Quite a hit to his pride, to have to call your former mentor out of retirement. But back to the Reigh, don’t doubt the entire body of your research on the basis of Lord Nagrad. In diplomacy, like in great many other things, the rules of engagement survive only until one remarkable person decides to break them. It’s just our luck we stumbled across such a person.”

  “That, and the fact that I’m a lousy diplomat.”

  “To each his own. You’re an excellent analyst. Not everyone is born with the gift of snappy comeback. But you should rest. And don’t worry, we may yet get you out of this mess.”

  Chapter 7

  This time the meeting fell onto afternoon, and the sunlight filled the room. Nagrad waited in precisely the same position Deirdre had seen him the first time.

  “Greetings, Lady Deirdre. And Your Grace.”

  Jason smiled. “I wasn’t aware I’m well know to the Reigh.”

  “You are,” Nagrad assured him.

  “Very well, Lord Nagrad.” Jason rubbed his hands together. “In that case shall we dispense with preliminary niceties? Let’s talk money.”

  “Indeed.”

  They launched into the foray like two warriors, amidst clashing blades and thudding shields. By the second hour Deirdre lost the thread of the argument. By the fourth she caught herself dousing off.

  Nagrad’s voice snapped her from her reverie. “I do believe the lady is tired. Let us take a break.” He offered her his hand. “Would my lady care for some fresh air?”

  To say no would’ve been an insult. She put her hand in his and let him lead her out to the balcony. Big enough for a decent size party, the semicircular balcony extended out good twenty five meters. Nagrad maneuvered all the way to its farthest point and stopped at an ornate amber and white rail. The keep protruded from the side of the mountain and as she looked down below to where the forest shimmered awash with green leaves, a curious feeling of peace filled Deirdre. Bright blue and red birds flittered from branch to branch. Somewhere a distant relative of the Vunta howled once. She inhaled the air. It tasted sweet.

  “Beautiful,” she murmured. “I forgot how lovely the planetside can be.”

  “It’s home,” he said simply, putting the world into a single word.

  Deirdre leaned on the rail. “Why me?”

  “Because you’re attractive,” he said. “And I greatly admire your body.”

  She blushed.

  “Of work,” he added and offered her his reader. A list of recent publications lit the screen. The top one.

  “This hasn’t been publicized. It’s classified information.” She took the reader and tapped the top title with the stylus. Here it was, the entire contents of her Reigh research. “How did you get this?”

  “It was brought to my attention by a party concerned that we may have a loose mouth in our midst.”

  “You tapped the Embassy’s network.” She stared at him stunned. Lao-Tzu, what else he could have access to?

  “It wasn’t that difficult actually.” He shrugged. “I can’t afford informants in my branch, no more than you can tolerate the blame for my father’s death.”

  “I had no informants.” She handed the reader back to him.

  “I realized that once I’ve read through your analysis. To have deduced that much from external indicators is remarkable.”

  The extent of his arrogance was even more remarkable. Deirdre looked at him. “Then perhaps you would enjoy another deduction.” She slid the square of a reader card from her data bracelet and snapped it into the reader. The recording of a peace meeting from three decades ago filled the screen. “This is the Survey Captain Sean Kozlov. And this, I believe, is your father. They are performing a peace ritual–they have fished together and now they are sharing their catch.” She tapped the screen, forcing it to zoom. “They are eating redfish. And redfish caviar.”

  Nagrad watched the screen. The impassive mask slipped and in his face she saw profound sadness.

  “Your father wasn’t allergic to caviar,” she said.

  “My father was born without immunity to black moss.” Nagrad kept his gaze on the reader. “A genetic failure, a mutation that for some reason wasn’t detected. He had survived for sixty four years without contracting the infection. We didn’t realize he was sick until he began coughing black dust. Very rare in these times, unfortunately, it still happens.”

  The black moss was incurable. Two month incubation period and then a soft death, as the victim fell asleep to never awaken. Instead of passing on in his bed, the Reigh Lord died in agony amidst strangers. “He took his own life.”

  Nagrad leaned back. “He felt his death must serve the Branch. The only difficulty lay in finding the poison that would imitate an allergic reaction to redfish. The death didn’t happen as quickly as we had hoped.”

  The realization struck her. “You were there,” she said. “Were you the one who took the veled off my hand?”

  He closed his eyes for a briefest of moments. “Yes.”<
br />
  “You stood there and you watched your father die.”

  “He was my Lord. I honored his wishes.”

  “He died to give you an excuse to take a bribe from the Empire.”

  Nagrad’s face gained a dangerous edge. “Yes. And the Branch desperately needs the money. And you may be assured, my Lady, that I will do everything in my power to squeeze every last unit I can from your realm. To do any less would be to dishonor his death.”