“We are by no means sure of success,” Tatiseigi objected.
“We have help from Taiben, we have my elusive grandson and doubtless resources from the Guild . . .”
“The Guild remains a problem,” Tabini said gravely, “and one that we cannot force.”
“We have written to them,” Tatiseigi said. “We have posed one complaint. We have gathered reason enough for another letter.”
“Letters,” Ilisidi scoffed.
There was a stir at the door, and two travelworn, dusty young Taibeni came in past the guards, and a third, not Taibeni, and not as tall—a ragamuffin of a prince, an exhausted young gentleman who had no trouble at all getting past the guards.
“Father.” A hoarse, strained voice. “Mother.”
Tabini got to his feet. Damiri did. And did the young gentleman do what a human would do and fling himself into a parental embrace?
No. Bren watched as the boy walked up and gave a grave, deep bow, which father and mother returned with equal solemnity.
“You have grown,” Tabini observed, and reached and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I have tried to. And I came against orders. I heard you were coming here to rescue mani-ma.”
“And how did you hear that?”
“That would betray a confidence,” Cajeiri said, “from someone who thought I would follow orders.”
“We taught him better manners,” Ilisidi said.
“You did, mani-ma. But we had to.”
“Had to,” Damiri said, and came and turned the boy about to face her, for a long, long look, a little touch at his cheek, which brushed away pale dust. “You had to.”
“Yes, mother.” A strange mix of regal contrition in that high, young voice. “Nand’ Bren was coming back. And we had sent reinforcements ahead of us.”
“Coming back,” Tabini said, “from where?”
“That takes some telling,” Ilisidi said, from her seat, her hands braced on her cane. “Some of which we are interested to hear, nandiin.”
“Might there be hot tea?” Cajeiri asked, and added: “For my bodyguard, too?”
“Oh, indeed, your bodyguard?” from his father.
A great deal to tell. A great deal yet to learn, on all sides. Bren held out his tea cup for a second service and drew a deep, long breath as he took the cup back into his hands, a warm and civilized act, no matter the dusty ruin outside.
1 Coming next month in hardcover from DAW
C. J. Cherryh, Destroyer
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