way to remove the other distinction save by massive scarring. A scale lost would re-grow. She had heard of Kontrin deprived of identity, mutilated by assassins, or by Council order. That prospect frightened her, more than she was willing to show. It was all she had left to lose. She was fifteen, going on sixteen. She was mortally afraid.
It was a very long time before the call she anticipated came.
She went with the azi guards, unresisting.
ix
They were the authority of the Family, the available heads of the twenty-seven holdings and the fifty-odd sub-grants, with their outworld branches. They wore the Colours of House and sept, and glittered with chitinous armour…ornament, little protection, for most was for right-arm only; and weapons in Council were outlawed. Old men and old women inside, although the faces did not make it evident… Raen scanned the half-circular array, the amphitheatre of Council, herself in the low center, and realised with mixed feelings that no one present wore Kethiuy blue. She saw Kahn, once the youngest in Council; at seventy-two, senior of assassin-ravaged Beln sept of the Ilit; he looked thirty. There was Moth, who showed her age most, incredibly wrinkled and fragile…going soon, the Family surmised. She was beyond her six hundredth year and her hair was completely silver and thinning. And Lian, Eldest of Family…to him Raen looked with a sudden access of hope; Lian still alive, uncle Lian, who at seven hundred had been immune from assassination perhaps because the Family grew curious how long a Kontrin could live and remain sane. Lean was one of the originals, old as the establishment of humans on Cerdin, first in Council.
And he had had friendship with Grandfather. Raen had known him from her infancy, a guest in her home, who had noticed her at Grandfather’s feet. She tried desperately now to meet his eyes, hoping that about him still gathered some power to help her; but she could not. He nodded away in his own thoughts, placid, seeming elsewhere, and simply old, as betas grew old. She stared past him at the others then, altogether out of hope.
There were Eron Thel and Yls Ren-barant, allies, some of Ruil’s friends. Sul had detested them. And there were others of that ilk. She had deepstudied the whole Council and all the Houses of greatest import to Sul Meth-maren, so that she knew every name and face and the manners and history of them: but the faces she should have seen were not there, and others wore their Colours. There were new representatives for Yalt and Then, young faces. Her skin went cold as she reckoned what must have happened throughout the Family—many, many Kethiuys, in so short a time. New men had come into power everywhere, on Cerdin and elsewhere, a new party in power, and from it only Ruil Meth-maren was missing.
Eron Thel rose, touched his microphone to activate it, looked at Council in general, sweeping the banks of seats.
“Matter before the Council,” he said, “the custody of the minor child Raen a Sul Meth-maren.”
“I am my own keeper,” Raen shouted, and Eron turned slowly to stare at her, in the silence, the consent of all the others. Of a sudden she realised in whose keeping she was intended to be, and what that keeping might be. The thought closed on her throat, making words impossible.
“That you tried to be,” Eron Thel said, his voice echoing from the speakers. “You succeeded in wiping out Ruil-sept. All perished, down to the youngest, by your action. Child may be a misnomer in your case; some have argued to that effect. If you held the Meth-maren House, you would have to answer for its actions; and I don’t think you’d want that, would you? Council means to consider your age. You’d be wise to remember that.”
“I am the Meth-maren,” she shouted back at him.
Eron looked elsewhere, signalled. Lights dimmed. Screens central to the room leapt into life. There was Kethiuy. Raen’s heart beat painfully, foreknowing in this
It was a very long time before the call she anticipated came.
She went with the azi guards, unresisting.
ix
They were the authority of the Family, the available heads of the twenty-seven holdings and the fifty-odd sub-grants, with their outworld branches. They wore the Colours of House and sept, and glittered with chitinous armour…ornament, little protection, for most was for right-arm only; and weapons in Council were outlawed. Old men and old women inside, although the faces did not make it evident… Raen scanned the half-circular array, the amphitheatre of Council, herself in the low center, and realised with mixed feelings that no one present wore Kethiuy blue. She saw Kahn, once the youngest in Council; at seventy-two, senior of assassin-ravaged Beln sept of the Ilit; he looked thirty. There was Moth, who showed her age most, incredibly wrinkled and fragile…going soon, the Family surmised. She was beyond her six hundredth year and her hair was completely silver and thinning. And Lian, Eldest of Family…to him Raen looked with a sudden access of hope; Lian still alive, uncle Lian, who at seven hundred had been immune from assassination perhaps because the Family grew curious how long a Kontrin could live and remain sane. Lean was one of the originals, old as the establishment of humans on Cerdin, first in Council.
And he had had friendship with Grandfather. Raen had known him from her infancy, a guest in her home, who had noticed her at Grandfather’s feet. She tried desperately now to meet his eyes, hoping that about him still gathered some power to help her; but she could not. He nodded away in his own thoughts, placid, seeming elsewhere, and simply old, as betas grew old. She stared past him at the others then, altogether out of hope.
There were Eron Thel and Yls Ren-barant, allies, some of Ruil’s friends. Sul had detested them. And there were others of that ilk. She had deepstudied the whole Council and all the Houses of greatest import to Sul Meth-maren, so that she knew every name and face and the manners and history of them: but the faces she should have seen were not there, and others wore their Colours. There were new representatives for Yalt and Then, young faces. Her skin went cold as she reckoned what must have happened throughout the Family—many, many Kethiuys, in so short a time. New men had come into power everywhere, on Cerdin and elsewhere, a new party in power, and from it only Ruil Meth-maren was missing.
Eron Thel rose, touched his microphone to activate it, looked at Council in general, sweeping the banks of seats.
“Matter before the Council,” he said, “the custody of the minor child Raen a Sul Meth-maren.”
“I am my own keeper,” Raen shouted, and Eron turned slowly to stare at her, in the silence, the consent of all the others. Of a sudden she realised in whose keeping she was intended to be, and what that keeping might be. The thought closed on her throat, making words impossible.
“That you tried to be,” Eron Thel said, his voice echoing from the speakers. “You succeeded in wiping out Ruil-sept. All perished, down to the youngest, by your action. Child may be a misnomer in your case; some have argued to that effect. If you held the Meth-maren House, you would have to answer for its actions; and I don’t think you’d want that, would you? Council means to consider your age. You’d be wise to remember that.”
“I am the Meth-maren,” she shouted back at him.
Eron looked elsewhere, signalled. Lights dimmed. Screens central to the room leapt into life. There was Kethiuy. Raen’s heart beat painfully, foreknowing in this
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