“To do what?”

“To protect and assist the person making the gesture.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “He who holds the greatest power has obligation to none.”

Invidia shook her head. “But no matter how powerful an individual may be, he is only a part of a greater whole. Gestures of respect are a mutual acknowledgment of that fact—that both the giver and the receiver are part of something greater than they, each with his role to play within the whole.”

The vord Queen frowned. “It… acknowledges the need for structure. For order. That for the good of all, that which must be, will be. It signifies acceptance of one’s part of that order.”

Invidia shrugged. “At its core, yes. Many Alerans never give such gestures any serious consideration. They are simply a part of how our society functions.”

“And if such a gesture is not given, what results?”

“Unpleasantness,” Invidia replied. “Depending upon the person who has been slighted, there could be repercussions ranging from retaliatory insults to imprisonment to a challenge to the juris macto.”

“Justice by combat,” the Queen said.

“Yes,” Invidia replied.

“The rule of strength over the rule of law. It seems to reject the ideals of Aleran social order.”

“On the surface. But the fact of the matter is that some Alerans are a great deal more powerful, in a direct and personal sense, than nearly all of the rest. Attempting to force a particular behavior out of such individuals by any direct means could lead to an equally direct conflict, in which a great many people could be harmed.”

The Queen considered that for a moment. “Thus, indirect means are used to avoid such situations. The lesser are encouraged to avoid provoking a direct confrontation from one of greater power. Those of great power must consider the possibility of direct conflict with someone who is their equal before taking action.”

“Precisely,” Invidia replied. “And the safest way to manage conflicts is through the rule of law. Those who too often ignore the law in favor of the juris macto become outcasts within the society and run the risk of another Citizen taking matters into his own hands.”

The Queen folded her hands on the tabletop and nodded. “Among the vord,” she said, “we rarely contemplate indirect means of conflict resolution.”

Invidia frowned. “I had not realized that any internal conflict existed among your kind.”

The Queen’s expression flickered with something that was both chagrined and sullen. “It is rare.” Then she straightened, cleared her throat—an artificial sound, since as far as Invidia could tell, she never did it at any other time—and asked, “How was your day?”

It was the signal to begin the ritual of dinner. Invidia never grew any more comfortable with it, despite the repetition. She replied politely and made inane, pleasant conversation with the Queen for a few moments as the wax spiders, the keepers, trooped toward the table bearing plates, cups, and cutlery. The insectlike vord swarmed up the table’s legs in neat ranks, setting a place for the Queen, for Invidia…

… and for someone who was apparently to sit at the Queen’s right hand. The empty chair with its empty plate setting was unnerving. Invidia covered her reaction by turning to watch the rest of the keepers bringing forth several covered platters and a bottle of Ceresian wine.

Invidia opened the bottle and poured wine into the Queen’s glass, then into her own. Then she looked at the glass in front of the empty seat.

“Pour,” the Queen said. “I have invited a guest.”

Invidia did so. Then she began uncovering platters.

Each platter bore a perfectly square section of the croach. Each was subtly different than the next. One looked as if it had been baked in an oven—badly. The edges were black and crisp. Another had sugar sprinkled over its surface. A third was adorned with a gelatinous glaze and a ring of ripe cherries. A fourth had been coated with what had once been melted cheese—but it had been scorched dark brown.

Invidia sliced each piece into quarters, then began to load the Queen’s plate with a single square from each platter. After that, she served herself the same.

“And our guest,” the Queen murmured.

Invidia dutifully filled the third plate. “Whom are we entertaining?”

“We are not entertaining,” the Queen replied. “We are consuming food in a group.”

Invidia bowed her head. “Who is to be our companion, then?”

The Queen narrowed her insect eyes until only glittering black slits were visible. She stared down the length of the enormous table, and said, “She comes.”

Invidia turned her head to look as their guest entered the glowing green dome.

It was a second queen.

It shared its features with the Queen: Indeed, it might have been her twin sister—a young woman little older than a teenager, with long white hair and the same glittering eyes. There, the similarities ended. The younger queen prowled forward with alien grace, making no effort at all to mimic the motion of a human being. She was completely naked, and her pale skin was covered in a sheen of some kind of glistening, greenish mucus.

The younger queen walked forward to the table and stopped a few feet away, staring at her mother.

The Queen gestured to the empty chair. “Sit.”

The younger queen sat. She stared across the table at Invidia with unblinking eyes.

“This is my child. She is newly born,” said the Queen to Invidia. She turned to the young queen. “Eat.”

The younger queen considered the food for a moment. Then she grasped a square in her bare fingers and stuffed it into her mouth.

The Queen observed this behavior, frowning. Then she took up her fork and began cutting off dainty bites with it, eating them slowly. Invidia followed the elder Queen’s lead and ate as well.

The food was… “revolting” fell so far of the mark that it seemed an injustice. Invidia had learned to eat the raw croach. The creature keeping her alive needed her to ingest it in order to feed itself. She had been startled to learn that it could taste even worse. The vord had no grasp of cooking. The very notion was alien to them. As a result, they couldn’t really be expected to do it very well—but that evening they had perpetrated nothing short of an atrocity.

She choked the food down as best she could. The elder Queen ate steadily. The younger queen was finished within two minutes and sat there staring at them, her expression unreadable.

The younger queen then turned to her mother. “Why?”

“We partake of a meal together.”

“Why?”

“Because it might make us stronger.”

The younger queen absorbed that in silence for a moment. Then she asked, “How?”

“By building bonds between us.”

“Bonds.” The younger queen blinked slowly, once. “What need is there for restraints?”

“Not physical bonds,” her mother said. “Symbolic mental attachments. Familiar feelings.”

The young queen absorbed that for half a dozen heartbeats. Then she said, “These things do not improve strength.”

“There is more to strength than physical power.”

The young queen tilted her head. She stared at her mother, then, unnervingly, at Invidia. The Aleran woman could feel the sudden heavy, invasive pressure of the young queen’s awareness impinging upon her thoughts. “What is this creature?”

“A means to an end.”

“It is alien.”

“Necessary.”

The young queen’s voice hardened. “It is alien.”

“Necessary,” repeated the elder Queen.

Again, the young queen fell silent. Then, her expression never changing, she said, “You are defective.”

The enormous table seemed to explode. Splinters, some of them six inches long and wickedly sharp, flew outward like arrows. Invidia flinched instinctively, and barely managed to get her chitin-armored forearm between her and a flying spear of wood that might have plunged through her eye.