The days had been getting shorter, even in the tropics, and it was full night when the Kalif and kalifa began their fruit dessert. If her trust had not recovered its earlier unquestioning level, at least she hadn't remained cool to him, and there had been no hostility or antagonism. So he noticed and felt concern when she was withdrawn at supper one evening.
"Darling," he said, "we've been sitting here with neither of us saying a word since I thanked Kargh for this food and asked his blessing."
Tain smiled slightly. "I assumed you had your mind on matters of state."
"You're right; I did. And this isn't the place for that. What was your mind on? Something, I can tell."
"I have—news. And questions."
"Well then. If you'll give me the news first—"
"Truly, Coso, I think it's better to ask my questions first. May I?"
He felt a touch of annoyance, but brushed it off. "Of course," he said. "Ask them."
She looked thoughtfully inward. "In the roof garden? It feels more private there."
"If you'd like."
They got up and went side by side to their lift tube. Neither spoke on the way. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen her so preoccupied since before their wedding. In the garden, after seating themselves on comfortable chairs, he put his hand on her leg, palm up. Normally she'd lay her hand in his; tonight she didn't.
"Dear Coso, I—don't want to make love here tonight," she murmured.
"Ah. It's your time. I hadn't realized," he said, and withdrew his hand.
"Not that," she answered, and now her voice was little more than a whisper. "It's—Why are the nobles your enemies?"
The question truly surprised, even alarmed him. She shouldn't be worrying about things like that. "My enemies?" he said. "A few are—a Kalif expects that—but most aren't. What made you mink they're my enemies?"
Tain hesitated. "Things I've heard. About the noble delegates in the Diet."
His eyebrows lifted. But this was not the time to interrogate her on what, exactly, she'd heard, or from whom. Just now she needed an answer to her own question. "Ah," he said, "but only some of them. And most nobles outside the House are friendlier to me than the noble delegates are. I have polls on that. Surveys."
She examined what he'd said for a moment. "Why do they send men to the Diet who like you less than they do?"
"The lesser nobles are friendlier to me than the Greater. You've read how the delegates are elected?"
"Yes. Caucuses elect them."
"Right. And only members of the Great Families can serve; two or three thousand families on each world. The delegates are chosen from them."
He paused, feeling his way into an explanation. "A long time ago, there was a revolution on Varatos, and on some of the other worlds. In those days only the Greater Nobles had any voice in government, which had become quite corrupt and very unjust. It governed to favor the Greater Nobles and the emperor, and most of the lesser nobles and the gentry wanted to throw them out and have the Kalif rule.
"The Greater Nobles had more military support then, but they couldn't rely on it. While the people—the lesser nobles and gentry—were gaining in organization and developing effective leaders. Neither side wanted everything destroyed and more of their members killed, so they sat down together and finally came to an agreement. The emperor was arrested and tried; eventually he was executed. The Kalif was to be the new emperor, but a Diet made up of nobles and exarchs would control the money. And there'd be more nobles than exarchs in the Diet.
"But that wasn't all of the agreement. There were so many lesser nobles that if they decided to, they could have packed the Diet with their own people. And the Greater Nobles were afraid they'd be ruined.
"So they worked out a compromise. Only Greater Nobles could serve, but they'd be elected by caucuses, and the lesser nobles would have more people on the caucuses than the Greater Nobles would. It's complicated, but those are the essentials."
"What about the gentry?"
"The gentry never expected to be part of it. They were content, most of them, to have the Kalif as emperor. Most of the Kalifs and sultans have at least pretended to consider the gentry's interests ever since. And many have, though often unsuccessfully."
There was a long minute of quiet. It was Tain who broke it. "Is it true that some people think I look like an angel of Kargh?"
The question startled the Kalif. "Yes, that's true. The Prophet said that angels have golden hair. And a holy artist, a pastor named Yogandharaya, painted them as looking like beautiful women, not only with golden hair, but blue eyes as well." He paused, looking softly at her. "Until you, people didn't think humans could look like that. Could be so beautiful."
"Do you think that angels really look like that?"
"I suppose they do, at least for the hair. The Prophet said so." He stared at her in the darkness. "What brought this up?"
"You said—you said that Kargh caused me to look like an angel."
He frowned, puzzled. "When did I say that?"
"I saw—Someone left another cube."
That cube! Realizations rushed in on him. He'd said it to the Diet. Then she saw me kill Nathiir! And heard us talk about the book!
"I—He caused you to look like pictures of angels."
There was silence again, that seemed longer than it was.
"It seemed to me that some of the nobles hate you very much. It frightens me."
I should have issued some interrogatories, he thought grimly, found out who left that first cube for her. How could I have overlooked that?
This time her hand found his. "Darling," she said, "I lied to you."
His guts tightened. What now?
"I told you someone had left the cube for me. Actually I found them in the library; there are lots of them there. I thought if you knew the truth, you might say something so they wouldn't let me have them."
He relaxed, the held breath easing out of him.
"I understand. And—I might have."
"But I couldn't find the book there—The Kalif's Bride."
"The Sultan's Bride. It's just as well."
"Do you have a copy?"
"I—It's in a hard file. You don't want to see it."
Again she didn't reply for a moment. Then: "You told the Diet we're too strong to be hurt by it."
"Ah." It was his turn to have no immediate reply. A man shielded his wife, but Tain—She might not have been a soldier, but she'd been in battle and survived. "If you really want to see it—" he said at last. "If you really want to, I'll get it for you when we go down. It's—very insulting."
"When we go down," she said after him, then added: "I've asked my questions. I said I had some news, too."
He'd forgotten. "That's right."
There was a smile behind her voice. "Poor darling. I've pressed you and troubled you so this evening, you probably expect my news to be bad. It's not." She squeezed his hand. "I'm pregnant. You're going to be a father."
He didn't react at first, just sat there absorbing the idea. "A father," he said at last, then turned, kissed her very gently, and murmured against her cheek: "That is wonderful news indeed. I love you very much."
"And Coso?"
"Yes?"
"What I said earlier, about not wanting to make love up here tonight—I've changed my mind."
Later, in their room, Tain found herself not sleepy. After her husband was asleep, she got up, had a drink, then picked up her kitten and began to pet it. Suddenly a vision formed in her mind, looking as if it were there before her in the room. A waking, conscious image of a slender young woman, a girl with red hair and green eyes. The vision did nothing, said nothing. Seeing it, Tain felt sure she'd dreamed the girl sometime, had seen her in her sleep.
And before that, somewhere earlier, had known her in life! When that realization struck her, deep chills passed over Tain, chills that came in waves, intense, almost orgasmic. They continued for perhaps fifteen seconds, then faded. When they were gone, the vision was gone, too.