“Thank you, Saidin-daja,” he said. “One hopes one is coming back. Thank cook and thank my great-uncle.”

Great-uncle had not shown up to see them off. But he would see Uncle at lunch, he was quite certain.

And maybe if mani could not get him free of his parents’ apartment, nand’ Bren could invite him, and make everything work out.

 · · ·

The youngsters’ wardrobe preceded them, a rattling arrival in the middle hall—there was no missing it. Bren straightened his cuffs, done up in his own court dress, there being no sense dressing twice in the day for an appointment at lunch.

Not so with the youngsters, who arrived in the foyer all shyness and anxiety, with nervous little bows.

“You’re doing fine,” he said in ship-speak, at which there were deep breaths of relief. “Do you understand the schedule? Captain Graham will be back in a moment. He’ll be with you through all the events and you’ll need to stay close to him at all times. Make yourselves comfortable in the sitting room. Is there any problem?”

“No, sir,” Irene said. “We’re all right.”

“Don’t be nervous. Come.” He showed them into the sitting room, where young staff had laid out tea and very small sandwiches. “There will likely be a very fancy lunch, but you daren’t spill anything, and not everything will be safe to eat. My advice is eat all the sandwiches you want before you go, so you’re not that hungry, and when it comes to the buffet tonight—this is very important—stay to the desserts.”

“Neat!”

He had to grin. “I know. Not a hard idea. The desserts are safe—if I spot one that isn’t, I’ll advise Jase. The rolls are safe. Staff is supposed to be careful of you. But if you want to try anything, ask Captain Graham and don’t experiment, not even a taste, no matter how good it looks: we don’t want you to spend tonight in hospital. There’s one tea you absolutely shouldn’t have. He’ll warn you. Fill up here where you know the food is safe, eat very carefully at table and don’t risk spilling anything on your clothes. It’s going to be a long, long day. You’ve been excellent guests. Keep it going just another few hours. It’s very, very important to Cajeiri that you not make a mistake.”

“Yes, sir.” Heads bobbed. Looks were very earnest.

“Anything we can do, anything you need, or if you’re in distress, Jase first, then me, or any of my staff. Got it?”

“Yessir.”

Excellent kids, he thought. Kids who’d been warned within an inch of their lives—but kids who’d borne up in good humor through a hell of a lot that hadn’t been in anyone’s planning.

“You’ve been good beyond any expectation. Carry this evening off for him and there’s an outside chance we can send you somewhere you can have some fun, maybe with the Taibeni.”

“The mecheita-riders?” Eyes went large.

“They’re completely loyal to Cajeiri. A very safe place. And I’ll do everything I can to arrange it, if you just do everything you’re asked, be patient with delays, and don’t mess it up. Twelve more hours, and if the aiji’s enemies don’t create a problem, you’re out of it and clear. Jase will be here in a moment, and he’ll fill in the rest for you.”

God, he hoped he was telling the kids the truth. The combined force of staring, believing eyes went right to the nerves, while his if was still a very big word.

 · · ·

“Nandi,” the major domo said, welcoming Cajeiri and his bodyguard into the foyer. Jase-aiji paid courteous nods and immediately left, going back up the hall. “Welcome home, young gentleman.”

“Nadi,” Cajeiri said with the requisite little bow. Servants were close about them—until the ones near the inner hall folded backward in startlement, ducking heads, as his father arrived, his father likewise in court dress, and solemn, and accompanied by two of his bodyguard. All the servants backed up, clearing room, and Cajeiri gave a deeper bow.

“Son of mine,” his father said solemnly. “You look very fine.”

“One is gratified, honored Father.”

“And everything is going smoothly?” his father asked, coming very close to him.

“Yes, honored Father.”

His father took him by the arm very lightly and maneuvered him so that he could speak close to his ear. “Son of mine, you look particularly elegant, and so does your aishid—a credit to your great-uncle’s household, but one needs to forewarn you. Your mother is already having a difficult day, and so is the staff. Your mother had secretly ordered a coat and vest from your regular tailor, and she was not willing to deliver it to your great-uncle’s house, but your tailor is greatly out of sorts about this, and this being her present to you—it has set her out of sorts. If you wish to please your mother—and one advises you this would be very desirable today—send staff to your suite and have them bring the black and red brocade instead.”

He liked his black and gold brocade coat, which his mother would call too old for him, but he was nine today, and he had three red and black ones, besides. He said quietly: “Uncle had Master Kusha come in because of my guests, honored Father. They had nothing suitable, and Master Kusha and his staff worked very hard.”

“One will do everything to honor master Kusha’s efforts, but you would not be politic to ignore your mother’s gift, son of mine. And besides, the ’counters have figured red into the numbers.”

He was not happy. But he understood. “Yes,” he said, and to Jegari: “You know my coats. Can you recognize the new one?”

“Assuredly, nandi,” Jegari said, and with a bow to his father, hurried off through the servants and down the inner hall toward their suite. Cajeiri began sadly unbuttoning the elegant black and gold coat, and his father helped him, with that and with the vest, right there in the foyer in front of everybody. He was sure he blushed, and he was angry about it, but his father was on his side, which was the important thing. And he knew how much politics with his mother mattered, for everybody’s good.

Next time the ’counters did the numbers, however, he swore he was going to have his say in it. And wear black and gold if he wanted to.

But it would be his thirteenth birthday before he ever got another festivity, and his fifteenth before another big one, which he swore was not going to be public, either. He was verging on a bad mood. And could not afford to sulk.

“Very well done,” his father said, handing off his favorite new coat and vest to the major domo, who gave it to the servants to deal with. “Be agreeable, do not frown at your mother, and thank her nicely for the new coat and vest, if you can possibly manage it. Count it training.”

“Yes,” he said. By then Jegari was back, with the new coat and vest, which at least went well with the black trousers and boots, the new vest being shiny black with glittering red woven in, and the coat being nearly all black with a little red—the vest at least fit well, as it should, and the coat fit, and his father with his own hands helped him do all the buttons, in front of all the servants and their bodyguards.

“One is very impressed,” his father said. “You have grown in more than height this year, son of mine. One is very proud.”

That was twice for blushing, but this was for a different reason. He gave a little bow as his father finished the last adjustment of his lace cuffs. “Thank you, honored Father. One will try very hard today.”

“Come to the sitting room,” his father said, and showed him the way as if he were an adult guest in his own home.

His mother was there, in black and green, Ragi and Atageini colors combined. She looked pleased as he came in, and mani had taught him how the game was played. He bowed to his mother, who did not get up—getting up was increasingly hard for her—and bowed a second and a third time, and said, without any sulking,