by Sharon Shinn
The Complex where Jex Zanlan was being held prisoner. She had not seen him in two weeks, and she had missed him so much that she thought she might go mad. Even now, she wanted to vault from the balcony and follow that fiery beacon to her lover’s side. She wrapped her hands tightly around the railing and forced herself to focus on the contrasting colors, the blue of her fingers cool against the warm bronze of the bar. She stared so hard that the textures melted together, her fingers became metal and the railing itself became liquid and insubstantial.
Sereva’s voice came from inside the double doors that led to the balcony. “Kitrini? What are you doing out there? Come on in before you catch cold.”
“I’m just watching the city lights come up.”
Sereva had come to the doors to take her own look at the city lights. “Well, don’t stand so close to the railing. You’ll fall and break your neck. And how would I explain that to Granmama?”
Kit couldn’t help grinning, but she obligingly stepped away from the balcony and past Sereva into the office. “She would hardly be surprised. She expects me to come to a bad end, anyway.”
“Everyone expects you to come to a bad end,” Sereva said absently. She had returned to her desk and was bending over to look through papers in a file, frowning down at whatever the words or figures told her. “Granmama is just hoping it will not happen while you’re living with her.”
“Oh, well, make no mistake, I am closer to desperate suicide than I have ever been,” Kit said. “Living with that woman! Every day it’s a lecture about something. A remark I’ve made, a color I’ve worn, the fact that she glimpsed me from the window speaking to some guldwoman I passed on the street—because that won’t do, you know, Sereva, it might encourage the poor misbegotten mistreated fool to think she actually has a friend among the blueshis—”
Sereva straightened to stare at her. “Kitrini! Don’t you ever say such a word! No wonder Granmama worries about you—” Kit shrugged impatiently and begin pacing around the room. Blueshi was the ultimate gulden insult that could be leveled at an indigo, although, frankly, Kit had always liked the sort of lilting twist to the word and would have used it all the time if it wasn’t considered so vulgar. She knew what the “shi” suffix meant in the gulden tongue, though, and her ethics prevented her from encouraging verbal violence, so she restricted herself. Unless she was seriously ruffled.
“What I’m saying is, we grate on each other night and day. I go out of my way to avoid her—and in that ancestral mansion you would think it would be easy—but she’s decided I’ve come home to her to reform. I do my best to be meek and sweet-tempered when I’m around her, but we all know I’m not meek and sweet-tempered. It’s wearing on me.”
“She only wants what’s best for you. She only wants you to be well and happy.”
Kit flung herself into a chair and stared at her cousin. After her father had died, Sereva was the only family member Kit could honestly say she liked. Of course, she had had no dealings with her father’s relatives, for they had cast him off before she was born. It was her mother’s family she had to contend with, Granmama especially. Lorimela Candachi had shown every sign of trying to reclaim her granddaughter, replacing the daughter she had lost to a mid-caste indigo boy nearly thirty years ago. The fact that Kit had no wish to be reclaimed did not deter Granmama at all.
“She does not care if I am well or happy,” Kit replied, speaking each word with precision. “What she wants is to indoctrinate me. She wants me to be just like her. And like you, and like every other Candachi woman in the history of Inrhio.”
“I’m happy to hear you rate me so highly,” Sereva said. “I’m glad you think I’m just as good as every other blueskin woman that you despise so much.”
Kit grinned slightly. “Well, you are just as bad as the rest of them. You’re a high-caste indigo woman with a well-run ancestral estate, a handpicked husband, and an unshakable belief that the world goes on exactly as it should. Why should I think you’re any different from the rest?”
“Because I put up with you,” Sereva answered a little curtly. “That ought to earn me a little credit in your eyes.”
Kit’s expression softened. “Oh, it does. To tell you the truth, I’ve never understood why you do put up with me. I can’t be an easy friend for someone like you to have.”
Sereva slung her briefcase strap over her shoulder and flicked off the overhead lamp. Instantly, darkness leapt inside the room, crouched at their feet and looked around. The moving lights of traffic made flowing, uncertain patterns on the pale walls. Sereva took three swift steps to her cousin’s side, and Kit rose quickly to her feet.
“You’re not my friend,” Sereva said. “You’re my family. I would love you no matter what you did. No matter how much I hated it. And, just in case you judge her too harshly, that’s one of the lessons I learned from Granmama, along with how to run a vast estate and how to behave in a room of mixed races. I love you, and she loves you, and even though you’re not one of us, you’re one of ours. And someday maybe you’ll live long enough to appreciate that.”
“I appreciate it,” Kit said a little gruffly, feeling strangely chastised and slightly defensive. “It just suffocates me sometimes. I haven’t changed, Sereva, just because I’m living with Granmama here in the city. I’m still my father’s daughter. I haven’t suddenly grown respectable.”
Sereva laughed and reached for the door. Light from the hallway showed her face genuinely amused. “And I wouldn’t expect it,” she said. “You will continue to astound us all, I’m sure. I have no illusions about that.”
They stepped into the hall, took the elevator to the basement garage, and climbed into Sereva’s waiting limousine. The driver, an indigo boy whose mother worked on Sereva’s estates, nodded at them shyly. “Good evening, hela Candachi,” he greeted Sereva with the courtesy title, then repeated it for Kit.
“Good evening,” Kit replied, climbing in.
“Yes, good evening, Simon,” Sereva said. “Take us home, please.”
Simon put the car in motion and it purred forward out of the garage. Kit, who was used to relying on public transportation, had to remind herself sternly that she did not endorse or enjoy the privileges of the rich. “It might take a while,” Simon said over his shoulder in an apologetic voice. “Traffic is still terrible because of Chay Zanlan’s visit.”
Sereva made a small tsking sound of annoyance, then shrugged and smiled. “Well, I suppose we’re not the only ones inconvenienced for the pleasure of Chay Zanlan,” she said.
“No, indeed,” Kit agreed suavely. “Delays on the Centrifuge were hours long this morning, and I’m sure they’re just as bad tonight.”
Sereva shuddered slightly. “The Centrifuge. I can’t imagine how you can actually ride that thing every day—”
“I like it. I like to see how fast I can go and make the other cars get out of my way.”
“Don’t even tell me. I don’t want to picture you risking your life in that stupid way.”
Kit laughed. “Well, the Centrifuge is pretty safe. I think it’s been three years since anyone died in the tunnels.”
“Just the same. Maybe you should stay at my house for a few days and ride into the city with me. Until everything gets back to normal.”
“When Chay leaves?” Kit asked, stressing the ruler’s name.
Sereva turned her head to eye Kit in the flashing, changing lights of the passing buildings. Then she touched a control panel at her fingertips, and the security window went up between Simon and the passenger’s compartment.
“Have you actually seen him?” Sereva asked quietly.
Kit’s eyebrows rose. “Chay? I think he has a lot more important people to visit while he’s here than me.”
“Does he know you’re in the city?”
Kit looked out the window. “I imagine he does.”
“Does he k
now how to get in touch with you?”
Kit looked back at her cousin with some irritation. “I suppose so! Why? Why do you think he would want to get in touch with me? I don’t have any information for him. I can’t tell him how to get Jex out of prison. I can’t explain to him how to deal with Ariana Bayless. He doesn’t need me.”
“I know he’s fond of you,” Sereva continued in that same quiet voice. “I thought perhaps he might find it restful to see a friendly face. This can’t be a pleasant journey for him.”
Kit was looking out the window again. “He’s less fond of me these days than he used to be,” she said, her voice low. “I don’t think I’ll be approaching him while he’s here.”
And that was all they said on the subject, but Kit had to give Sereva a little credit; Granmama would not have acknowledged Chay Zanlan’s presence in the city, let alone the fact that Kit knew him. Let alone the fact that Kit loved his son, Jex. But Granmama indeed was aware of all these disgraceful facts. Kit knew she considered that one more black mark to be scrawled next to Anton Solvano’s name, that he had taken his daughter with him into Geldricht and there lived among the gulden as an equal and a friend. Granmama was able to lay at the father’s door all blame for the daughter’s wayward behavior.
“Well, at any rate, you’re welcome to stay with me a few days,” Sereva said. “It would be a good excuse to get out of Granmama’s house for a while. And I’d be happy to have you.”
It was a kind invitation and a thoughtful change of subject. Kit smiled over at her cousin in the dark. “Let’s see how well dinner goes first,” she said with a laugh. “And then we’ll talk about extended visits.”
* * *
* * *
But dinner, as they had both expected, was fine. Sereva’s husband, Jayson, was there, of course, and her two sons. Impossible to dislike any of them, even on moral grounds, though in the past Kit had tried. Jayson was a pleasant, vague, unalarming scholar who could not possibly rouse anyone’s antagonism, and the boys were delightful. Aged ten and twelve, Marcus and Bascom were well-behaved, well-spoken, courteous, and bright, and for some strange reason, they adored Kit.
“Kitrini! Kitrini!” Marcus exclaimed when she sauntered through the door. “Do you want to see what I learned in school today? I can draw a—a conical!”
Kit glanced questioningly at Sereva. “Cone?” Sereva guessed. “He’s in a geometry class.”
“I’d love to see it,” Kit told him. Bascom was standing patiently beside her, waiting for her to acknowledge him, so she smiled down at him. Not too far down; he was growing at a shocking rate. “Yes?” she encouraged him with a smile.
“After the meal is over, would you play a game with me?” he asked in a formal voice. “I have several to choose from, so you can select the one that interests you most.”
It was all she could do to keep from breaking into laughter. He spoke so seriously and with such care. “Yes, I’d be happy to,” she said. “But don’t think I’ll let you win just because you’re one of my two favorite nephews.”
“Actually, I’m not really a nephew,” Bascom said, his brow furrowing as he tried to decide exactly what she was. “Because you’re not my mother’s sister.”
Kit waved a hand. “Close enough. We’ll pretend. I’ll even let you pick the game.”
Jayson wandered up to his wife to kiss her on the cheek. “They have been talking all day about Kitrini’s arrival,” he remarked. “You would think it was the high holidays. You’ll have to come visit with us more often.”
Sereva led the way to the family dining room, a much more cozy place than the huge, elegant chamber where they did their grand entertaining. She poured drinks for herself and Jayson, but Kit shook her head. “In fact,” Sereva said, sipping a liqueur, “I’ve been trying to convince Kitrini to come stay with us a few days. Maybe if she thinks the boys will like it, she’ll be more inclined to accept.”
Kit smiled. “You make it sound like I dread the prospect. I just don’t want to get in the way.”
“Oh, no. You couldn’t get in the way here,” Jayson said earnestly. “There’s too much room to stumble over anyone.”
“Well,” said Kit, “it sounds tempting.”
Dinner itself was lively. Marcus insisted on sitting next to Kit, but Bascom sat directly across from her and pelted her with questions during most of the meal. Did you know that the average lifespan of a blueskin male was five years longer than a blueskin female? Did you know that in general, gulden men weighed fifteen pounds more than indigo men of comparable height? Did you know that Centrifuge ringcars were designed to achieve a maximum speed of one hundred miles per hour but that due to high traffic volume in the tunnels most cars rarely made it to half that rate?
“Let me guess,” Kit said, laughing again. “Science is your favorite subject in school.”
“I’m in the advanced class,” he said proudly. “And I have the highest scores! Even higher than Marrina Boswen.”
Kit glanced at Sereva. “An old nemesis, I take it.”
Sereva nodded. “She’s the smartest girl in his class. She always has been. And you know, generally, the boys aren’t as good at math and science as the girls are. So we’ve both been pleased at how well Bascom’s doing.”
“And where did he pick up this ability?” Kit asked. “Since neither his father nor his mother is particularly good at the sciences.”
“Well, I’ve always been terrific at math, but biology and chemistry and all that—” Sereva rolled her eyes. “Too boring. Maybe he picked it up from one of his grandmothers. They say some things skip generations.”
Jayson was shaking his head. “It didn’t skip over from my family,” he said. “We were all born with literary inclinations, even the girls. One of my sisters is a historian in her spare time, and the other is a poet. So Bascom seems to have developed these amazing abilities all on his own.”
“Which makes us even prouder of him,” Sereva said, smiling at her eldest son.
It had all been quite lighthearted over the meal but later, as Kit and Sereva sat in the library together, the talk became a bit more serious.
“Actually, Jayson and I had a little argument about Bascom just the other day,” Sereva told Kit. She was sipping another drink, and Kit had consented to a glass of wine. She was feeling sleepy after the rich meal, but she knew she didn’t have to bother to keep alert for the trip home; Simon would take her in the limousine.
“An argument? About what?”
“This science class, in fact. Bascom wants to sign up for the advanced class next year, too, and Jayson sees no reason he should. Thinks it’s all a waste of time and energy, since Bascom will never end up going on to City College or pursuing a degree in—in—medical science or something like that.”
Kit weighed her words before speaking. It all seemed obvious to her, but she was in a blueskin stronghold now, and here a specific set of rules applied. “If he was interested in studying medical science—or something—wouldn’t you encourage him?” she asked.
Sereva sighed and rested her mouth on the rim of her glass for a moment. She stared at the rug on the floor between them. “That’s so hard to say for certain,” she answered at last, taking another swallow then setting the glass down. “If he was a girl—yes, of course I’d encourage him. I’d want him to strive as hard as he could, be the best scientist in the city. But as it is … In another ten years, he’ll just marry some high-caste girl and move back in-country, and what good will it have done him to get all that specialized schooling? Jayson’s right, it would just waste his time and energy. And it might—I don’t know—make him more unhappy to have acquired all that knowledge if he never gets a chance to use it. I don’t want to open up doors that might later be shut in his face.”
Listen to yourself! Kit wanted to scream. Listen to every sad, repressive syllable you’re saying! But anger was no way
to win this argument. “Well, and he might not prove to have any real aptitude for medical biology,” she said in a casual voice. “It’s pretty hard to tell about a twelve-year-old. But do you think there’s no chance that he might want to pursue a career of his own? There are a lot of blueskin men working in the city. If Bascom really wants to try his hand at some profession—”
Sereva nodded unhappily. “I know. And that’s what we had the fight about. I just can’t stand the thought that Bascom won’t be able to have everything he wants. If he wants to go to City College, then I say, he can go. If he wants to work for a few years before he gets married, then, yes, I’d agree to that, too. Why shouldn’t he? Who would it hurt? Jayson was shocked. No one in his family has ever done anything except own land and write philosophy. He thinks it’s demeaning and cheap to follow a profession. He even—well. Let’s just say he made me furious by belittling Bascom’s high scores. I was—I was suffused with anger. To see this excited little boy sharing his great achievement with his father and have his father laugh at him. I won’t have an attitude like that in my house, and so I told him. We will encourage Bascom in whatever he wants to do, because he’s our son and we love him. And so I told Jayson.”
It was one of the longest, most tangled, and most impassioned speeches Kit had ever heard her cousin give. No wonder, though; here, wrapped up in the tight swaddling of filial love, were all the painful issues of the day, issues about gender and heritage and how society valued an individual’s contribution to its greater good. Even unconventional people were wrestling with some of the same questions, and Sereva was not used to having to challenge her most basic assumptions.