“You’d better stay here tonight,” Sula said. She turned to leave, and then halted. “I’m sorry to be so abrupt,” she said. “You got to know me when I was on the Parkhurst, on what amounted to a vacation. But now the vacation is over, my life is busy, and I’ll look forward to relaxing with you as soon as I can. Tonight, I hope.”

  Tonight might be the last chance to relax for some time, because she knew that tomorrow everything was going to change. Corona would berth on the ring and disembark Roland, Terza, Ming Lin, Lady Koridun, and the others who made up the guiding committee of the Restoration. There would be a formal arrival and ceremony at the Wi-hun airport, where the government of the Restoration would formally resign their posts to Lord Saïd, and hand over the Restoration archives.

  Not that any of this would stop Roland from telling Sula what to do, of course.

  Martinez woke with a start. His senses were drenched with Sula’s scent, her Sandama Twilight perfume. For a moment he stared wildly into the darkness, heart racing, his mind struggling to anchor itself in time. Was he with Sula? Aboard a ship perhaps?

  Terza placed a cool hand on his shoulder. “Gareth? Are you all right?”

  Sandama Twilight began to fade from his senses. “Yes,” he said. “I had a—a falling dream.”

  Falling head over heels, he thought. True enough.

  “Landed right on my face,” Martinez said. Which was also true.

  “You’re all right now?” Terza asked.

  “Nonii. Sorry I woke you.”

  Terza turned on her side, her hand still brushing his shoulder. Her breathing deepened, and Martinez presumed she was asleep.

  His own sleep was more elusive. His day had been full, and the next day would be busy.

  Clouds had darkened the ceremony at Wi-hun and scattered showers pelted the participants. Martinez had worn a uniform cap and overcoat and felt superior to those who hadn’t. Lord Saïd, wearing the scarlet brocade cloak of the Lord Senior, accepted the resignation of the leaders of the Restoration, and he and Roland and a great many others felt the necessity of marking the occasion with boring speeches. Martinez, watching while rain spattered the brim of his cap, could picture Sula viewing the ceremony on video and laughing herself sick.

  After the ceremony Martinez was reunited with his family. His heart swelled to bursting as he saw Gareth the Younger running through the puddles to embrace him, and he picked up his son and held him close.

  “Salutations, Progenitor,” Chai-chai said.

  “Salutations,” Martinez responded, and buried his face in his son’s dark hair.

  Through strands of hair, he watched Terza approach, walking slowly and with her usual unearthly tranquility. She was wrapped in a rain-spangled belted coat, carried an umbrella, and looked absolutely superb.

  Who brings an umbrella on an orbital shuttle? he wondered. Only Terza. Because she checked the weather, to make sure Chai-chai was dressed appropriately, and no one else bothered.

  Martinez threw out an arm to gather Terza into the family embrace. She kissed his cheek, and he inhaled the vetiver scent of her perfume. “Let’s go home,” he said.

  When they arrived, Gareth the Younger dashed through the house, taking stock. He delighted in the familiar furniture and fixtures, but was taken aback by how few of his own possessions remained. His clothing, his toys, and his stack of drawings were all missing.

  “You’ll have to go shopping,” Martinez said. He turned to Terza. “And you, too, I imagine.”

  “I’m so heavily scheduled I don’t know when I’ll have time,” Terza said. “Fortunately, our baggage is coming down the elevator and will be arriving in two days. We brought enough with us to last until then.” She walked through the parlor, noting the devastation that had been wrought on her interior design by Lord Dop. “It’s all reparable,” she said. “Though I wish I had time.”

  “Hire someone,” Martinez said. “Then if it goes wrong, you’ll have someone to blame.”

  Mpanza served supper to the three of them that night. Martinez watched with interest as Terza and young Gareth tasted Mangahas’s cooking for the first time, a stew of vegetables, pork, fish, and shellfish served over rice in a sour sauce flavored with fruit. Chai-chai was enthusiastic, but Terza’s response was more measured.

  “That’s a new taste, isn’t it?” she said. “Very complex. I wonder what sort of wine goes with it.”

  “Let’s open a few bottles and find out,” Martinez said.

  They opened only a single bottle and Terza seemed to think it complimented the stew very well. To Martinez it tasted like wine.

  After young Gareth was sent to bed, Terza and Martinez returned to the parlor and sat on a sofa. He put his arm around her, and she rested her cheek on his shoulder.

  He felt as awkward as he had when they were first engaged, hustled by Roland into marriage when Terza was still mourning a fiancé killed in battle, and he was in shreds from his breakup with Sula.

  Not that he wasn’t in shreds now, of course.

  “It’s been over a year and a half, hasn’t it?” Terza said. “Since we’ve seen each other in person?”

  “Yes,” Martinez said. “But at least we could send video messages to each other. Not like the last war, when we were out of touch for so long.”

  Terza held a wineglass in her hand, with the last of the ruby-red wine gleaming in its crystal embrace. She swirled the wine, brought it to her lips, and drank it off. She put the glass on a side table, then leaned toward Martinez and kissed his cheek. He turned to her and tasted the wine on her lips.

  “You aren’t tired?” he asked.

  “Some things are worth staying awake for,” she said.

  He took his beautiful wife to bed. The awkwardness he felt did not entirely disappear, in part because he couldn’t quite imagine what he wanted—but since he didn’t know what might please him, he set himself to pleasing Terza, and eventually her fire kindled his, and his unease faded beneath a torrent of purest carnality. Afterward, he and Terza fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Until Sula’s perfume crept into his senses and blasted his sleep to bits.

  Chapter 14

  Severin sat in the small visitor’s gallery and looked down into the Convocation, a covered amphitheater with rows of rising, concentric desks, all focused at the dais from which the Lord Senior conducted the business of the assembly. Severin could see Roland Martinez and Lady Sula below, in their wine-red convocates’ jackets, waiting for the session to begin.

  A surprising number of the desks were empty. Sula had been doing an excellent job of driving out selected convocates, particularly after the first few sessions of the Court of Honor. Lord Saïd had packed the court with convocates who had suffered under the Gruum administration, and these had led the assault against the accused while Sula confined herself to the role of moderator. In the end, the accused suffered public humiliation and lost their seats anyway. Some left the chamber only to be arrested by police waiting outside the doors.

  After this, there were a lot of resignations and no more hearings. Some convocates resigned before they were even interviewed, and those interviewed submitted their resignations meekly.

  Which meant that there were now plenty of seats to be filled by newcomers like Severin. He looked left and right in the small gallery and saw Gareth Martinez and Naaz Vijana, each wearing full dress, waiting for their nomination by the Lord Senior. Most of the new appointees were Terran, though not all: the Torminel Lady Koridun and the Daimong officer Rivven were among them. Koridun, at twenty-five, would be the youngest member of the Convocation.

  The selection of convocates was not by the choice of those they would govern, because such an election might produce an incorrect result. Only the Convocation could decide who was worthy to be a convocate, and the selection was made by co-option, with the full Convocation assembled for the purpose of approving its new members.

  Usually this was done one appointee at a time, but Lord Saïd was bringing all thirty-odd candidates to a vote all at the same moment. He had also filled his government with provisional appointments that the Convocation were expected to approve. Gareth Martinez and Squadron Commander Rivven were appointed to the Fleet Control Board, and were working on a plan to bring the Fleet back to full strength. Sula, in addition to chairing the Court of Honor, had been appointed to the Promotions Subcommittee, where she would approve—or not—the advancement of every officer in the Fleet.

  Terza Chen now headed the Ministry of Right and Dominion, the civilian ministry that supported the Fleet; and Roland Martinez was in charge of the Ministry of Finance, and of the recovery following the economic catastrophe of the last few years.

  Their appointments would be approved by the full Convocation in time, but in the meantime they were already busy with their departments.

  Severin was surprised that Wei Jian wasn’t going to become a convocate. It was probably a good decision—Jian would never make a politician—but it meant that she was now able to devote herself full-time to interfering in the Fleet and raising the blood pressure of juniors like Sula and Martinez.

  Severin himself had been appointed acting head of the Exploration Service and was facing decisions about how to recover from the losses of war. Fortunately, the Service had lost a much smaller percentage of its vessels than the Fleet, partly because many of the ships had been on missions of exploration, and partly because Tork had wanted to achieve victory with the Fleet alone.

  Severin gazed past the Lord Senior’s dais to the tall glass windows that looked out onto the terrace and, beyond the low stone wall that marked the edge of the High City escarpment, the Lower Town that extended all the way to the horizon. Dark gray clouds swirled overhead, and the first snowflakes of winter were drifting to land on the terrace. Guards—military constables—patrolled the outside, rifle barrels directed at the ground until such time as saboteurs or criminals turned up. The constables were Terran, and Severin wondered what members of other species saw as they watched the guards pacing up and down—was it an armed threat? The advanced guard of a newly dominant species? Did they think the guns would be pointed at a threat outside, or aimed at them?

  Severin viewed the great amphitheater again and pictured it in ruins, the hangings afire, the windows shattered, the desks collapsed under rubble. He found the image pleasing.

  It was like his patchwork-quilt tactics. Probe here, probe there, eventually you will find the other side’s keystone. Remove that, and their defense would go to pieces.

  Everything was a feint until it wasn’t. And by then it would be too late.

  The windows dimmed, and spotlights lit the Lord Senior’s dais. The sergeant-at-arms entered in his elaborate uniform, rang a handbell, and called for order. “All hear the Lord Senior!” he called.

  Lord Saïd entered, his frail form shrouded in the heavy cloak of scarlet brocade. He walked to stand behind his desk and raised the long copper wand he used to control the assembly.

  “I am honored to bring this assembly into session,” he said.

  There followed an automated roll call, assuring that a quorum was present, and then the sergeant-at-arms again rang his bell.

  “Attend the Lord Senior!” he called.

  “I hope the distinguished convocates will forgive me,” Saïd said, “but I am postponing the other business of this assembly in order to introduce a recommendation from the Credentials Committee concerning the co-option of new members. The distinguished convocates will find the Credentials Committee report on their screens. Is there any discussion of the matter?”

  There was not. Anyone who misliked the clutch of nobodies and climbers nominated for co-option was either staying away or keeping silent. There had been many opportunities for convocates to practice cowardice in the Gruum administration, and apparently the habit would continue.

  Once the committee’s recommendations had actually been accepted, however, the assembly’s tongues were loosened. One convocate after another rose to congratulate the newcomers on their appointments and to express confidence that their wisdom and sagacity would lead the empire into a new era of peace and prosperity.

  Wisdom? Severin thought. Well, at least I’m wiser than most of them.

  Afterward there was a reception for the new arrivals. The new-minted convocates mixed with a few hundred of their seniors in a plush meeting room with red velvet hangings and brass fixtures. Bottles glittered under spotlights behind the bar. Severin found himself a pale silver wine from Cavado and drifted through the room until he was approached by a Lai-own named Par-kai, who said she was chairman of the Protocol Committee.

  “Now that you’ve been co-opted,” she said, “we’ll have to make certain that you’re raised to the Order of Peers as soon as possible.”

  “No, but thank you,” Severin said. “I plan to remain a commoner.”

  Par-kai blinked her large golden eyes. “Are you certain? You would be the only commoner in the assembly. Some people might consider your position insupportable.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Severin said.

  “If you’d allow me to suggest . . .”

  “Thank you,” Severin said, “but if you’ll excuse me, I have urgent business with Lord Roland.”

  Roland had just entered with his brother-in-law and fellow convocate Lord Oda Yoshitoshi. Severin approached and offered greetings.

  “Congratulations, Squadron Commander,” said Lord Oda. He was a distinguished older man with a shock of black hair going white at the temples, and his manner mingled assurance with nonchalance, a combination made easier by the centuries of breeding that had produced him.

  “Thank you, Lord Oda,” Severin said.

  “Do you have your committee assignments yet?” Oda asked.

  Severin smiled. “Yes, I do. I’ll be chairing the Committee for Exploration and Planetary Settlement, and also the Committee for Ancient Monuments.”

  Roland was amused. “That should help you move forward with your various projects,” he said. “Though I’m not sure if the entire world of Lorkin can be considered an ancient monument.”

  “It’s clearly a monument to something,” Severin said, “but to what? That’s the question.”

  Oda nodded thoughtfully. “The Lord Senior must trust you a great deal to offer you two committee chairs.”

  “They fall within my specializations,” Severin said. “My knowledge is narrow but extremely deep.”

  Oda was amused by this self-assessment. “I’m glad the assignments suit,” he said. “They so often don’t—for years I was stuck on the Meteorology Committee, and I had nothing to do with weather on this or any other world, and nothing to contribute.”

  “I suppose your current assignments are more to your taste?”

  “Oh yes. I’m on Transportation, and also Broadcasting, Media, and Censorship.” The latter of which would enable him to help his wife, Vipsania, Roland’s oldest sister, who headed his family’s possession Imperial Broadcasting.

  “But I’ll soon be promoted,” Oda said. “I’ll be leaving the Transportation Committee to become minister for Transportation.”

  “Congratulations, my lord,” Severin said. Oda would be in charge of rebuilding the transportation networks severed by the war and would be in a position to award contracts, make appointments, and keep a good deal of commerce under his thumb.

  Oda smiled. “My young nieces and nephews won’t forgive me if I don’t ask when we might expect another puppet serial,” he said.

  Severin laughed. “If Ancient Monuments can spare me the time,” he said.

  “Of course,” Oda said.

  “If you’ll forgive me, my lord,” Severin said. “I’d like to talk to Lord Roland for a brief time, if I may.”

  “Of course. Congratulations again, Lord Squadcom.” Oda bowed and withdrew.

  Roland turned to Severin. “Can I help you with something?” he asked.

  “The more I have looked into being a convocate,” Severin said, “the more I realize how much money I’ll be needing.”

  Roland waved a hand. “You saved Chee from destruction,” he said. “You only need ask.”

  “You’ve been generous enough,” Severin said. After Severin had managed to turn off the pulsar and save the world that the Martinez family had only begun to settle, he had been rewarded with cash and valuable grants of land, enough to assure that he’d be well off for the rest of his life. But that was not nearly enough for a career as an independent convocate, let alone as Lorkin’s patron.

  And he very much wanted to be Lorkin’s patron. Lorkin was Lady Starkey’s discovery, and he wished to turn the world into a monument to her.

  True, Roland was offering financial support, but he suspected that the support would come with obligations he might not care for.

  “The two traditional ways to acquire money are to inherit it,” Severin said, “or marry it. I seem not to have won the inheritance lottery, but I wonder if you might know a suitable bride.”

  Roland was surprised, but Severin saw calculation glinting behind his eyes. “What do you need besides pots of money?” Roland asked.

  “I’ve been a convocate for less than two hours,” Severin said. “You should tell me.”

  Roland mused aloud. “An ambitious family who will want to benefit from a convocate in-law, but not so large and ambitious that you’ll be captured by their ambitions. A family sufficiently far down the hierarchy that they’ve been unable to produce a convocate of their own or to marry into the established High City families.”

  “Lower-middle-middle,” Severin said helpfully.

  Roland understood Severin’s meaning, and smiled. “Amusing,” he said, “and apt.”

  Gareth Martinez walked up, drink in hand, and greeted Severin. “Who’s lower-middle-middle?” he asked.

  “Nikki’s bride,” Roland said.

  Martinez was surprised. “Who’s the lucky lady?” he said.

  “We don’t know yet,” said Roland.

  “Ah.” Martinez took a sip of his Laredo whisky, then turned to Severin. “What do you think of a young widow?”