“No,” said Kurt, and with such passion that the nemet were hushed. “No. Do not go to war.”
“It is excellent advice,” said Nym after a moment. “But we may be helpless to guide our own affairs. When a man finds his affairs without resolution, his existence out of time with heaven and his very being a disturbance to the yhia, then he must choose to die for the sake of order. He does well if he does so without violence. In the eyes of heaven even nations are finally answerable to such logic, and even nations may sometimes be compelled to suicide. They have their methods-being many minds and not one, they cannot proceed toward their fate with the dignity a single man can manage-but proceed they do.”
“Ei, honored Father,” said Kta, “I beg you not to say such things.”
“Like Bel, do you believe in omens? I do not, not, at least, that words, ill-thought or otherwise, have power over the future. The future already exists, in our hearts already, stored up and waiting to unfold when we reach our time and place. Our own nature is our fate. You are young, Kta. You deserve better than my age has given you.”
There was silence in the rhmei. Suddenly Kurt bowed himself a degree lower, requesting, and Nym looked at him. – “You have a methi,” said Kurt, “who is not willing to fight a war. Please. Trust me to go speak to her, as another human.”
There was a stir of uneasiness. Kta opened his mouth as if he would protest, but Nym consented.
“Go,” he said, nothing more.
Kurt rose and adjusted his ctan, pinning it securely. He bowed to them collectively and turned to leave. Someone hurried after; he thought it was Hef, whose duty it was to tend the door. It was Kta who overtook him in the outer hall.
“Be careful,” Kta said. And when he opened the outer door into the dark: “Kurt, I will walk to the Afen with you.”
“No,” said Kurt. “Then you would have to wait there, and you would be obvious at this hour. Let us not make this more obvious than need be.”
But there was, once the door was closed and he was on the street in the dark, an uneasy feeling about the night. It was quieter than usual. A man muffled in striped robes stood in the shadows of the house opposite. Kurt turned and walked quickly uphill.
Djan put her back to the window that overlooked the sea and leaned back against the ledge, a metallic form against the dark beyond the glass. Tonight she dressed as human, in a dark blue form-fitting synthetic that shimmered like powdered glass along the lines of her figure. It was a thing she would not dare wear among the modest nemet.
“The Indras ambassador sails tomorrow,” she said. “Confound it, couldn’t you have waited? I’m trying to keep humanity out of his sight and hearing as much as possible, and you have to be walking up and down the halls! He’s staying on the floor just below. If one of his staff had come out-”
“This isn’t a social call.”
Djan expelled her breath slowly, nodded him toward a seat near her. “Elas and the business in the Upei. I heard. What did they send you to say?”
“They didn’t send me. But if you have any means of controlling the situation, you’d better exert it, fast.”
Her cool green eyes measured him, centered soberly on his. “You’re scared. What Elas said must have been considerable.”
“Stop putting words in my mouth. There’s going to be nothing left but Indresul to pick up the pieces if this goes on. There was some kind of balance here, Djan. There was stability. You blew it to-”
“Nym’s words?”
“No. Listen to me.”
“There was a balance of power, yes,” Djan said. “A balance tilted in favor of the Indras and against the Sufaki. I have done nothing but use impartiality. The Indras are not used to that.”
“Impartiality. Do you maintain that with Shan t’Tefur?”
Her head went back. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but then she grinned. She had a beautiful smile, even when there was no humor in it. “Ah,” she said. “I should have told you. Now your feelings are ruffled.”