Where he encountered her small smile. “Could you please hold them—both of them?”
Caine tried hard not to blink, but he did. “Could I—?” I can’t have heard that correctly. She wouldn’t—
“Please: hold both of them. Now.”
He opened his mouth to speak, realized he had nothing to say, tried very hard not to look down again—but did. And saw that she was holding out a second plate for him to hold. Oh, Jesus H. Christ. He couldn’t restrain a quick hiccough of laughter as he took the second plate, then looked up at Elena.
Whose long sweeps of black hair shone. Whose swimmer’s shoulders sent long graceful lines down into a body that blended them into a composite of curves and arcs. Who was now staring at him—because, he realized, he was staring at her. Again.
Caine felt his face grow hot: Great; I’m blushing, too. “I’m—I’m sorry.”
She considered him severely for two seconds, then a third, and then—her notably straight eyebrows set in a severe line—she said, “I’ll let it go—this time.”
And then she smiled. Bright, straight teeth, brighter eyes. The smile became a soundless laugh as she lifted her chin a little—and in that moment, Caine saw that she was indeed her father’s daughter, down to the smile and the strange mixture of mischief and personal gravity. And she was, he had to admit, frankly beautiful.
But not in the way he’d already known, had seen (and looked away from) on numerous occasions now. At this moment, with her odd, intermittent evasiveness either forgotten or forsaken, she was intelligence and shrewdness and playfulness all mixed together.
By the time he became aware of his surroundings again, her eyes had changed. They were concerned, then almost panicked: her smile disappeared, she looked away, moved back toward the central alcove. Halfway there, she turned—was no longer radiating herself out toward him, but had drawn back into a weighty composure: “I’ll be back with a platter.” She turned sharply, moved away at a controlled pace.
He realized, some moments later, that he had not moved his body or his eyes. I cannot—can not—let myself start gawking at her again. But I do wish I knew why she changes mood so quickly when—
“Caine—they’re here; the Hkh’Rkh.” Visser was pulling at his elbow.
He turned to look at her, noticed that she seemed anxious. Or annoyed. Or maybe angry. “Where’s Downing?”
“Back at the door, meeting them.” She looked down, then directly up at him. “You have to go now. Have to go in my place.”
“Why?”
“Because the Hkh’Rkh won’t speak to me.”
“What? Have they hopped on the Arat Kur bandwagon or—?”
“No: it is nothing like that.” She seemed about to grit her teeth. “It is because I am a woman—no, a ‘female.’”
Caine smacked his palm against his forehead. “Shit. I read that their society is absolutely patriarchal, but I completely overlooked how they might extend that paradigm to another species—”
She laid a hand on his arm. “Gott in Himmel, stop. This is not your fault; it is clear in retrospect only. Go; help Richard.” She half rolled her eyes. “He needs it.” Caine put down the plates he was still holding and made his way to the door.
Richard—who was 6’2”—was still half a head shorter than the smallest of the six Hkh’Rkh who had all but surrounded him. They leaned forward into his words, their immense bodies dwarfing the spare human torso. Caine side-shouldered into the ring of sword-toting monsters and smiled at Richard.
Whose aplomb was still considerable—but Caine could see that he was working hard at it. “Caine, may I present our honored guests, including He Who Is First Voice of the First Family.” Downing’s eyes indicated the second largest of the Hkh’Rkh, whose spine-tufts were slightly blackened and thinner, even wispy, at the tips. He also had more irregularly pebbled—or was that wart-covered?—skin seamed by cicatrices so venerable that they had begun to determine how the faintly sagging flesh fell in flaps: old, but still tough. “First Voice of the First Family, my apologies that I do not know how to greet you in your own language, or with your own gestures, but we—”
First Voice made a sound that resembled someone clearing their nose into a pipe. “Your ignorance is best: unhonored, your attempt at a formal greeting would be an insult to any who possess honor. The more honor they possess, the greater the insult.” His tongue—a long, thin, black whip—sawed out of his nose and roiled about like a garter snake having a seizure. “And it is rumored that I possess some small measure of honor.” Four of the other Hkh’Rkh also let their tongues writhe about in response: was this laughter?
The last one—the smallest of the group—stepped in Caine’s direction; his tongue had darted out briefly and then away. What was that? A polite chuckle at the joke of a boor born of the blood royale?
“I am Yaargraukh, Advocate of the Unhonored,” he said. “We appreciate that you accepted our tradition of always bearing our family blades. We may not venture beyond our chambers without them.”
“We understand the tradition; there have been similar customs among our peoples. However, I do not understand your title; for whom are you an Advocate?”
Yaargraukh made a faint huffing noise. “I am the advocate of all the Unhonored. This is our term for what you would call ‘exosapients.’”
“But you represent—are the spokesperson for—the Hkh’Rkh, are you not?”
“This is how it would seem to you, for I am the one who speaks with you to express the will of the First Voice of the First Family.”
“So you are his advocate.”
“The First Voice of the First Family needs no advocate; he speaks for himself, and, as First Voice, all Hkh’Rkh.”
Ah. “I think I see; you are actually our Advocate—since exosapients are unhonored and therefore may not be heard by him.”
Yaargraukh’s nod—although it recalled a horse pitching its neck—was a surprisingly human gesture. “Now you perceive. I carry your words to his ears—and add my own to them.”
“So you are also a counselor to him?”
“No: I represent your interests, insofar as honor is concerned. The First Voice of the First Family needs no counsel. Allow me to finish the introductions—”
As Yaargraukh went round the rest of the small circle, Caine noted the honorifics: all war-boasts, reminiscent of Nordic deed-names such as Skull-splitter or Gut-render. Okay, it’s pretty clear they’re not pacifists. And judging from their haughty demeanor, not particularly tolerant, either. When introduced, they looked over Caine’s head. Well, that was simply consistent: since he had no honor, he was—quite literally—beneath notice. Yaargraukh was finishing the introductions.
“—and this is Graagkhruud Great-claws of the Family Hnenkh’hien, First Arm of the First Voice of the First Family and what you would call General-over-all-Generals.”
Graagkhruud did not even look toward Caine and Richard; he stared into the room as he was introduced. For him, we’re not just beneath notice—we’re nonentities. “And what is your honorific, Yaargraukh? I apologize if I missed your speaking of it.”
“You missed nothing. When working as Advocate, I am not allowed honorifics. ”
“Why is this?”
Again, the huffing sound. “I would stain a title if I claimed it while representing the Unhonored.”
Downing’s tone suggested that he had had enough of the indirect denigrations, had forgotten that here, he was a diplomat. “I see. It would be like bringing the title into contact with something unclean?”
Yaargraukh was evidently not the only one who heard the combative tone. First Voice leaned forward again. “This bothers you? Why? Have you acquired honor?” Snakes writhed out of each Hkh’Rkh’s larger, central nostril—except for Yaargraukh and Graagkhruud, who probably understood enough of the nuances to foresee that this joke could become deadly serious.
Downing leaned forward—gotta give him points for guts—toward the immense creature,
his mouth open, no words coming out: self-respect and intelligence were at war, had stalemated his tongue into temporary stillness. But only temporary—
Caine stepped into the space between Richard and First Voice. “We cannot answer the question of First Voice of the First Family—not until we know how the Hkh’Rkh define the acquisition of honor.”
The Hkh’Rkh’s lidless black eyes became more protuberant, and they leaned back—surprised. All except Yaargraukh, who came closer: his eyes seemed to momentarily retract into the bony ridge that housed them before reappearing. Hah, made you blink.
“Spokesmale Caine of the Family Riordan, this is a serious question.”
“With respect, Advocate, so was the one asked by the First Voice of the First Family—whom I assume I should not address directly until I have acquired honor.”
Yaargraukh and the First Voice exchanged a long look before First Voice spoke to—and looked at—Caine. “You have said two true things, Spokesmale Caine of the Family Riordan. The question is serious, and, yes, by our custom, it is an affront for you to presume to address me directly. You learn quickly. And he—” motioning toward Downing “—speaks boldly. But you have no way to acquire honor, for being Unhonored, you may not be challenged by, nor offer challenge to, the Honored. This respects the Honored; this protects the Unhonored.”
Catch-22: you have to have an initial entitlement to honor to be able to attain it; a closed society. “I see. So we are like—females? Or young?”
First Voice now leaned in also. “So you have read the—” he struggled for the word in English “—the encyclopedia we relayed to you earlier?”
“I regret that First Voice of the First Family must be told that I have not had the opportunity to do so.” Too busy skimming the Dornaani self-reference for anything that might provide hints on their relations with the Ktor.
First Voice leaned back again with a horselike nod. “So you discerned it yourself, just now. Spokesmale Caine’s intelligence makes him an ornament to the reputation of the Family Riordan. A pity you may not acquire honor.”
Hmmmm . . . “Advocate, is all honor acquired by challenge?”
Yaargraukh’s head bobbed. “In one form or another, yes.”
“So females may not challenge, and may not fight—even each other.”
“This is so; this is necessary.”
“Then what does it mean when a human has challenged a human, is even an accomplished warrior among us?”
Except Yaargraukh, all the Hkh’Rkh blinked. Ha—gotcha with that one. Eventually First Voice looked over at Yaargraukh, who turned to Caine: as he did, his neck oscillated in a faint circle around the center of its resting axis—a “shrug?” “We have no answer for this. We have never had an answer for this.”
“Never?”
“Never.” Yaargraukh studied Caine closely. Is he trying to read my expression? Evidently the Advocate succeeded: “You forget that your broadcasts have been reaching us for many, many years. Did you not think it odd that I speak so much of this human language?”
Jesus, am I a dope. “Allow me to compliment you, and the First Voice of the First Family, upon your command of English.”
“The First Voice of the First Family chose to learn it for this occasion; I have had the advantage of long training. To return to your question: we have long been undecided how to address one of your warriors. It seemed an unnecessary question to answer—until now.”
“Well, Advocate, the quandary you left unanswered now stands before you in the flesh.” Caine indicated Richard, who stared at him.
“This male, Richard of the Family Downing, until injured in one leg, was an elite warrior in his youth—and a commander of as many as fifty such elite warriors who were of lesser rank.”
Yaargraukh swung far back—surprise? First Voice seemed to rear up higher: he looked down—but directly into Richard’s eyes. “You are a warrior? In answering, you may address me directly.”
Richard shrugged. “Yes, I was—a long time ago.”
“This answer is no answer: one never stops being a warrior. One is, or one dies.”
Yaargraukh intervened. “With respect, First Voice of the First Family, consider your own cousin, Uungsk’srel Swift-Eye: although he lost both legs in the Eighth Zh’t’zhree Dispute, he has yet to lose a challenge.”
First Voice reflected for a moment. “This is true. And he speaks more war-wisdom with each passing year.”
Downing, emboldened, leaned closer to Yaargraukh, mimicking their body language. “Pardon me, but how can a legless Hkh’Rkh prevail in combat?”
“Not all challenge is combat, Richard of the Family Downing. The one who is challenged chooses the means of its resolution. Uungsk’srel Swift-eye, having lost his ability to fight, now always chooses contests of the mind; he is largely held to be invincible, and is now but rarely challenged.”
Richard turned halfway toward Caine: “Like the old code duello; the man challenged chooses the weapons.”
Yaargraukh had stepped a little closer. “So you remain a warrior?”
“I remain unafraid of challenges.”
“This is well-answered—but we cannot yet know what it means in terms of honor.”
First Voice waggled his neck. “Some questions are answered simply by living with them. So you may guide us to your food, Richard of the Family Downing—and if you are careful in your tone, so that there is no hint of challenge, you may speak to me directly.”
Richard had regained his composure—and his diplomatic acumen. “I am honored, First Voice of the First Family. And I would first take you to meet a human I suspect you shall find even more perplexing in the matter of human honor than I am.”
“How so?”
“He is a great warrior and war-captain—and recently rescued his sister from abductors, slaying half a dozen single-handedly to do so. He is also the son of a great warrior and a great general. His name is Trevor Corcoran; would it please you to meet him?”
First Voice’s spine fur had spiked straight up and was quivering. “Show me this human.” They went into the room together.
Yaargraukh lingered behind a moment. “It has been gratifying to meet you, Caine of the Family Riordan. I noticed your name in the human self-reference; I would speak with you again.”
I’m in the self-reference? What the hell for? Aloud: “I would welcome that, Yaargraukh. If you have heard many of our broadcasts, then you will know humans often agree to such invitations merely to be polite, but I mean it when I say that I look forward to our next meeting. Very much.”
Yaargraukh leaned closer; at this range, the odor of his breath was discernible: it was a cross between musk and fresh-mown clover. “We shall speak again before this evening ends.” He placed one of his massive hands at the base of the immense, smooth slope of his ribcage. “My honor.” He pony-nodded and followed First Voice’s entourage.
Chapter Forty-Six
ODYSSEUS
Caine watched as Yaargraukh’s hulking back disappeared among those of his fellow Hkh’Rkh. If most of the Hkh’Rkh are like him, we’re in good shape, but if they’re mostly like Graagkhruud—Caine elected not to proceed down that speculative path. He returned to the buffet tables, where a cluster of Dornaani had surrounded Visser, possibly because she was standing in front of—and preventing access to—the seafood dishes.
Caine announced his approach with the Dornaani greeting: “Enlightenment unto you.”
Alnduul turned halfway, so that his back faced neither Caine nor Visser; a very wrinkled Dornaani joined him in his change of facing. “Enlightenment unto you, Caine Riordan. I wish to introduce Third Arbiter Glayaazh.”
Recent reading triggered a connection: the Third Arbiter was the number three spot in the Dornaani Collective. So that’s who was representing their race down in the dome today. Caine made the splay-fingered gesture; the raisinlike Glayaazh responded in kind, lids half closed.
Caine spoke as he moved over to Visser’s side. “It
is a great honor to meet you, Third Arbiter.” He took Visser’s elbow gently, towed her closer to Alnduul—and away from the food. The other Dornaani moved into the vacated space and began daintily yet greedily emptying the trays. Visser remained oblivious to anything but Glayaazh.
Who spoke softly. “As I was remarking to your ambassador, your patience was exemplary this day. But more important, so was your decision not to reciprocate the inconsideration of others. This is the sign of a mature race; we are honored to have you here.”
“I wish others felt the same way.”
“Surely, some do. However, I do not believe that any of today’s difficulties reflects an attitude toward your species. Rather, these behaviors were intended to exacerbate disputes already extant in the Accord.”
“Then it would seem to me, sir, that—”
Glayaazh’s mouth made a quick quarter-rotation. “You may wish to know that, according to your conventions of address, it would be more accurate to title me ‘madame.’”
Caine felt his face grow warm briefly. “Glayaazh—ma’am—my sincere apologies.”
“They are unneeded, but it if puts you at ease, I accept them. Now, you were preparing to offer an observation?”
“I was simply going to remark that if this is the usual degree of discord and tension, then the ‘Accord’ is a rather oxymoronic title for this organization.”
A tiny ripple distressed Alnduul’s perpetual pout. “Well said. And, sadly, true. Particularly since any failure to resolve these frictions is indicative of our failure as Custodians.”
“That seems an overly harsh self-assessment, Alnduul. But, on a practical level, since we do not know what the Accord’s current tensions pertain to, it is difficult for us to know how best to proceed.”
“We are aware of, and regret, this.” Glayaazh considered the small bowl which, minutes before, had held a thorough sampling of the sashimi: the fish was gone, the rice remained. “I must also remark that despite your artfully oblique inquiry, I cannot tell you more about these disagreements.” A pause. “Not at this time.”
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