“Sia Chauvelin.”

The tone even more than the choice of title was a warning that Ransome was in one of his more playful moods, capable of almost any mischief. Chauvelin nodded warily, said, “Good evening, I‑Jay.”

“I’d like to introduce someone to you,” Ransome went on, still in the light tone that Chauvelin had learned to distrust, and motioned to the woman at his side, not quite touching her shoulder. “This is Quinn Lioe, one of the better Gamers I’ve seen in years. I’m enjoying my return to the Game much more than I’d expected.”

“Na Lioe,” Chauvelin murmured, and the woman answered, “Ambassador Chauvelin.” Her voice was deep, soft and rather pleasant, the clipped Republican vowels adding a tang to her words.

Ransome smiled, but it did not quite match the expression in his eyes. Anger? Chauvelin wondered. Or triumph? “I’m very grateful to you, Sia,” the imagist went on. Look what I found in the Game, his expression implied.

Chauvelin made himself keep his expression neutral, though his mouth wanted to twist as though he’d bitten something sour. The woman Lioe– the pilot Lioe, he realized abruptly, seeing the hat hanging at her shoulder–recognized that there was some undertone of passion here; she was watchful, but uninvolved, her face set in a serene and stony calm. Whatever Ransome thinks he’s doing, Chauvelin thought, Lioe will have her own ideas. The recognition steadied him; he said, “I still owe you part of your fee.”

Lioe lifted an eyebrow in mute question, glancing from one to the other, and Chauvelin said, “I‑Jay was good enough to hurry a commission for me–the stones on the paths in the lower gardens.” He took a petty pleasure in emphasizing Ransome’s subordinate position.

“Was that your work?” Lioe said, and Ransome nodded, still grinning. Lioe nodded back, her expression still serene. “Yes, I can see you don’t like people to be comfortable.”

There was a little silence, and Chauvelin wanted suddenly to cheer. Ransome said, “Why should they be? I’m not.” He paused again, and added, striving for the earlier lightness, “Who have you been talking to, anyway?”

Lioe smiled slightly. “Other Gamers.”

“I should’ve expected that,” Ransome murmured.

“I still owe you money, I‑Jay,” Chauvelin said, riding over whatever else either one of them might have said. “You must have had workshop fees.”

Ransome nodded. “Oh, I’ve submitted the bills, have no fear. But I think the result was worth it.”

“It is spectacular,” Chauvelin agreed, and, to his surprise, Lioe nodded.

“The faces are very beautiful,” she said. “It must have changed your garden completely, Ambassador.”

“It did,” Chauvelin said.

“For the better, surely,” Ransome said.

“I think so,” Chauvelin said, and smiled. “Certainly it was a change.”

His eye was caught by a sudden movement, a subtle gesture from across the room. He looked toward it, past Ransome’s shoulder, and saw je‑Sou’tsian standing a little apart, one hand lifted in mute appeal. Ransome saw his eyes move, controlled the impulse to look, said instead, “I don’t want to monopolize you, Sia.”

“Not at all,” Chauvelin said. “But something seems to have come up.” He nodded toward je‑Sou’tsian, and Ransome glanced over his shoulder.

“Ah, the Visiting Speaker’s arrived?”

“My honored guest the Speaker has been here since the first arrivals,” Chauvelin said, not without irony. “Na Lioe, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope I’ll have the pleasure again.”

She murmured something inaudible in response, but there was an amusement lurking in her gold‑flecked eyes. Chauvelin bowed over his clasped hands, hsai fashion, and moved away.

Je‑Sou’tsian bowed slightly at his approach, but her hands were still, suppressing whatever she was feeling.

“What is it, Iameis?” Chauvelin said, and kept a smile on his face with an effort of will.

The steward’s hands moved slightly, shaping anger and apology. Her fingerclaws, gilded for the occasion, glowed in the buttery light. “I’m sorry to have troubled you,” she said, her tradetalk even more precise than usual, “and indeed I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been Sia Ransome you were speaking with, but several members of the Visiting Speaker’s household have asked permission to use the intersystems link. They’ve also asked that our technicians not oversee the linkage.”

Chauvelin bit back his first response, knowing he was on firm ground here. “I’m hurt that the Speaker’s people should imply distrust of my household, knowing as I do the Speaker’s respect and friendship. You may tell them that, word for word.”

Je‑Sou’tsian bowed again. “I will do so, with pleasure.”

She started to back away, but Chauvelin said, “Iameis. Is there anything else?”

The steward hesitated for a heartbeat, then gestured negation, the movement solid and decisive. “No, Sia. But I thought that should be nipped in the bud.”

Chauvelin nodded. “I agree. Keep an eye on them, Iameis.”

“Of course, Sia.” Je‑Sou’tsian bowed again, and backed away.

Chauvelin stared after her, furious at ji‑Imbaoa for trying such an obvious and infantile trick. What can he think he’ll gain from that? And why in all hells does he have to do it now, when I can’t do anything about it? The answer was too obvious to be considered, and he made himself put it out of his mind, turning away to greet a stocky man who served on the board of the Five Points Bank. He answered mechanically, his mind on ji‑Imbaoa, and on Ransome and his new friend, and was not sorry when the banker excused himself, heading for the buffet. He stood alone for a moment, found himself scanning the crowd for Ransome. The imagist was standing near one of the windows that overlooked the garden, Lioe beside him, tall against the glass. Her coat blended with the golden light caught in the mirrorlike panes, drawing her into the reflections like a ghost; in contrast, Ransome was looking pale and interesting. It was hard to tell, these days, if it was deliberate or inevitable. Chauvelin suppressed the worry, reminding himself that he could always query the medsystems records if he really wanted to know. But whatever the cause, the look worked: Ransome had dressed with millimetrically calculated disorder, plain‑slashed jerkin hanging open over equally plain shirt and narrow trousers, his unbrushed boots a well‑planned disgrace. He made a perfect foil for Lioe’s severe elegance, and Chauvelin felt again a stab of jealousy. Who in all hells is she, that Ransome should behave like this?

“Good evening, Chauvelin,” a familiar voice said, and Chauvelin turned without haste to bow to Burning Bright’s governor.

“A good evening to you, Governor.”

Kasiel Berengaria nodded back, the gesture as much of a concession as she would ever make to hsai etiquette. She was a stocky, broad‑bodied woman, comfortable in a heavily embroidered coat and trousers; a massive necklace of Homestead Island pearls made a collar around her neck, and held a seabright pendant suspended just at the divide of her full breasts. The skin exposed there was weathered, like her coarse, salt‑and‑pepper hair, and the short hands with their broken nails. “I haven’t seen the Visiting Speaker tonight, Chauvelin.”

Chauvelin picked his words carefully, well aware of the amusement in her mismatched eyes. One was almost blue, the other green‑flecked brown: a disconcerting effect, and one he was certain she enjoyed. “The Visiting Speaker has been holding court in the inner room, Governor. I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.”

Berengaria made a face. “I doubt it. Or at best, no happier to see me than I am to see him.”

Chauvelin smiled in spite of himself. “Quite possibly.”

“You have had an interesting time of it, with him in your household.”

“Interesting is a good word,” Chauvelin said. He and Berengaria were old adversaries, almost friends by now; she preferred the Republic to HsaioiAn, but Burning Bright before both of them. It was a position he understood perfectly, and he had always admired her skill.