Through the Gauntlet

For as long as she could remember, Orialu had thought of her mother as made of gold. This morning was no different.

Orisai VII Ilisaf's skin glowed tawny-gold. Her gold jewelry gleamed brightly against her red-violet silks, themselves edged and embroidered and tasseled in gold thread, while the darker red-violet of her hair drank the goldgleam and gave it back in low glimmerings. Gold tracings decorated the four elegant horns that rose crownlike from her head. Her legs ended at the knee, and the fashion prosthetics she'd chosen today were gold as well, wrought with gorgeous, inhuman slenderness. Against the lesser splendor of her attendants, she nearly glowed, as if all that gold had sunk into her very bones and now lit her quietly from within. Her star-marks, a soft skin-scattering of perfect Ilisaf pink, were nearly eclipsed by it.

But it was her eyes that shone brightest: leaf-green, almost luminous, their pupils altered into sideways slits. Orisai fixed those eyes on Orialu as she and Orineimu stepped into the styling room, and though her mother wore a smile, Orialu felt something within her wither.

"You've certainly brought a challenge for our poor stylists, haven't you, pet?" Orisai said lightly. Her eyes flicked over Orialu's bruises before returning to her face. Orialu willed her expression not to change. Bad enough that you showed up like this – don't you go showing weakness in front of Mother on top of it.

Ai Naa's anchor case was in her hand. Orialu rubbed her thumb against the exposed spear shaft and stepped forward.

"At least Syata Kuur was nice enough to not touch my face," Orialu said. She cocked her head and flashed a grin at her mother. "Come on, Neimu," she said, taking her sister's hand, "let's see what Lady Reihala and her helpers can do for us."

Reihala V Ilenuon was Mistress of the Wardrobe; she and her cadre of groomswomen and body servants were charged with attiring members of House Ilisaf in a manner befitting bloodroyalty. Other stylists worked below Lady Reihala, attending lesser members of the Ilisaf court, but the Mistress of the Wardrobe styled Orisai and her daughters herself.

Reihala had long violet-black hair and a long pale face and a long narrow mouth; as Orialu came nearer and Reihala saw her bruises, that mouth drew even narrower still. Oh no, Lady Lipless is displeased. Orialu bit back a smirk. Go ahead, vessel, say something to this bloodroyal's face. I might actually start respecting you if you do. Of course, Reihala said nothing. Radiating pinch-faced disapproval was one thing, but no daughter of a vessel house would dare speak sourly to a bloodroyal, especially not when House Ilisaf's reigning venarch was in that very room. Instead Reihala only looked Orialu up and down with eyes like chips of flint and an unconvincing courtier's smile.

"Violet would complement these nicely, don't you think?" Orialu said brightly, and flexed her right bicep to show off the bruise that had bloomed there. Another spread along her collarbone, a third down her thigh, a fourth over her ribs. Reihala opened her mouth, probably to reply, but Orialu didn't feel like letting her. "Oh, I know, I know," she went on, and resisted, barely, the urge to place one mocking hush-now finger to Reihala's lips. "We've got to conceal, not complement, gods forbid anyone see – "

She felt Orineimu's eyes on her then, and slid a glance her way. Her sister's gaze was wide and wary, flicking first to their mother, then back to Orialu. Just like that, the fun bled out of it. Lady Lipless is one thing, but I'm not looking to upset Neimu, for fuck's sake. Orialu heaved an internal sigh and resolved to be civil, or at least try.

"Violet looks better than magenta on me, anyway," she went on, "and it is one of our secondary colors. I know I can't wear silver, don't worry, I won't even ask. Isn't it a good thing I haven't stacked my third pyre yet? That'll make it so much easier to hide the bruises." Only when Orialu turned twenty-one would she be permitted to wear formal attire that bared her chest, the way her mother and every other grown woman of the Ilisaf court did. "Dark violet, and I'll wear gold like a good Ilisaf. I know you'll have to work some magenta in there somewhere, but don't worry, I'll wear that too." She grinned. "I'll be as ilisaafi as a face like mine allows."

Reihala's smile became a shade more convincing, though she still looked far from happy. Her eyes scanned Orialu's body up and down, assessing.

"The dark violet column skirt with the gold border," Reihala told her subordinates without taking her eyes off Orialu. "Full coverage on the left side, but leave a slit open on the right, otherwise she's like to rip it open." One bruise down, thought Orialu, three to go. "Find a length of silk to match the skirt color, then wrap her from sternum to neck. We should still have a clean waist sash in Ilisaf magenta – use that to hide the bruises along the young mistress's side." Two more left. You can do it, Lady Lipless, I believe in you! "Arm cuffs and a torc should be sufficient to hide the rest of the marks."

Two groomswomen hurried off to find the required items. As they left, Reihala clapped her hands once, and two body servants stepped forward. "You two, assist Lady Orialu in dressing." Orialu moved as if to strip then and there. "Behind the partition," Reihala almost-snapped, then, "If you please. My lady." Orialu heard Orineimu stifle a giggle beside her. Reihala gathered up her dignity and forged onward. "As for young Lady Orineimu…"

Reihala's voice faded as Orialu moved behind the partition to change, tailed by the two body servants the Mistress of the Wardrobe had sent with her. One looked like a younger version of the other; they might have been father and son. Both were pretty in a dark-eyed, serious sort of way, something that Orialu couldn't stop noticing as she busied herself stripping down so that they could re-dress her. Stop thinking with your cunt, she told herself. Arousal was the last thing she ought to be feeling right now. They're here to do a job, that's all. And even if they weren't, Mother's right there on the other side of the partition.

That last thought left her forge good and cold. Orialu fixed it to the front of her mind and fixed her eye dead ahead as the groomswomen arrived with her clothing and the dressers began wrapping her in layers of silk, arms circling her body, hands brushing.

When they were finished, Orialu stepped out from behind the partition and looked herself up and down in one of the dressing room's many floor-to-ceiling mirrors. At least my legs look amazing in this. The leg that shows through the slit, anyway. Orialu was never going to like how she looked in Ilisaf colors, but even she could admit that Reihala had chosen her garments well.

Orineimu walked up behind her in the mirror's reflection; Orialu saw her face light up when she was still a yard away. "We match!" her sister said happily as the two of them stood side by side in the mirror. Reihala had put Orineimu in dark violet as well: a young girl's narrow sheath dress with a floor-length skirt that faded to Ilisaf magenta, cinched at the waist with a gold band.

"Don't we look good and royal?" Orialu put a hand on top of her sister's head and caught herself just before she could muss her hair. "And they're not even fully done with us yet! Come on, let's go join Mother for hair and makeup."

Orisai sat still and composed under the attention of three groomswomen. One was buffing her nails into perfect glassy ovals; another was giving a final polish to the horns modded onto her head, so that they gleamed as if oiled; a third hovered behind her with a web of delicate gold chains tented over her fingers, waiting for the other two to finish so that she could place and pin it in Orisai's dark-magenta hair. Hair that spilled long and free down her back, and Orialu knew Orineimu's would be allowed to do the same, for both her mother and sister had ilisaafi hair: sleek, straight, and utterly biddable, needing nothing but a simple combing and a few drops of kinulilla oil to look perfect. No such luck for Orialu, whose hair was tauhreliili both in color and texture, a thick and wild teal-black mane that was more likely to eat a comb than submit to it.

Get on with it, then, Orialu resisted the urge to say as she sat down in the nearest chair, if only because her mother was seated right beside her. She already knew exactly what the groomswomen would do to her hair: scrape back the top half, exposing her forehead and her stupid tauhreliili widow's peak; pull it all flat against her head; then half-knot it and let it spill down her back with the rest. It was the only way, or so she'd been told since childhood, to get her hair into anything resembling the traditional Ilisaf style.

Hair was easier to endure than makeup, though. Staying still was already hard enough, but now Orialu had to sit with her eyes closed and keep her very face motionless while unseen fingers took her chin in hand, tilted her head this way and that, pulled her skin taut, poked and flicked at her face with pencils and brushes and pigment sticks. It wouldn't be so bad if I were doing this shit myself. And I could, if they'd just let me. Fuck, I know how to work around my own eyepatch better than they do. Orialu clenched the exposed shaft of Ai Naa's anchor in one hand. Oh, but wait, I can't be trusted to do it properly. So instead I've got to sit here while they paint me like a piece of meat –

"Orineimu," said her mother's voice to her left, putting a merciful end to Orialu's current line of thought. "You and your sister have joined me at court before, but today will be different. Can you tell me why that might be?"

Orineimu didn't have to think about it for long.

"Because of Father?"

"State your answers more confidently, darling. Especially when they're correct." Orialu heard a hint of a smile in their mother's voice. "Now, what does your father have to do with why today is different?"

Orineimu had to think about that a little longer. Orialu itched to jump in and answer for her, but she couldn't. This was a test for her sister, not her, and besides, one of the groomswomen was in the middle of painting her lips.

"You've only ever brought me along on…normal court days," Orineimu said. "All this with Father is – different. Special. So court today will be different, too."

"Very good." The smile in Orisai's voice broadened. At the same moment, the groomswomen finished making up Orialu's face, leaving her free again, at least from the neck up. Orialu opened her eye and turned her head to look at her mother, and saw that her mother was already looking at her. Something about her gaze made Orialu want to sit up straighter and square her shoulders. Instead, she made herself keep lounging in her chair as one of the groomswomen went to work on her nails.

"Orialu," her mother said. "Orineimu has kindly told us that today's session will be different, and why. Tell your sister how it will be different."

Orialu was half relieved, for it was a question she could answer easily, and half thrilled, for now was a chance to show her mother that not all her lessons had been taken in vain. That she did try at them, truly, no matter what her teachers seemed to think.

"At regular sessions," she began, "it's all about the petitioners. Vessel and venule ladies, diplomats, guild leaders, all coming so they can ask you to grant them this, allow that, settle this dispute. The press are only there to record what happens. Creating a public record of statecraft and all that." Orisai's smile touched her eyes, which was how Orialu knew that she was getting it right. She pressed on. "But today's session is just for you to talk about Father. About his execution. You're holding it to make a public statement – it's going to be all media, and this time they get to speak to us directly." A sudden suspicion struck her. "You're probably not even going to hold this session in the throne room."

"Oh?" This time the smile in her mother's voice was meant for her. "And where might I hold it, if not there?"

"The Eastern Pavilion," Orialu answered at once. "It's going to be a mob, isn't it? And you'd – we'd never let that many reporters into the throne room at once. Especially not when they have direct-address privileges. The Pavilion is regal enough, but not as formal as the throne room, and it's surrounded by gardens. That makes all this look more…organic." Orialu couldn't help letting out a short laugh. "Like we're having a nice, natural conversation with a couple hundred reporters at once."

"You do understand these things, when you care to," Orisai said. Her words struck Orialu as sharply as a poisoned dart, but the smile she gave her undid some of the hurt.

"Your sister is right, Orineimu," Orisai went on, and just those words were enough to buoy Orialu's spirits a little higher, "to use the word mob. You've seen reporters in the throne room before, but you've never been through a press gauntlet. There are some in this very court who would call me a bad mother for exposing you to such a thing before you've even stacked your second pyre, and I find a part of myself agreeing with them. The gauntlet is a great deal for a young girl to handle."

Orineimu looked at their mother uncertainly. Orialu wanted to go over and hug her, but just then the groomswomen descended on her with jewelry: wide gold armbands inlaid with darkly opalescent dragonbone and inscribed with captive light, a matching torc, gold bangles for her wrists, chains and teardrops for her ears. They were still fitting pieces to her when her mother spoke again.

"I would like to have you with us," Orisai said, "because it is good, in situations such as these, for a family to present a united front. What your father has done has…fractured us. More accurately, it has fractured the world's perception of us. Do you understand, pet?"

Orineimu bit her lip and looked at the floor, then back up at Orisai. "If we all go together…it's better for the family."

Orisai shot a glance at the groomswomen tending to Orineimu. They stepped back at once. With one hand, she beckoned Orineimu to come stand by her.

"What would have been best for this family would be for your father to have committed no crime at all," said Orisai. "But wishing will do us no good here. He's left us an awful mess to clean up, hasn't he?" Orisai placed a hand on her daughter's head and stroked her hair – carefully, so as not to undo the work of the groomswomen. "You joining us at court today would help our family restore face, it's true. Especially since it will be my first public statement on the matter. But I will not force you to come with us, darling. The choice is yours, and yours alone."

Orineimu looked at her mother, and then over at Orialu. She closed her eyes and for a moment only leaned into their mother's touch. Then, at last, she spoke.

"I'll go."

They took an arthrocar, for it was a long walk to the Eastern Pavilion, and Tei Ura was in the midst of a wet year. The car approached silently on dozens of smoothly synchronized insectile legs. Every segment of its high oval-dome carapace was richly carved and painted; as the car drew up before them, one of those segments slid away to allow them inside. The driver appeared at the door and lent a hand first to Orisai and then to each of her daughters as they stepped up into the car. Three groomswomen followed them onboard, to carry their ladies' mist wraps, and to provide any last-minute outfit fixes should the need arise.

"One-way windows," Orialu said to Orineimu as they sat. "We can look out, but they can't look in. Nobody will see you until you're ready to step out of the car, okay?"

The driver had retreated to the car's head compartment and was now seated before the glowing control array wired into its nervous system. At a word from Orisai, he set out for the Pavilion. The car's many legs bore them along so smoothly that, if not for the scenery moving past the windows, Orialu might not have noticed its motion at all.

Orialu heard the press mob before she saw it: a low, almost rhythmic wash of voices that reminded her of waves at low tide. That tide rose as the car drew closer and the crowd came into view; the higher it rose, the more stiffly and nervously Orineimu sat beside her. By the time the car came to a stop, her eyes were wide and fixed dead ahead, her hands clenched into little fists on the seat cushions.

"Hey," Orialu said, and crouched down in front of her sister. Good thing Lady Lipless put me in a slitted skirt, otherwise I might've just ripped it wide open. "Neimu. It's not too late to stay behind. They can't see in, remember?"

"I – " Orineimu's eyes flicked over to where their mother stood, watching. "I said I'd go. So I will."

"Okay," said Orialu. "If you're sure. Are you sure?" Her sister nodded. "You sure you're sure?" Another nod. "You sure you're sure you're sure?" Orineimu smiled faintly and exhaled through her nose. "Okay," Orialu said again. "Come on, then." She stood, then gave her sister a hand up from her seat.

"If you only remember one thing out there, remember this," Orialu went on as the groomswomen helped the three of them don their mist wraps. Orialu's and Orisai's were similar, broad bands of silk so light that it belled and floated upon the air; Orineimu's was smaller and narrower, more ribbon than wrap. "You're only eleven. Legally, nobody should be asking you anything. Some of those people out there might shout stuff at you anyway…but just remember that anybody who does is a dirty, low-down mudsucker who was never worthy of speaking with you in the first place." Orialu's groomswoman twined the ends of her mist wrap about her forearms, securing it in place. "You're bloodroyal. Untouchable. I know it's scary, but you're going out there with armor on, got it?"

"Armored in blood," said Orisai. "Just so. Are you both ready, then?"

"Wait," said Orialu. "One more thing." She reached for Ai Naa's anchor case.

"Darling…" said Orisai, in low and warning tones.

"You're both wearing your anchors," Orialu retorted. "Why shouldn't I bring mine?" Her mother's anchor was a slender gold teardrop, her sister's a chain much like cousin Aitsulilla's. If fate had given Orialu a spear instead, how was that her fault?

"Everyone already knows what my anchor is," she went on, and picked up the spear. "Carrying that case just makes it look like I have something to hide. And aren't we trying to present openness to the masses, here? Honesty? A little salve for your image, after Father murdered all those test subjects when he was supposed to be under your wifely watch?"

At once, she felt the eyes of everyone in the car upon her. Though Orisai's smile never wavered, Orialu knew instantly that she had gone too far. Well, you can't unspeak it, she thought. So instead she looked at her mother, and refused to flinch, and waited.

"It is good to know that my daughter is no coward," Orisai said lightly, her green eyes boring into Orialu's lone gray. "Take the spear, then…but do make sure to keep the blade pointed down. We've come to answer questions, after all, not announce a duel."

I fucking know spear discipline! Orialu wanted to cry out. Do you think I've been learning nothing during my lessons with Syata Kuur? Do you think I'd just use this thing on anyone who looks at me the wrong way?

She wanted to hold the spear upright now, but Kuur had taught her better than that, even if her mother still didn't seem to believe it; and so instead Orialu held the spear lightly, blade down, with the spine facing forward and the sharp edge facing back. Then she reached for Orineimu's hand with her own free one. For a moment, Orialu feared that Orineimu wouldn't take it, but she did, and squeezed tightly. Orialu followed her sister's gaze and saw that she was staring dead ahead, at the crowd of reporters waiting on the other side of the one-way glass.

"Armored in blood," Orialu reminded her, and squeezed her hand back. "And now I'm carrying this, too. Stay close to me, and maybe they'll be too scared of your big sister to say anything to you at all."

She immediately regretted saying it, for it wasn't a promise she could enforce herself; but Orineimu's hand relaxed in hers ever so slightly, and so she couldn't regret it too much.

The door of the arthrocar slid open, and at once a flickering wave of light exploded up and down the waiting crowd: hundreds of cameras and holocorders all flashing at once, each trying to be the first to capture her mother's image, hers, her sister's. A long covered walkway led from the car and wound through the gardens to the Eastern Pavilion. Reporters had crammed themselves into the long slivers of covered space along either side of the walkway, and more spilled out between the columns, and all of them were jostling, craning, staring, staring, staring. The camera flashes slowed, but never stopped, and every movement of Orisai or her daughters set off a fresh wave. Light glanced off jewelry, off lenses, off eyes, off wet teeth in open babbling mouths.

The three of them started forward, Orisai leading the way, Orialu just behind her with Orineimu at her side. Her sister held her hand tighter than ever as waves of voices battered them from both sides.

"Your Radiance! I beg you, look this way – "

"Venarch Orisai! What do you have to say about – "

It was easy enough for Orialu to ignore the cries; harder to ignore was the red pulse lurking just below her other five senses, which told her of the gallons of blood coursing through the bodies packed tightly about her, and of their hundreds of beating hearts.

I tried to eat last night, Orialu thought, and kept walking forward, kept a grin on her face, even as her mind wrenched with the effort of repressing Ai Naa's hunger. I gave you flesh, and you wasted it all. You can just fucking starve for now –

"Orineimu! Young Lady Orineimu!"

The cry cut through the roar in Orialu's ears, through the fog of red hunger. She whirled before she could stop herself, trying to pin down where it had come from. The press mob fell to a hush, its eyes and lenses trained on her as one, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Who called to my sister?" she asked. In the sudden quiet, she barely had to raise her voice.

Of course, no one stepped forth to admit it.

"The rest of you can hide that person among yourselves, if you want," Orialu went on. "Or you can push them forward, and prove yourselves better."

The crowd rippled, struggled, and finally spat forth a lone reporter with long deep-green hair and eyes wide with fear. She half-stumbled up to the barricade, then clutched it, as if gripping it tight enough could protect her from whatever happened next.

But before Orialu could say or do anything, she felt her mother's presence behind her, followed an instant later by her hand on Orialu's shoulder.

"Identify yourself," said Orisai, softly, smiling, golden.

"Attari Ila," the reporter said. Orialu watched her throat bob as she swallowed. "If it – if it please Your Radiance."

"And which publication do you represent today, Miss Ila?"

"An institution of glowing repute, surely," said Orisai.

Attari seemed to be trying to flush and go pale at the same time. It made her skin look strangely curdled.

"Perhaps, Miss Ila," Orisai went on, "you might recite for us House Ilisaf's Nineteenth Edict on the Rights of the Child? In technical or layman's terms, as you prefer."

"A child under fourteen may not have her voice or likeness recorded, transcribed, or otherwise reproduced without the express prior permission of that child's parent or legal guardian," said Attari in a thin dead voice. "Unless the child – unless the child presents herself for such of her own volition. Without first being solicited."

"Aahh," said Orisai, her smile broadening, and Orialu saw Attari shiver. "My presence here does, of course, confer permission to photograph my daughter…but had I given you permission to speak to her, Miss Ila? How strange, for that to have slipped my mind."

"Your Radiance," said Attari through lips that barely moved, "please – I was compelled…"

Compelled?

Whispers fluttered through the crowd. The black and hungry lenses of the cameras bore down harder than ever before. With a sudden dread, Orialu glanced down at Orineimu, still and silent at her side. The look on her sister's face made her wish she'd said nothing to Attari at all.

"Since it was my heir who noticed you," Orisai was saying, "I believe I shall let her decide how best to handle this…transgression. Orialu?"

Compelled. The word echoed in her head. By who? By anyone? She could be lying. Saying whatever she can think of to save her own skin. But there was no way Orialu could know that, not when all she had to go on was Attari's words alone. And if she's not lying…

"You broke the law," said Orialu, pitching her voice so everyone could hear. Diction, remember your diction. "Soliciting an underage bloodroyal, my younger sister, on today of all days…" She found she couldn't finish her sentence, for thinking any further down that path only led her to visions of striking off Attari's head with her spear. It was Ai Naa's hunger speaking through her anger, she knew, she knew, but that didn't make the thoughts any less dangerous.

"I can't tell you how that really makes me feel without getting indecorous," Orialu went on. "My instincts say to punish you. And yet: what kind of ruler lets her feelings obstruct justice?" Attari stared up at her, and up. Orialu kept forgetting how much shorter commoners were until she was surrounded by them. "For justice, you need truth. For truth, you need information. We'll have that from you, Ila. It's the least you can do after accosting my sister. Guards?"

Two Ilisaf household guards stepped forth from their places among the press mob, so that Attari couldn't escape into the crowd even if she'd been of a mind to try. Two more guards lit down from the rafters of the covered walkway. Now that's just overkill, thought Orialu, but she couldn't deny that it was a useful bit of security theater.

"Secure Miss Ila a place in our guest quarters," Orialu told them, "and see to it that she has every comfort. Permit no harm to come to her so long as she enjoys House Ilisaf's hospitality, is that understood?"

The guards dipped their heads as one, acknowledging her command, and escorted Attari away. Orialu had barely a heartbeat to process everything that had just happened before her mother's voice set everything into motion again.

"A most regrettable interruption," she said, "but we may be thankful that my daughter handled it well." Though her smile was directed at Orialu, it was meant for the crowd. Cameras flashed. "Shall we resume?"

At some point during the confrontation, Orineimu's hand had slipped from Orialu's. As they followed their mother along the path to the pavilion, Orialu wanted to reach for it again, until she recalled the look on her sister's face from earlier. What if she doesn't take it? What if she's mad at me? The idea of Orineimu refusing to take her hand while hundreds of cameras looked on was more than Orialu could stomach. She's your sister, another part of Orialu countered. You should try anyway. But if Orineimu refused her hand while the cameras watched, then Orialu could see the raglines already: Schism Between Sisters!, or perhaps House Ilisaf's Next Generation Divided?, or maybe something more straightforward, like Orialu VII Ilisaf Was Trying To Protect Her Sister but Fucked It All up Because She's an Idiot With Bloodclots for Brains.

Even that wasn't enough to kill off the feeling that she ought to reach for Orineimu's hand; but by the time Orialu finally worked up the nerve to try, they had already reached the Eastern Pavilion.

The floor of the pavilion was pale bluestone veined with red. The rest was all carved glass and crystal, chased in gold, with intricate columns leading up to a high, vaulted roof. Even on this overcast day, the pavilion glittered quietly. On a sunny day, Orialu knew, it would glow like an illuminated jewel, flaring many-colored brilliance against the gardens in which it nestled and flooding the space under the pavilion with rainbow light.

But today, only faint shards of iridescence filtered through the crystal roof as Orialu, Orineimu, and Orisai took their seats. Next came the reporters who had been selected to stand with them beneath the pavilion; half of them had been chosen by Orisai's media coordinator, the other half by lottery. Orialu watched them file in, line by line, and wondered how many would speak to her before court was done. Of the reporters who hadn't been influential or lucky enough to win a place under the pavilion, some left, but most of them stayed and gathered about the pavilion in a thick and ragged circle, finding places for themselves along the garden paths and clearings.

"Our sincerest thanks to all of you," said Orisai, "for joining us here today." Cameras tracked her every movement in a glittering wave. "The time we may spend here is sadly limited, and I'm sure the same is true for all of you. Furthermore, I'm sure everyone has been thinking quite hard about what to ask us…and I would so hate to steal the questions from your very mouths with some dry opening statement." Orisai's smile was somehow coy and brilliant all at once. "For this reason, I shall begin taking questions immediately, as shall my heir." Oh, shall I? thought Orialu, but she said nothing. "In the interest of fairness, we shall begin with one who has been chosen by lottery, then alternate. If my guards would be so kind as to bring forward the first questioner…"

The first questioner named herself as Aliaura II Alir. Orialu recognized her family name, for Alir was a venule house suppliant to House Ara'el, itself a vessel house suppliant to House Ilisaf. She recognized Aliaura's first name, too. Aliaura was the face and owner of Breaking Fast, one of the most popular solo morning news streams on Tei Ura.

In the interest of fairness. It was all Orialu could do not to roll her lone eye. She would have bet all the gold she'd ever worn that Orisai had memorized the list of reporters granted pavilion access. Chosen by lottery, sure, right, uh-huh. Whatever. Mother still gets to hand-pick them in the end.

"Your Radiance," said Aliaura, and bowed. Her hair was a shade of dusty violet just bright enough that Orialu couldn't be sure if it was natural or lightened. "As the first to question you, I believe it fitting to ask: what did you first feel, when you heard of your royal husband's doings?"

The crowd murmured. Orialu distinctly heard someone whisper, "I wanted to ask that!", and had to clench her jaw to keep from laughing.

"Disbelief," Orisai declared. "The man I married was quiet, calm, rational…and, above all, dedicated to his research. How could he not know the price of his actions?" Orisai's face showed faint traces of pain and puzzlement, as if she were trying not to let slip the true depth of her feelings. Orialu watched, envious, wishing she could school her own features so finely. "Death awaits my husband now, deservedly so. But even if our justices had shown him mercy, his crimes would still have been enough to bar him from every laboratory on Tei Ura for the rest of his life. He would never have been permitted to so much as hold a scalpel again. If you knew my husband as I do, Lady Aliaura – the idea of Vene willfully jeopardizing his ability to do what he loved best – even now, I struggle to understand it."

"But of course, that was five weeks ago," said Aliaura. "Have your feelings changed since then?"

“It shames me to admit that I still do not understand my husband’s actions, even now,” said Orisai. “But other feelings have since developed, yes. I cannot help a certain measure of anger – for making me a widow so soon, for abandoning our daughters. For sullying the good name of his mother’s house, and of mine. More than anger, though, I feel a great sense of loss. Vene and I might have had more children, we might have grown old together…and no matter what else my husband has done, no one can deny that he possessed an unparalleled talent for sciences of the flesh. He might have made an immortal name for himself through his work." Orisai lowered her gaze briefly, then looked back up to Aliaura. "All of that is impossible, now."

"I am sorry if my questions have caused you grief, Your Radiance."

"You need not apologize, Lady Aliaura. It is my husband's murders that cause me grief. As his wife, answering for them is the least that I can do." Orisai smiled forgiveness down upon Aliaura. "If you have any questions for my heir, you may ask them now. Otherwise, I must regretfully ask that you step aside and make room for our next questioner."

Pulling me in already, are we? Oh, no, don't bother asking me first, it's fine. Even so, Orialu had to admit that she'd rather answer some questions of her own than just sit and listen.

Aliaura looked over at Orialu with a smile on her lips and appraisal in her brown eyes. Orialu could almost see her calculating before she spoke.

"If losing a husband is hard, losing a father is even harder," said Aliaura. "For that, you and your younger sister have my deepest sympathies. Might I trouble you, Lady Orialu, to tell me your own feelings on your royal father's actions?"

Now it was Orialu's turn to take a moment to calculate. After all, telling Aliaura how she really felt would have required an unacceptable number of curse words.

"If my mother feels a certain measure of anger, then I feel a great deal." Orialu's fingers tightened around the shaft of her spear, now laid across her lap. "How could he? That's the question that keeps coming to me, over and over. How could he? Did he never think of me? Of my sister? Of our mother, of his family, of anything but himself?" Orialu paused and made herself take a measured breath. "I almost feel worse for my father's family than I do for my own. Tauhreliili has always been a double-edged word, hasn't it? Sometimes it means brilliant, sometimes it means insane. After what my father's done, I can't help fearing more people will start using it to mean the latter."

As always, having all those eyes and cameras trained on her made Orialu want to keep talking – make everyone keep watching her, keep listening to her – but she stopped herself there. The question had been answered, and they could only give the press mob so much of their time.

Next after Aliaura was a pretty male reporter with sharp cool eyes and ink-black hair. Orialu listened to him give his name as Liaatsa IV Tellur with the Glittering Record, a major Opaline City paper.

"I do beg Her Radiance's forgiveness if my question sounds like accusal," Liaatsa said, after arranging his features into something suitably demure. "Yet it is a question shared by so many that I must ask. Venarch Orisai, as Vene Ilisaf ni Tauhrelil's wife – as head of the family to which he belonged – did you suspect nothing to be amiss?"

"There are some who might indeed take those words as accusal," Orisai replied, her sideways-slitted green eyes trained keenly upon Liaatsa. "Yet you are right to ask, Tellur. Similar questions have plagued my own mind these past few weeks. Even now, my last thought before falling asleep and my first upon waking are identical: How? How could I not have known?" Orisai touched her fingertips lightly to the base of her own throat, as if to suggest a sudden upwelling of emotion. After a moment, she spoke on. "What you must understand is that both my husband and I chose careers which made intense demands upon our time. Furthermore, my work took me between this court and the Opaline City, while Vene worked from his laboratory. We did not see each other as often as I might have liked…"

Only the knowledge that her mother would have her head for it kept Orialu from letting out a derisive laugh. That's sure an elegant way of saying that you saw each other maybe twice a year. Her father had lived in his laboratory, only emerging when Orisai could coax him out to keep up appearances. As Orialu had grown older, those appearances had become ever fewer, and at some point they had simply stopped.

"…I had, in fact, hired someone specifically to keep me appraised of my husband's actions," Orisai was saying. "After a certain point, that person began sending falsified reports. The investigation believes that she might have done so out of fear for her own life, for which I cannot blame her. In fact, the only person I feel I can truly blame is myself. Had I known that Vene would make that laboratory into his charnel pit, I would never have financed its construction."

"It was a terrible shock to us all," Liaatsa said. "But Venarch, this correspondent you mentioned – might she be…?"

"How I wish I could give you the answer you seek," said Orisai. "But the reports told it truly, Tellur: the only one left alive in that laboratory was my husband. At the very least, his death will mark the end of this ugly affair."

For a moment, Orialu hoped that Liaatsa might ask her a question, too, but he bowed and departed without looking her way. Only interested in Mother, are you, Tellur? Oh, well, you and everyone else.

When the next questioner introduced herself as Tsieru I Terremaut, Orialu sat forward. Grandfather Visaya's house? Tsieru bore traces of the same fragile beauty that Grandfather Visaya had passed on to Vene, but while that kind of delicacy was pretty on a man, all it did for Tsieru was make her look a little sickly. Even so, her posture was knife-straight, her face set and determined.

"Venarch Orisai," Tsieru said, and bowed. "I come on behalf of Her Wisdom Virieh, whose present concerns require her to remain at the Nightglass Tower." She straightened and allowed her gaze to meet Orisai's. "My venarch sends her deepest regrets that she has yet to visit you in person, and further regrets that she has had to send this humble vessel to speak with you today. She hopes that you may find it in your heart to forgive her. The aftermath of this recent affair has kept Lady Virieh, and all of House Tauhrelil, tied close to home. Investigations, reparations…funerals."

Whispers flitted through the crowd. Everyone knew that Vene's corpse count included some of his own blood – after all, there was no such thing as a lab that contained only one Tauhrelil – but knowing was one thing. To hear it admitted aloud, even obliquely, was quite another, and had the same effect as stirring the embers of a fire.

"It is the hope of my venarch, and of us all," Tsieru went on, "that one tainted cell has not tarnished your view of the body entire. The bond between House Ilisaf and House Tauhrelil is one treasured by every member of our court. To lose it, all from the actions of a single Tauhrelil, would only deepen Lady Virieh's grief."

Silence reigned. All eyes rested on Orisai, Orialu's included.

"Oh, Lady Tsieru," said Orisai, gently.

Then she rose from her seat. For a moment, she stood still before it. Unity, thought Orialu. Cohesion. She rose to stand just behind her mother, and breathed an internal sigh of relief when she caught a sidelong glimpse of Orineimu doing the same. As soon as Orialu and Orineimu were standing, Orisai led them to close the distance between the three of them and Tsieru.

"My marriage to Vene was more than a union between two individuals," said Orisai. "When I married him, I married House Ilisaf to House Tauhrelil as well.

"I know decorum prevents you from asking directly as to the future of the relationship between my house and Lady Virieh's." Orialu couldn't see her mother's face, but she could see the motion as Orisai took Tsieru's hands in hers. "Even my voicing it for you is rather crude, it's true…but I want there to be absolutely no ambiguity as to my feelings."

From over her mother's shoulder, Orialu could see Tsieru's pale green star-marks flicker, bright-brighter-bright. She could see Tsieru's black eyes widen. She could, thanks to Ai Naa, sense the rapid fluttering of Tsieru's pulse.

"Let me show you, Lady Tsieru," said Orisai, as she moved one hand to Tsieru's waist and used the other to tip the vessel lady's face up towards hers, "how House Ilisaf feels towards House Tauhrelil."

And then Orisai kissed Tsieru softly on the mouth.

It was a short kiss, and chaste – a perfectly courtly kiss – but it had its intended effect on the crowd. Applause broke out: muted and respectful under the pavilion, wilder from those who watched at a distance. Out in the gardens, a few dared to whistle. As the noise died down, Orisai stepped back from Tsieru and raised her head high. She had a trick of making it seem to a crowd as if she were looking all of them in the eye at once, and though Orialu still couldn't see her mother's face, she was certain Orisai was using that trick now.

"This tragedy will not divide us," Orisai proclaimed, to Tsieru, to all the court. "Bring this message back to your venarch, Lady Tsieru…and inform her that we would be honored if House Tauhrelil were to sit in solidarity with House Ilisaf at my husband's execution."

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