She had as her current interest Hal a Norn hant Ilit, a remote and seldom-social member of the House most involved in Meron’s banking; she reckoned he might be a direct relative, and tried to jog his memory which of his kinsmen Morel a Sul Meth-maren had had for a lover, but he avowed it was several, and she went frustrated. He was frustrating in other ways, but he was a useful shelter, and they had some common interests; few could argue comp theory with him, or for that matter, cared to: she did, and for all the vast disparity in their ages (he was in his third century) and in outlook, he avowed himself increasingly infatuated.

She found herself increasingly uncomfortable, and began as gently as possible, to break that entanglement, coming out of her isolation into the society he hated; a part of that society was his grandnephew Gen.

In all of this, there was a certain leisure.

The order which Moth maintained in Council and in the Reach was a calm one, and a prosperous one, and no one on Cerdin or off seemed energetic enough to seek Moth’s life: it seemed superfluous, for no one expected that life to extend much longer. What enemies Moth had were evidently determined to outwait her, and that meant a surface peace, what ever built up beneath. Raen reckoned with Moth in power she might even have gone home to Cerdin, had she asked. She simply declined to make the request, which required on the one hand a humility toward Council she had never acquired; and on the other, faith that Moth would survive long enough for her to entrench herself among friends: she dies not think so. And more than all other reasons, she simply refused to face the ruin at Kethiuy; there was nothing there for her.

On Meron, there was.

Then strife erupted among majat on Meron, reds and greens and blues at odds. Golds took shelter and stayed out of sight. Reds strayed into the passages of the City on Meron, terrifying betas and occasioning several deaths in panicked crowds. A Kontrin estate or two suffered minor damage.

Raen quitted Meron then, having lost the four azi who had served her the last several years.

The four azi, dying in their sleep, did not suffer. Raen did, of biter anger. It gave her temporary motivation, settling with the erstwhile Ilit lover who had let red-hivers into the estate; but that was arranged with disappointing lack of difficulty; and afterward she was tormented with doubt, whether Hal Ilit had had choice in the matter. Blue-hive, she heard, skirmished with the others and retreated, sealed into its hill again, while reds came and went where they would: Thons came from Cerdin to try to persuade them back into quiet.

There was similar disturbance on Andra, and Raen was there…attempted last of all to contact blue-hive directly, but it evaded her, and sealed itself in, while other hives walked Andran streets with impunity.

She was thirty-four. It had been nineteen years since Kethiuy, since Cerdin.

She began, obsessively, to practice certain skills she had let fall in recent years. She withdrew entirely unto herself, and ceased to mourn for the past.

Even for Kethiuy, which was the last thing she had loved.

She was utterly Kontrin, as Moth was, as Lian had been, as all her elders were. She had come of age.

“She’s on Kalind,” Pol said.

Moth regarded him and his two kinsmen with placid eyes.

“She can be removed,” Morn said.

Moth shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Eldest—” Tand leaned on her desk, facing her with a lack of respect not uncommon in Halds, not uncommon in his generation. “Blue-hive has been astir on Meron; she was there; and on Andra; she was there; and on Kalind; she is there now. The indications are that she’s directly involved, contrary to all conditions and advice. She’s broken with all her old contacts.”

“She’s learned good taste,” said Pol. He smiled lazily, leaned back in his chair, folded his slim hands on his belly. “And about time.”

Morn fixed him with a burning look. Pol shrugged, made a loose gesture, rose and bowed an ironic goodbye. The door closed behind him.

“She’s involved,” Tand said.

Moth failed to be excited. Tand finally took the point and stood back, folded his hands behind him, silent as Morn.

“You are trying to urge me to something,” Moth said.

“We had thought in your good interests, in those of the Family—there was some urgency.”

“You are called here simply to inform me, Tand Hald. Your advice is occasionally of great value. I do listen.”

Tand bowed his head, courtesy.

Bastard, she thought. Eager for advancement however It comes fastest and safest. You hate my guts. And, Morn—yours too.

“Other observations?” she asked.

“We’re waiting;” Morn said, “for instructions in the case.”

Moth shrugged. “Simply observe. That’s all I want.”

“Why so much patience with this one?”

Moth shrugged a second time. “She’s the last of a House; the daughter of an old, old friend. Maybe it’s sentiment.”

Morn took that for the irony it was and stopped asking questions.

“Simply watch,” she said. “And, Tand—don’t provoke anything. Don’t create a situation.”

Tand took his leave, quietly. Morn followed.

Moth settled in her chair, hands folded, dreaming into the coloured lights that flowed in the table surface.

BOOK THREE

i

There was, in the salon of the Andra’s Jewel, an unaccustomed silence. Normally the first main-evening of a voyage would have seen the salon crowded with wealthy beta passengers, each smartly turned out in expensive innerworld fashions, tongues soon loosened with drink and the nervousness with which these folk, the wealthy of several worlds, greeted their departure from Kalind station. There were corporation executives and higher supervisors, and a scattering of professionals of various fields dressed to mingle with the rich and idle, estate-holders, of whom there were several.

This night there were drinks poured: azi servants passed busily from table to table, the only movement made. The fashionable people sat fixed in their places, venturing furtive glances across the salon.

They were the elite, the powers and movers of beta society, these folk. But they found themselves suddenly in the regard of another aristocracy altogether.

She was Kontrin. The aquiline face was the type of all the inbred line, male or female, in one of its infinite variations. Her grey cloak and bodysuit and boots were for the street, not the society of the salon, elegant as they were. It was possible that they masked armour…more than possible that they concealed weapons. The chitinous implants which covered the back of her right hand were identification beyond any doubt, and the pattern held unlimited credit in intercomp, in any system of the Reach…unlimited credit: the money for which wealthy betas strove was only a shadow of such entitlement.

She smiled at them across the room, a cold and cynical gesture, and the elite of the salon of Andra’s Jeweltried to look elsewhere, tried to pursue their important conversations in low voices and to ignore the reality which sat in that corner of empty tables. Suddenly they were uncomfortable even with the azi servants who passed among them bearing drinks…cloned men, decorative creations of their own labs, as they themselves had been spawned wholesale out of the Kontrin’s, seven hundred years past. Proximity to the azi became suddenly… comparison.

The party died early. Couples and groups drifted out, which movement became a general and hasty flow toward the doors.

Kont’ Raen a Sul watched them go, and in cynical humour, turned and met the eyes of the azi servant who stood nearest. Slowly all movement of the azi in the salon ceased. The servant stood, held in that gaze.