Intruder

But it would mean Ajuri would have a Ragi in their midst, and not the other way around.

He had not wanted a sister.

But now that there was a strong likelihood of never seeing what she turned out to be for years and years, and having her grow up Ajuri instead of Ragi, he was more than a little upset about that.

And he decided he was upset about his mother going away, if that was what was going to happen. He wished he could make everything be all right, just not with Grandfather. But he began to think maybe even his father could not do that.

“We have a second communication from security,” Lucasi said. “Your mother and your father are in the sitting room. They request you come there.”

He had no choice. Whatever would happen—he was not in control of it.

“I shall go,” he said. “All of youcstay here.” That was ordinary, for them not to witness when his father was reprimanding him—and he thought that was probably to the good.

19

  The room acquired a few more committee heads, Ilisidi’s frequent allies, and an uncommon smattering of the Conservative Caucus—among the first of whom was Lord Tatiseigi, resplendent in the white and pale green of the Atageini, with an impressive emerald pin nestled amid a very great quantity of lace, and with emeralds and tourmaline in every shade on his black fingers—it was an amazing show.

He made an impression with his entry; and he went from person to person of the Conservative Caucus, doing his political best.

He came then to stand where the principals were gathering, near the tables where staff set out pens and inkstands, and waxjacks, gleaming brass, were ready to be lit. A writing stand was set up with lesser seals, pens and inkstands, a vast stack of special cards for the attendees, and ribbons of the requisite colors.

Light conversation went on. And Algini said, quietly, at Bren’s elbow,

“Nandi, Machigi has arrived at the Bujavid train station.”

Not that much longer, then.

Father’s bodyguard was present. Mother’s was not. They were both calm and formal, at opposite ends of the couch. Cajeiri sat on a small decorative chair sipping his tea. There had been teacakes offered but he had accepted none, nor did they. He was starved to the point of shakiness, and yet he had no appetite, which was an unusual and upsetting feeling.

“Have you had supper, young gentleman?” his father asked. Meaning, perhaps, had he stored food in his room, which he was not supposed to do.

“No, honored Father. None of us have had.”

His father had a muscle tight in his jaw; it was not quite jumping, as it would do from time to time when he was extremely angry, but it was tight. His mother did not quite look up, and Cajeiri did not, either, not wanting to be glared at by either of them.

The servant offered another cup of tea. Cajeiri’s stomach was already upset with the first. “No,” he said, “thank you, nadi.”

His father set his teacup aside, then. His mother did, very quietly and almost untasted, on the small side table on her side.

“Have you anything to say, young gentleman?” his father asked.

He was calm. Numb. He said, quietly, “One very much regrets, honored Father, honored Mother. It was an accident. We attempted to get Boji back.”

His father asked: “What, in your briefest account, happened?”

He took a breath, took a firm grip on the chair arms and gave a polite, time-consuming nod while he was thinking where to start—mani always said, the courtesies were a good way to stall and think. “Honored father, honored Mother,” he began, “I was feeding Boji when Metiso-nadi opened my door. Boji was scared: he broke free and headed up. Metiso-nadi kept the door open. We shouted at her to close the door, but she didn’t, and he went out right past her.”

His father said. “You had given particular instructions to limit the servants coming to your suite.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You so instructed Eisi that he and his cousin should be the only persons to come into your suite for any reason.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I shall stay out of this,” his father said, settling back and folding his arms. “Talk to your mother.”

“Yes, Father,” he said, with a lump in his throat.

“Understand,” his mother said, “that I did not instruct Metiso to enter your room.”

“One is very sorry for what happened, honored Mother.”

“Let me explain, son of mine. My father, your grandfather, has been told he will now not have di

“I am very sorry for that, honored Mother!”

“Listen to me. Hear me. As of this hour, my major domo, Lady Adsi, who has been with me since I was born, and all my servants, and my bodyguard, are all sent back to Ajuri.”

“Honored Mother!”

“One has had to make a choice,” his mother said with icy calm. “My servant heard that there was something going on in your apartment and was attempting to gather information, coming into an area not assigned to her. It seems superfluous to point out that you are not a foreign enemy and I have no need to spy on my son.”

His heart was beating very fast. He knew sarcasm. He knew mani’s kind of expression. And a boy was smarter not to say a thing.

“Your father’s security has checked the phone records between my household and Ajuri. Metiso-nadi’s calls have been frequent and direct to her male cousin, on my father’s personal staff. She does not call her mother nearly so frequently. More, she has continually gotten phone access, which is under Lady Adsi’s supervision—and my bodyguard, which my father sent this year, has said nothing.”

He hardly knew what to say.

“I have, at this point, the choice,” she said, “between Ajuri and marriage to your father.”

Words stuck in his throat. He looked at his father, at her lastly.

“So I ask, son of mine, your sentiment in the matter. Answer me. Is your man’chi to your great-grandmother or to your father?”

That was a scary question. A very scary question. When it got that scary, the truth was sometimes the best way. “One has never seen a difference, honored Mother.”

“And have you,” his mother asked, “man’chi at all to me, son of mine?”

“Of course I do!”

“And to your grandfather?”

He was caught with his mouth open. He hesitated. And it was too late.

“No, honored Mother. I am sorry.”

“And if I were not sitting here, would you have claimed it to me?”

“You aremy mother! One does not want to lose you!”

“And if put to a choice between your great-grandmother’s instructions and mine, which would you obey?”

He drew a deep breath, and told the truth. “Wherever I would be,” he said. “Either one of you—I have to obey, honored Mother!”

There was a lengthy silence, with his mother looking straight at him in a degree of upset he had never seen her show.

“You would have launched your guard at minecto protect an animal.”

“To protect us, honored Mother. To protect us.”He said it accusingly, to have her understand. “You frightenedus.”

“You felt something in that room. In my staff.” She shook her head. “Son of mine, we have wondered if you pick up certain signalscbrought up as you were, with humans.”

“There is nothing wrong with humans!”

“One understands nand’ Bren is your particular associate. And you have gained permission for your young associates to visit.”

“Yes, honored Mother.”

“And you prefer your great-grandmother’s household to me. What am I to think?”

He hardly knew what to say. “Great-grandmother is—” he began. “I was with her. I have been with her all my life. I wantto be respectful toward you, honored Mother. I am not a bad son. Great-grandmother never thinks I am a bad great-grandson.”

His mother said nothing to that, for a long, long moment. “I have never called you a bad son.”