Inheritor

Right now, a thorn in Tatiseigi’s flesh, Tatiseigi’s ancestral apartment in the Bu-javid was tainted by unwanted humans, his niece was, to all public perception defying him in bedding down with Tabini—and last year some excessive fool in attempting to state opposition to humans orto embarrass the Atageini had sprayed bullets across the breakfast room and taken out a frieze of elegant porcelain lilies…

Lilies which even now were being restored, angrily, defiantly, by Atageini-hired workmen: the breakfast room secured off from the rest of the apartment by a steel wall installed with screw-bolts, a barrier that let those workmen come and go without compromising the aiji’s security.

The lilies had been broken by someone who’d authorized an attack on the paidhi.

By someone, he was relatively sure, who’d had no idea what he was shooting at, someone blindly bent on shooting up premises which held a human, and possibly bent on compelling an Atageini break with Tabini.

It was an unthinkable botch-up of a job if some Atageini had done it, because those bullets were not just sprayed into anapartment favored by the Atageini, they’d been sent into an apartment filled with priceless Atageini art treasures, and had hit the lilies which were the symbolof the Atageini.

The fact was public. The shame was public. And no Atageini would have been so stupid. Tabini wouldn’t have done it—he had Damiri already and nothing to gain. No, an Atageini ally had done it—someone either wanting to push Tatiseigi into action or (the whisper was) chastise him for inaction in the matter of human influence.

But the result had embarrassed him instead of angering him.

One hellof a dangerous situation was what was left. Either Saigimi had attacked the lilies—or Direiso had, the two likeliest suspects.

And if Saigimi had, and was dead, Tabini had removed a man Tatiseigi now could not get vengeance from. Now, in the aftermath of Saigimi’s assassination, Direiso would have to move against Tabini soon—or die next.

That left the highly embarrassed Tatiseigi with no vengeance available, standing eyeball to eyeball with Direiso, who herself wanted to be aiji of Shejidan at the expense of Damiri, who could weld the Atageini onto Tabini’s line and unite twoPadi Valley lines in a way that might alter the hitherto several-way contest in the Padi Valley forever.

Damn, a man could get a headache, but he was begi

“Are we secure here?” he asked his security, with a notion how very, very much was at stake in the apartment he was occupying. “I mean—staying here. Under the circumstances.”

“One simply watches. Say only that you’re as safe as the aiji himself.”

Ironic double meaning. If lady Damiri betrayed Tabini at this juncture—or if the Tatiseigi matter blew up into violence—they were in real trouble.

IfTabini’s grandmother Ilisidi didn’t take over. Which Ilisidi might do— longedto do, at least, by some reports. God—one wouldn’tsuppose she’dblasted the lilies?

She wasan Atageini ally. And a major power among the Eastern lords around Malguri. It was why Tabini’s grandfather had married her: to hold the East in the Association.

On the other hand—he was ru

He likedIlisidi. As he likedGeigi. Human judgment. Which wasn’t, dammit, automatically invalid. No… Ilisidi would not destroy the lilies, the way Ilisidi wouldn’t destroy what was historic, and beautiful. He could never believe such a gross act of her. It was a human judgment, but it wasaccurate.

“Nadiin,” he said, head aching from all this circular thinking, “one has to get to bed, nadiin-ji. I’ve a meeting with Tabini after breakfast. You’re not obliged to be up at that hour—I’m sure Tano or Algini can manage and you can sleep late.”

“This house sets a memorable breakfast,” Banichi said. “Jago may be unconscious and immoveable when the sun rises, but I at least intend to be there.”

“Those who didn’t spend the night on a roof in a rainshower may be drawn out for breakfast,” Jago said. “I may be there, nadi Bren. I may not.”

“It’s so good to see you two.” He rose, took the decanter and poured Banichi another helping, and one for Jago.

“You will corrupt us, nadi,” Banichi said.

“Take it, take it. People who do and who don’t spend the night on a roof are alike due some comforts when they reach a safe place, aren’t they?”

“One is willing to be corrupted,” Jago said, lifting her glass. “At least tonight, Bren-ji.”

So the two of them went out with refilled glasses and, he was sure, headed to the two bedrooms that had been waiting half a year for them, next door to Jase’s.

It had been a long day, Bren thought as he stripped off clothes and prepared for bed. A fine day, a disastrous day—a good day again, in finding Banichi and Jago.

Not a good day for the lord Saigimi. He couldfeel sorry for everyone in Saigimi’s man’chi. He watched the machimi plays on television, in professional curiosity, as paidhiin had watched for years, trying to decipher the codes of atevi behavior. The Saigimi mess was absolutely high classic—the unknown loyalties, man’chi shifting unpredictably even for those most intimately involved with the dead lord.

There was even a chance that Cosadi, the daughter, wasn’t sure where her man’chi rested from hour to hour, self-doubt which was real emotional upheaval, as he began to perceive it, a fundamental uncertainty for the young woman as to which elements in her blood, to use a human expression, were going to pull her which direction, and whether she’d survive the shake-out as the same uncertainty resolved itself for a dozen characters at once.

A new lord, probably Ajresi, meanwhile took control, driving out the Samiusi-clan wife, Tiburi, Geigi’srelative, along with Cosadi, to a household (Direiso’s) involved to the hilt in the dead lord’s conspiracy against the aiji.

Classic machimi, indeed. He’d been fascinated by the color, the ba

He was acquainted with one such fortress, at Malguri, on an intimate basis, right down to the classic bathroom plumbing. He’d told himself that as a human he had no business there.

And still he loved the place, and the feelof the windy height and the age of the stones tugged at something ancestral in him. He’d come to grips with what was essentially atevi there. He’d learned lessons he, whose business was words, couldn’t put in words; he’d seen things that sent a lump into his throat and a quickness into his pulse.

Ilisidi had shown him.

Proving, perhaps, that human instincts and atevi man’chi did have something in common, before they diverged and became what they were in the higher branches of evolution.

Or just that—their species both came from planets. Something in both species loved the earth, the stones, the touch of what was alive.

Off went the shirt. It slid from his fingers before he had a chance to turn and deliver it to the servants.

Atageini servants. Who were, one sincerely hoped, loyal to lady Damiri next door, and not to uncle Tatiseigi.