She offered him a slight smile. “I don’t think so.”
He nodded. “You’d know better than I. Personally I’m hoping that my application for a transfer to Hy-Oso comes through within the next few days.”
“Hy-Oso’s a long way out,” Sula commented.
“Bankers must go where the money goes. And a lot of the money is leaving Zanshaa.” He touched the desktop, and new lights burned in its surface. “To open the new account we’ll need your signature, a password, and the print of yourleft thumb.”
Sula complied and bade Wesley Weckman a pleasant farewell. As she left the bank and stepped into the bright spring sunshine, she felt the tension that had followed her for years fall away from her like a long wave.
For she was not, of course, the real Caroline Sula. Lady Sula had died in murky circumstances on Spannan years ago, and another, a girl named Gredel, had stepped into her place hoping that the circumstances would remain forever murky.
And that other, having burned away the thumbprint that threatened to betray her identity, was now in possession of the real Lady Sula’s money.
And now the woman called Caroline Sula, decorated and celebrated and now of modest fortune, passed down the sloping street. The touch of the sunlight caused her to smile, and the fresh air of spring, so unlike the canned air of theDelhi, to exult.
Sula walked along the Boulevard of the Praxis, past the famous statue of The Great Master Delivering the Praxis to Other Peoples. Over the prow-shaped head of the Shaa, his arm thrusting out a tablet with the text of the Universal Law graven upon it, was an accidental halo, the thin silver arc of Zanshaa’s accelerator ring, brilliant in the dark green sky, the same viridian shade as Sula’s uniform tunic.
Sula continued past the statue to the ornate mass of the Chen Palace, all mellow beige stone and the strange winged gables of the Nayanid style, separated from the street by a narrow, geometrically perfect formal garden. Sula rang the bell, then gave the footman her name and asked for Lady Terza Chen. Sula waited in a drawing room and examined an exquisite porcelain swan while the footman queried to see if Lady Terza was present.
Lady Terza, the daughter and heir of Lord Chen, had been engaged to Lord Durward’s son and Sula’s captain, Lord Richard Li, killed at Magaria. The Li family had once been clients of the Sulas, but after the fall of Lord Sula had become clients of the Chens instead. Both the Lis and the Chens had been kind to Sula, presumed a penniless, friendless Peer who had endured disgrace and the hideous execution of her parents.
She turned at the sound of a quiet step, and saw Terza enter. The heiress of Clan Chen was tall and slim, with wide almond eyes and beautiful black hair that poured past her shoulders like a lustrous river of sable. She wore soft gray trousers and a pale blouse, and over that a short dark jacket with white mourning ribbon threaded among the frills and fringe.
Terza walked toward Sula with an unhurried grace that spoke of centuries of quiet breeding, and reached out a hand to clasp Sula’s own.
“Lady Sula.” Her voice was low and liquid, and it floated in the air like a soothing incense. “It’s wonderful that you’ve come. You must be so busy.”
“I’m on leave, actually. I wanted to express my condolences over the death of Lord Captain Li.”
There was a subtle shift in Lady Terza’s eyes, and her mouth tautened slightly. “Yes,” she said, “thank you.” She took Sula’s arm. “Shall we go to the garden?”
“Certainly.”
They walked over echoing marble floors. “Shall I ring for tea? Or wine?”
“Tea please.”
“Oh—” Terza was startled. “I forgot you don’t drink. Sorry.”
“That’s all right.” She patted the arm that held hers. “No need to remember everything. That’s why we have computers.”
The garden was in the center of the great quadrangle that was the palace, overhung by the winged gables of the main building and featuring a gazebo of glittering crystal facets. Spring flowers—tulips, tougama, lu-doi—were arranged in bright patterns and rows, separated by neat ankle-high hedges. The still air was heavy with the scent of blossoms. Since the day was warm, Terza avoided the gazebo and chose a table that consisted of a single long strand of brass-colored alloy artfully woven into a series of spirals. She and Sula sat on chairs similarly constructed: Sula found hers springy but comfortable. Terza ordered tea with her personal communicator.
Sula looked at her and wondered where to begin.I saw your fiance die , though typical of her style, was nonetheless an awkward opening. Fortunately Terza knew a more suitable way into the conversation.
“I’ve saw you on video,” she said. “I know my father wanted to be present at the ceremony, but there was an important vote coming up in the Convocation.”
“Tell him I appreciate the thought.”
“And let me offer my congratulations as well.” Her cool eyes glanced at the Nebula ribbon on Sula’s tunic, with its flashing little diamond. “I’m sure it’s well deserved. My father tells me that what you did was actually quite spectacular.”
“I was lucky,” Sula said, shrugging. “Others weren’t.” Then, feeling she’d been too blunt, she added, “At least death is quick, in battle. No one onDauntless would have felt a thing. I saw it happen and…well, it was fast.”
And that, too, was too blunt, though Terza seemed to take it well enough.
“I heard from Lord Durward that you called to give him your condolences,” she said. “That was good of you.”
“He was kind to me.” She looked at Terza. “So were you.”
Terza dismissed the compliment with a wave of her elegant hand. “You were Richard’s friend from childhood. I did nothing, really, but welcome you as one of his friends.”
But for someone, like Sula, who for so many years had no real friends—and who was not in any case the same human being Lord Richard remembered from childhood—the gesture had called forth astounded, unforgettable gratitude.
“Lord Richard was good to me as well,” Sula said. “He would have given me a lieutenancy if he could—and maybe I’m not wrong if I think that was your idea.”
Terza glanced toward a spray of purple blossoms near her right hand. “Richard would have thought of it if I hadn’t.”
“He was a good captain,” Sula said. “His crew liked him. He looked after us, and he talked to everybody. He was very good at keeping the crew cheerful and at their work.”And his eyes crinkled nicely when he smiled .
“Thank you,” Terza said softly, her eyes still cast down. A servant came with the tea and departed. The scent of jasmine floated from the cups—venerable Gemmelware, she noticed, centuries old, with a pattern of bay leaves.
“How is Lady Amita?” Terza asked, referring to Lord Durward’s wife.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see her.”
“She’s prostrate, I understand. Richard was her only child. She hasn’t been seen since his death.” Terza looked away. “She knows that Lord Durward’s father will expect him to divorce her and remarry, so that he can father another heir.”
“He could hire a surrogate,” Sula said.
“Not in a family that traditional. No. It would have to be a natural birth.”
“That’s sad.”
There was a moment of silence while Sula looked with appreciation at the cup and saucer as she raised them in her hands. Jasmine rose to her nostrils. She tasted the tea, and subtle pleasure danced a slow measure along her tongue.
“The Li family is leaving Zanshaa,” Sula said. “Going into the Serpent’s Tail.”
“To be safe, I suppose,” Terza said simply. “A lot of people are going. The summer season in the High City is going to be dull.”
Sula looked at her. “You’re not leaving?”
Terza gave a movement of her shoulders too subtle to properly be called a shrug. “My father has taken a little too…prominenta part in resisting the Naxids. He knocked down the Lord Senior, you know, in Convocation. He
