[This story takes place in the Sailor Moon Expanded continuum; Sailor Moon herself and all associated characters were created by and belong to Takeuchi Naoko, and I'm sure that all rights are reserved - so don't mess with 'em and please don't sue me, as I am very fond of what little money I have.

On with the fic!]

Tanzanite just hated being cold, and what did Carnelian do to him?  Right, stick him in a position to be downright freezing.

Tanzanite considered this quite rude.

On the other hand, he did have to admit that besides being cold he was fairly contented.  After all, it wasn't every day that one got to see a Tower Avatar in the Plaza of her Tower, speaking, as it were, ex cathedra.  It wasn't even every century; as far as Tanzanite knew, the last time one of the Uncanny Sisters had been called upon to declaim a law as witness to a Tower had been more than twenty generations ago, something-or-other about a census tax.

He had a good vantage point, too.  The Plaza of the Tower Alecto, unlike any of its sister Plazas, was constructed almost like a Nemetian Well: that is, it was a deep shallow rectangular indentation, a wedge taken out of the surface of Ptolomea, centered around the topless slender spire of Alecto itself.  The square of the Plaza itself, a smooth perfectly white slab of something utterly unlike any other substance in the Universe, was reserved solely for the Higher Stars and for the Uncanny Sister who represented the Tower.

Tanzanite and his semi-trusted sister Tourmaleen had secured for themselves a long reach of the seventh tier from the bottom; they had done so, and kept it clear of all others, by the simpl e expedient of Singing "go-away" harmonies at anyone who looked as though he might consider encroaching on their space.  Not that they had had to do so often; Nemesians were a polite, tactful bunch on the whole, and if someone indicated that he would rather stand by himself, then he was acommodated.

"Look, there she is," Tanzanite pointed.  A small slender figure, dressed in ice-blue and white, with a thick braid of snowy white hanging down her back, had appeared in the Plaza.

"She's showing her legs," Tourmaleen murmured disapprovingly.  "I always said that Ptolomean standards were disgracefully low.  What sort of dignity can even a Tower Avatar show if she dresses like that?"

Tanzanite hushed her; he was inclined to agree -- Ptolomea was a world stuffed with lunatics and mystics, and as far as he was concerned they could all go to the Abyss together; it was beyond him why Carnelian even cared about the Black Moon Prince -- but the last thing he needed was for Tourmaleen to s tart lambasting Ptolomean customs while they were literally surrounded by Ptolomeans.  That sort of thing just wasn't safe, nor was it decorous.  It was, in fact, the sort of thing that a lout like a Redstar or a Graycloak might do.

"Excellent," he said.  "The sooner she finishes, the sooner we can get out of the wind."

Tourmaleen regarded him with unblinking white eyes, then sniffed in annoyance and turned back to the Plaza.  "It was your own fault," she said calmly, "annoying Carnelian like that.  Just remember this, how you were relegated to a lackey, the next time you feel like baiting the clan's Prince."

There wasn't anything that could be said to this, at least nothing that could be construed as gentlemanly, so Tanzanite held his tongue and waited discontentedly for blue Beruche to get on with it.

At times he could find it in himself to despise Carnelian...

*    *    *    *

"He's too highly placed for you, Pet z."  That was Calaveras, sounding lazily amused even at her most malicious.  If he bothered to turn around and look, he would probably find her fingering her whip and smiling coldly.

"He'll never look at you, Petz, you're not even as pretty as the rest of us are, and besides being plain you're stupid.  He'll never look at someone stupid."  Cooan, younger than the rest of her sisters, made up for it by sheer spitefulness.  She would be right next to her eldest sister, delivering such venom right into Petz's ear so she could watch Petz's reactions right up close.

Kurenaino Rubius re'Stephanite Black Moon was rather hazy on the precise terms of this day's quarrel (not that he cared, of course), but he'd been able to gather that Petz had her eye on some man high in the Black Moon's hierarchy, and that none of her sisters approved of Petz's choice and were trying as best they could to dissuade her.

Idiots, all four of them, but they did have their uses.  He leaned back against the base of the Tower and watched his least-troublesome charge intently.  Beruche was the Sister who was least likely to give him any sass, but she was also the most likely to deviate from the strict script that he'd drilled into all four of them.  If she screwed up, she would be gently remonstrated by Prince Demand-sama, and then he, Rubius, would be in for any amount of trouble because Demand did not believe in "gently remonstrating" people whom he believed ought to know better.

Winds, he wished that Esmeraude had gotten stuck with this job; she could probably relate better to the Sisters than he could, and besides which if she screwed up she would deserve anything that Prince Demand felt like throwing at her in the way of punishment.

There was no love lost between Esmeraude and Rubius.

"I might be ugly, dear," Petz said behind him, her tone sweet and light and cold, "but I'm the best-looking out of all of us, and that does leave you at the bottom of the sca le.  As for intelligence, Cooan my child, if I'm stupid and I can outwit you every time, then I'm very much afraid that you've condemned yourself to idiocy."

Rubius smiled in spite of himself; Petz always had been his favorite.

Cooan sniffled and was quiet, for which Rubius was profoundly grateful; he'd thought that it was a bad idea to bring his other three charges along when he had to babysit Beruche making her declamation, but on reflection had decided that leaving them back at the Black Moon Citadel unattended was an even worse idea.  Who knew what kind of trouble that people as highly-talented and as featherbrained as the Uncanny Sisters could get into without their minder?

Rubius didn't know, but he did realize that if anyone ever had occasion to find out then he'd be in whole worlds of suffering.  Demand-sama did not suffer fools gladly, and only a fool would leave the Uncanny Sisters -- this group of them, anyway -- unattended.

"Ptolomeans!"  Beruche struck a drama tic pose; Rubius glared at the back of her skull.  He silently willed her not to deviate from the script.

"Ptolomeans!" she cried again, the spells stuffed into the Plaza carrying her thin voice and amplifying it above the howl of the winds.  "Children of the Tower Alecto, I stand before you this hour to bring you the Mandate of the Tower!"

Rubius silently cursed.  She'd been reading too many histories again; "the Mandate of the Tower" had been a phrase used by a famous demagogue of centuries past, and it was still recognized as a reference to the disastrous policies of the then-Beruche.  Demand would probably not find it amusing.  Strike one.

"As the Avatar of the Tower Alecto and as the Uncanny Sister of Ptolomea  of the United Four Sisters of Nemesis-"

This time he clenched his teeth until he thought his jaw might crack.  Idiot girl.  She was supposed to have said merely "as the Avatar of Alecto."  She must have been listening too closely to Dem and's many speeches about the "United Sisters," and had formed her own (probably wrong) ideas about Demand's intentions.  Strike two.

"I declare, as witness to the Tower, that all debts incurred by the Children of Alecto are cancelled, from the sum of one half-orb to six million orbs, as well as interest on such debts."

He finally let his jaw relax.  That was finally word-for-word the speech that he had drilled into all of them, the speech that Saffir had handed to him with the worried admonition that "Demand-oniisan" wanted it just as written.  He had managed to strongly imply that "Demand-oniisan" would hold Rubius personally responsible for each and every word out of the Sisters' mouths.

Rubius personally considered Saffir to be a paranoid, useless little worm, no more than Demand-sama's pet Savant; but in this instance he thought that Saffir was all too correct.  Rubius was going to be the whipping-boy for the Uncanny Sisters.

Ah, well, at least the worst was over, wit h nothing more terrible than two deviations; and probably Petz and the rest wouldn't have the imagination to follow Beruche's lead -

He jerked as Beruche raised her arms as if to embrace all of Ptolomea, and went on.  "And as witness to the Tower Alecto, I commend Demand re'Adamant Black Moon for so proposing a Mandate of the Tower, and recognize him formally as Prince of the Black Moon Family, in accordance with the tradition of the Tower Avatars of Ptolomea."

Oh, gods.  Strike three, and what a whopper it was.

Behind him, the argument abruptly ceased as Beruche's sisters began to realize what their blue-clad sister had done.  Petz muttered something that might or might not have been "Little fool, she wasn't supposed to say that!", and Calaveras made her own pronouncement with what was definitely an expletive.  Cooan said nothing; Rubius guessed that she was probably standing with an idiotic gape on her face.

Rubius himself felt quite ready to kill Beruche with his bare hands.  Only two things stopped him.

The first was that bloodshed was forbidden in the Plazas of the Towers, an injunction so strongly ingrained into each Nemesian that quite possibly nothing could break it.

The second was that, no matter how badly Beruche had managed to bungle her assignment, Demand would certainly still have a use for her.  This deterrant was even stronger than the first; fear of retribution from the shadowy Towers was far outweighed by fear of certain retribution from the all-too-real Demand.

Beruche let down her arms, ceasing her benediction, and walked composedly and without fanfare back to the base of the Tower, disappearing into the same murky shadows that hid Rubius and the other three sisters from general view.

She was bubbling, obviously quite proud of herself and her clever little adlibbing, when she approached her commander and her sisters.  "That was fun," she enthused, "everyone was looking at me, and I felt so important, really like an Uncanny Sister.  Sort of how Demand-sama feels when he's in the Wells of the Nemetia, I think, and -"  She stopped as she became aware that Rubius was staring at her with a stare that ought to have set his eyelashes on fire.

"What?  What's wrong, Rubius-sama?  Oh - I know that I was supposed to adhere to what you told us, but I thought it was a little dry, and besides, I only made it better.  Did you like the last part?  I was looking up old histories of Ptolomea, and I found out that traditionally each clan Prince is supposed to be confirmed and acknowledged by his planet's Uncanny Sister when he took the throne.  I just thought I'd strengthen Demand-sama's position a little."

She didn't realize.  The bubblebrained little idiot actually did not realize what she had done.

Rubius hissed through his teeth.  He had neither the patience nor the articulation to put his fury in words, and no doubt Beruche would get a tongue-lashing from Demand-sama himsel f when they got back.  For now, there was no time to lose; Petz was supposed to act as witness to the Tower Megaera in ten hours, and they had to get to their transportation immediately.

"Beruche," he said crushingly, turning his back on her and beginning to stalk towards the way out of the Plaza, "you're an idiot and worse than useless.  Come on, I haven't got time to waste on jabbering on your disgrace."

For once the sisters were all silent as they trailed after him.

*    *    *    *

"Well," said Tanzanite, staring at the shadows covering the base of the Tower.

"That was ... interesting," Tourmaleen said thoughtfully.  "Extremely interesting.  I wonder if Carnelian knew that she would do that?"
 
 Tanzanite said nothing.  Despite Sard's opinion of him, he was on occasion capable of shutting his mouth and thinking -- after all, he was a Nemesian nobleman, and if he hadn't been capable of genuin e thought he would have been dead several times over.

Everyone in the many tiers of the Plaza was buzzing and murmuring in a wave of surprise, excitement, and dismay.  Debts being cancelled?  All debts?  All debts at once?

The Higher Stars who had been privileged to witness this were unanimously of the opinion that this was good news of the highest order, certainly; no debts to pay meant a good amount of money coming back home to roost and a substantial worry being taken care of.  Serpentine had been right; the higher up one went, the more debts one found.  This mildly annoyed Tanzanite; someone Serpentine's age had no business being clever like that when there were older and more experienced people who deserved to be clever instead.

However, it was the latter part of Beruche's declamation that worried people.  What was that supposed to mean, that she formally recognized Demand re'Adamant as the Black Moon Prince?  There had to be some meaning in it, it w asn't the sort of thing that one just blurted out, and especially not if one were an Uncanny Sister of Nemesis.  Yes, there was some meaning, that much was clear; but just what was the meaning in it?

All around them, people were worrying over this in low voices; the people who had left already were no doubt carrying it to their friends and to the Lower Stars who had been refused admission to the Plaza.

Tanzanite finally said, "She was swearing fealty to Demand publicly, you think?"

Tourmaleen shook her head.  "I don't think so.  That would be a foolhardy thing to do at this point, and I'm sure Demand wouldn't allow it. No, I think that she was doing something else.  I think that you could make a fairly good case for her merely making certain that the people of Ptolomea know that it was Demand who thought up this law, even if it's Beruche of the Tower who's promulgating it."

He had to admit that it sounded good.  After all, self-promotion was a fair-to-whopping part of politics.  What was the point of doing something if people didn't know that it was your doing?

Yes, but certain people weren't going to be very happy about this law; witness Carnelian's reaction.  Tanzanite didn't want to imagine what was going on in the Knifewind Citadel, over on Antenora; no doubt Prince Jeris was spewing out so many extra consonants as to triple-quote himself.
 
 Tanzanite didn't realize that he had spoken aloud until Tourmaleen answered him, speaking in a withering tone that told him all too clearly that after all the exasperations of the day, she'd chosen him upon which to vent her annoyance.

"Numbers, baka," she informed him.  "There are always more people who owe money than are owed.  No matter how many there are discontented with this little moratorium, there are going to be many, many more who are absolutely ecstatic over it."

"Well, of course, that's obvious," he snapped back, "but the point is, Demand's awfully sure of hims elf."

"He's young and he's got a powerful clan behind him, that's all," she said tersely and definitely.  Tourmaleen was quite obviously bored with the topic; she ought to have been, since Sard was her direct superior and she was the person most likely to be his captive audience for whatever paranoid rants that worthy might have.

"All right, all right, let's go.  We've seen Beruche deliver her declamation, now let's get out of the wind.  Damn Carnelian and his damn hunches anyway."

Tourmaleen merely smiled sweetly.  "I told you not to annoy him.  But you're right.  Let's go back home and dump it into his lap."

That sounded more sensible than anything anyone had said all bloody day.

*    *    *    *

Serpentine, arguably a better sorceror than anyone else in his clan, finished setting the wards around his father's study, mentally running over all the spells and finally nodding in satisfaction.  They c ould be broken, true, but he'd know long before they got to the breaking point, and more importantly he'd know who was trying to eavesdrop on his father.  It helped enormously that there were already residues of past warding-spells over the study, set by past Princes who'd been more magically adept than Carnelian; Serpentine had been able to tap into those residues and make his own wards accordingly.

It was like Sard always said; locks were only as good as the doors in which they were set, and that applied to spellcraft as much as it did to physical locks.

He set towards the door; his father stopped him with a mild question.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To find Sard," he replied, stopping to look back at Carnelian with a puzzled look.  "Lord Feldspar will be here soon, won't he?  Won't you need Sard with you to act as a witness or to make sure you don't accidentally use an adverb when you needed an adjective -"

"Ha ha," Carnelian said.  "Sit down.  Sard's n ot invited to this audience, not when you're here and will do just as well."

Although Serpentine was quite certain that he was being or was about to be manipulated, he couldn't help but feel pleased; all his life, he'd been told to shoo and let the real lords spin their webs, and it had been generally accepted that Sard was Carnelian's shadow and right hand.  Perhaps finally he was going to win his place in the clan hierarchy instead of hovering around waiting for his father to pass on the power.

"Ah," he said, obediently sitting down in the seat that Carnelian indicated.  "So it's my turn to keep you out of trouble, hmm?"

"Not really," Carnelian said tranquilly, "it's just that you're one of my bargaining chips, and besides this way you can keep an eye on the wards without anyone wondering why you're taking so great an interest in my study's spells."

"I'm one of your bargaining chips?"  Serpentine didn't know whether to be amused or exasperated; with Carnelian, it was s ometimes hard to tell which effect was intended.

"Certainly.  Feldspar has a daughter about your age, and it's as good a way as any to reassure him that I intend to honor my bargain," Carnelian said.

"You're not marrying me off," Serpentine said.

"Actually I am," Carnelian said cheerfully.  "It's a minor drawback that you're ugly -- you take after me, more's the pity -- but at least you'll be tractable enough so that Feldspar's daughter will like you anyway, or you should be if you don't take after your uncle Sard."

Serpentine, who was rather the opposite of either ugly or tractable, just stared at him, completely at a loss.  "You can't just buy him off with coin?"

"Probably I could, but he's still and all a minor lord, although he's useful and clever enough in his way.  I'll be sad to lose him.  But the money wouldn't matter to him as much as the thought that his daughter would be married to the next Prince of this clan.  Remember that, Serpentine; mo ney's useful, but when you're dealing with a proud man, rank and honor is much more useful."

"Are much more useful," Serpentine said, just out of a respect for the tradition that when his father mangled a subject-verb agreement or two, someone was supposed to correct him.

"Whatever.  -- You might want to keep that in mind if ever you deal with a - oh, say, a Bloodstorm or a Bloodstar or a Total Eclipse, any of the martially-inclined lunatics.  You could probably buy him off nine times out of ten, but the tenth time he'll be so insufferably proud that all the money on Nemesis couldn't move him, and then you'll have to really stick it to him where it would hurt most: in his reputation or his honor.

"And in any case, Serpentine, you're going to marry her...  what's her name, Adularia, so you may as well resign yourself to it and practice a happy expression."

Serpentine looked mutinous, but said nothing.  He knew as well as his father did that in the end he had nothing to say in the matter; like all members of Seven Stars, he literally belonged to Carnelian, and those seven stars scattered across his brow meant that Carnelian would be perfectly justified by what few laws there were in doing anything that he pleased, from indenturing Serpentine as a debt-slave to marrying him off to whomever Carnelian chose.  If he liked, he could even have Serpentine executed or exiled and disowned from the clan, and no  one would be able to raise a word in protest.

A harsh system, but it worked; at least it worked if you considered that going through all the red tape required by the Ministry of Houses for an execution was usually far too much trouble for most Princes to bother with it.
 
 The door opened; Carnelian's steward hurried through the door.

"Granite," Carnelian said genially.  "Well, what is it?"

"Lord Feldspar and Lord Savant Lychnite are here, my prince," the steward murmured deferentially.

"Oh, good.  Show them in, please," Carne lian said.  He settled back in his chair, then a thought seemed to occur to him.  "Serpentine -- another reason you're taking Sard's place is that you don't have his regrettable tendency to mistake his reverence for tradition and protocol for a conscience.  Kindly remember, please, that as far as tradition goes, I am the only law that matters."

Serpentine nodded.  True enough.  At least now he knew that Carnelian was going to do something wildly unorthodox.

The door opened again, and the steward bobbled inside, gesturing in Lord Savant Lychnite and Lord Feldspar.

The latter was a short, rather ordinary-looking man with large wondering eyes and a perpetual half-smile that made him look suspiciously frivolous even when he was being completely serious; he was a sharp and marked contrast to the tall and dour Savant Lychnite, who made Sard look practically cheerful and serene.

Carnelian rose with a welcoming smile, nodding in dismissal to his steward and nodding at Serpentine to raise the wards again after Granite had bobbed himself back out.

"Feldspar re'Beselt," he said tranquilly, waving the lesser lord to a chair.  "Thank you for coming."

"My honor, my Prince," Feldspar said clearly, taking the seat meant for him and seeming not at all disconcerted by Lychnite's unsmiling brilliant-eyed presence behind him.  Serpentine obligingly smiled and nodded when his father called Feldspar's attention to him, and otherwise tried to do what Sard did so effortlessly on occasions like this: fade into the background until Carnelian needed him.

Carnelian didn't waste any time with inconsequentials; as soon as Serpentine indicated that the wards were up full force and Lychnite's eyes had glazed over in a Savant's recording mode, he began.

"Feldspar, you owe the clan your life and I'm sorry to say that the clan must call in the debt.  Immediately."  Carnelian smiled a bit sourly, and said, almost to himself, "Why not, the clan is calling in every other debt."

For just one instant, there was a mute and eloquent protest lurking in the wondering eyes; for just one instant, Feldspar's face went slack and shocked.

Then he pulled himself together and merely bowed his head.  "If it's what the clan requires, my Prince."  For a moment, Serpentine thought that he was going to just clam up entirely, but Feldspar's head jerked up desperately, almost as if the man were unable to help the question:  "What will happen to my family, my lord?"

Carnelian sat back, looking entirely at his ease, but watching the lesser lord carefully, gauging him.  "Ah, yes.  Your family.  You're going to lose a great deal, Feldspar, when Demand's laws come through -- oh, you didn't know about that, about the moratorium of debts?  Feel grateful that you're not going to see the wailing and gnashing of teeth when your fellow clanmembers all learn about it.  If they can't be bothered to listen to me when I tell them to call in their debts , that's their business.  In any case, I've had a look at your files, Feldspar.   You've lent out a great deal, a good chunk of your personal income.  No doubt you had it all hedged around with foolproof contracts, hmm?"

"I thought they were, my lord," Feldspar said, almost unhappily.  "Will my family  be able to collect anything at all?"

"No, of course not," Carnelian said gently.  "The Uncanny Sister of Judecca is probably going to close the law in about ten or twelve hours.  That's not nearly enough time for you to get everything back, or even enough of it back to make any difference.  When the law closes, your family is going to drop from Four Stars to Two Stars...  Or it's possible that they'll go down to even One, won't they?  They'll drop from the mid-to-upper Stars down into abject poverty, won't they?"

"It's possible, my Prince, yes," Feldspar said.  There was nothing dreamy or soft about his dark eyes now: they were opened as w idely as possible, and were fixed sharply on Carnelian.

"That is a pity.  You've always been a good and dutiful clanmember; it's a shame that your superior lords haven't told you about the new law and that you ought to get your loans back as quickly as possible," Carnelian said remotely and with an air of finality, as if he hadn't arranged to have just that happen.  Serpentine felt a certain reluctant admiration at how nicely the net was drawing closed around the poor man...  even if he didn't have the slightest idea why Carnelian would feel the need to have Feldspar so desperate.  He supposed he would find out soon enough.

Feldspar blinked painfully, recognizing that for now Carnelian didn't wish to speak any more of his family, then said, "My Prince, if I'm giving my life for the clan, may I know for what specific purpose it will be needed?"

"Certainly," Carnelian said.  "I'm not a military man; I don't hold with asking my clanmembers to give up their most precio us collateral without them at least knowing what they're going to buy for their clan and their clan's honor.

"Your blood is going to seal an alliance with the Bloodstorm Clan, and Seven Stars Sept is going to offer that clan's allegiance and friendship to Prince Demand of the Black Moon Family."

Serpentine's eyes widened.  No wonder Carnelian hadn't wanted Sard here; Sard would've had kittens at the very idea of the thing.  What Carnelian was proposing was technically legal, but it wasn't very ... traditional, oh no, not a process in accordance with tradition and the accepted way of doing things.  Not at all.

"I...  see, my Prince," Feldspar said; he clearly didn't see at all.

"Of course you don't," Carnelian chided him.  "Please feel free to ask any questions you like, Feldspar; none of this is going beyond this room."  He smiled benignly, almost paternally.  "Unless of course anyone here is going to betray the clan?"  His tone rather hinted that if an yone did feel inclined to tell tales and betray the clan, that person's death would be considerably less honorable than the fate he had dealt out to Feldspar.

"What exactly would you have me do, my lord?"

Carnelian's crimson eyes went sharp and cold in an instant.  "In a moment.  First, you were chosen partially because you have an affinity for illusions and for projecting images, do you not?"

"Yes, my Prince," Feldspar said, clearly taken aback.  "I have - an affinity for that sort of thing, yes.  Usually it works best if I only hold the perceived image to one or two persons, though.  The larger the target, the less sharp and realistic the image."

"Oh, well, that doesn't matter," Carnelian said, musingly.  "You'll only be required to fool one person, and hopefully -"

He paused, apparently waiting for something.

Serpentine realized that he was waiting for Sard to pipe up and murmur, "It is to be hoped...."  He stuffed his involuntary chuckle back dow n his throat; this was no time to be laughing like an idiot.

"Well," Carnelian said, after remembering that his brother-in-law and accustomed shadow wasn't there, "you'll only have to fool one person for an hour, two hours at the most.  Can you do that, hold a focussed illusion good enough to fool a sharp person for an hour or two?"

Feldspar looked more confused than ever.  "Yes, my lord.  Certainly.  It will depend on how big the illusion is, and how involved, but I think that I can manage an hour or two."

"Good man.  Very well.  Listen.  This is what you will be required to do...."

Serpentine listened, fascinated and horrified at the same time.  His father was playing this very well -- he'd taken the right tack with Feldspar, emphasizing over and over that it was the clan who needed him, the clan that had to have Feldspar's life as a down payment on a badly-needed alliance, the clan that figured that the Bloodstorm infantrymen mig ht be a welcome gift for Prince Demand, welcome enough to be worth a Seven Stars lord's life.  That was a good tactic and Carnelian happened to be rather good at subtly identifying himself as the clan made flesh; no, no arguments there.  Carnelian was very adept at establishing himself as the dominant voice when he needed to, an extremely useful talent when one is Head of a Nemesian Great House.  And then there was the bit about not being a military man.  On a world where plutocrats like the members of Seven Stars Sept and soldiers like the members of the Bloodstorm Clan automatically cross the street to avoid walking next to each other, there's nothing quite like mentioning a member of the military in order to make a plutocrat stick more stubbornly than ever to his own "superior" honor and peculiar code thereof.

When Carnelian had finished outlining his carefully-enumerated points and plot, he sat back in his chair and silently considered Feldspar.

That worthy sat like stone, eye s wondering and sad as he apparently ran through the projected scenario in his mind.  He sighed.  "If the clan deems it best, my Prince, it is what has to be done," he said simply.  "I will do it, my lord.  May I have an hour to say farewell to my family, my Prince?"

"Certainly not," Carnelian said.  "Haven't you been listening?  No one can know that you're sacrificing your life on purpose.  That would render the entire thing completely pointless.  The only people who will ever know that I gave you your orders are those in this room."  He pointed to Lychnite.  "He will never speak of it; he's a Savant and in Savant's recording mode.  The only person he'll have to answer to is Rudra, and Rudra will never bother over this if you do your job correctly.  I will never speak of it; you will not be in a position to speak of it --"  He let his words trail off significantly.

Feldspar blinked, then turned his head to regard the hitherto-silent Se rpentine.  "What about him, my lord?"

"Ah, yes," Carnelian said, following Feldspar's mildly accusatory gaze.  "About him.  Very appropriate that you should bring him up, Feldspar."

Serpentine felt powerless under the stern, unblinking regard in which he was held by both lords.  He hadn't the slightest idea what was going on --

Oh, yes he did.  He clenched his jaw and sent a blistering thought to his father, which was ignored as Carnelian went right on ahead and sold his son for the good of the clan.

"You expressed a worry for your family earlier," Carnelian said quietly.  "Very noble of you, Feldspar re'Beselt; without you, your family is not going to do that well, I'm afraid.  Three daughters and one small son, a wife whose nerves... won't quite support running the family finances, a dependant father...  No, not well at all."

"No, my lord," Feldspar said, still glancing at Serpentine out of the corner of his eye.

"The clan naturally can 't do a thing for them," Carnelian said.  "It's our policy, of course, that if a clanmember cannot provide for himself he'll be given a job in the fields down outside of the city, in our lands to the south."

Feldspar's eyes widened, presumably at the outrageous thought that a member of the Seven Stars nobility would be put to work on the clan fields or one small crystal farm.  Not even one of the Seven Stars banks, but in the fields like a One Star.  Unbearable...  but it would have to be borne, for the sake of the clan.

"No, the clan can't help your family, Feldspar," Carnelian continued, leaning back.  He fixed Feldspar with a cool red stare, then went on thoughtfully, "But I'm sure that if your family could be brought closer into the clan's bosom we would be able to arrange something."

Feldspar sat up straighter.  "Yes, my lord?"

"If your eldest daughter married my son and heir, Serpentine re'Carnelian, then I would be honor-bound to see that my daughte r-in-law's family was well provided for," Carnelian said calmly.

The lesser lord gaped for a moment.  This was a solution that quite simply had never occurred to him.  "Yes, my Prince," he said, finding his voice at last.  This time when he looked at Serpentine, it was with a look of wonder and gratitude.

Serpentine resigned himself to it; after all, he was getting off better than Feldspar was.  At least he was going to get to live.

Carnelian smiled.  "Excellent."  He produced a contract from somewhere, signing with a flourish then passing it and the stylus over to Feldspar.  "Lychnite, break recording mode."  The Savant blinked once, twice, thrice; the brilliant gray eyes cleared and focussed on Carnelian.  "Sign as a witness," Carnelian directed, "after Lord Feldspar has done so."

Serpentine was not called upon to sign.

"And everything is taken care of," Carnelian said, after the contract had been entrusted to Lord Savant Lychnite's care.&nbs p; "Very well.  You may have an hour, Lord Feldspar; after that, I will expect you to do as the clan requires."

He rose and came around the front of his desk; Feldspar rose rather shakily and meekly submitted himself to being walked out of the room with Carnelian's arm around his thin shoulders, shadowed by the tall and silent Savant.

Serpentine remained where he was for a moment.  Of course later he would have to follow Feldspar, prepared to pick up the pieces of the plot failed, and prepared to guide everything into place if the plot carried through -- but for now he had an hour, and he had the idea that he wanted to spend it by himself.

Understandable, really; he had always liked his father and had certainly always respected him, and he remembered back when he had been a small boy that he had idolized Carnelian.  He still loved and admired his father --

But right now he had to stay by himself, or he was afraid that he was going to try his damndest to strangle Carnelian.

For the good of the clan, his left eye; none of this would have had to happen if bloody Demand of the Black Moon Family hadn't decided to throw around his weight in the Nemetian Wells.

*    *    *    *

As it happened, the old monster was eating breakfast when he heard the news.

"My lord?  Prince Reachen?"

The old monster carefully split open a muffin, then turned to the interruption.  The interruption noted uneasily that Reachen still casually held the breadknife in one hand as the old monster's piercing-bright eyes regarded him impatiently.

"Well, what is it," he demanded.  It wasn't a question; Reachen never asked questions.

"My lord, one of the lords sent a message that there was something going on in the Plaza of the Tower, in the city Breccia."

The old monster considered this for a moment, eating his muffin, then snorted and got up, dusting away crumbs irritably.

"Plaza of the Tower," he muttered.  "It could n't have waited for after breakfast, oh no.  Damn it all.  If people took better care of their digestions, there wouldn't be all of this damned silliness going on nowadays."  Reachen addressed himself to the interruption.

"Get me Spinell and Leucite," he snapped.  He hefted the cane by aid of which he still managed to get around, and glared hard at the interruption's back.  "And find me whoever we had in charge of watching the Black Moon Family."

The interruption - Reachen came to the conclusion that it was one of his lesser grandsons; probably his third daughter's son, he'd never had any expectations of that particular brood - acknowledged this last by darting a brief terrified glance over one shoulder on his sprint to do the old monster's bidding.

While he was waiting, he ate another muffin, chewing vengefully as he dwelt on the absolute gall of people, indulging in political shenanigans when they ought to know better.  A load of nonsense, naturally, but it was goi ng to be inconvenient sorting through it.  And knowing the younger idiots who thought they ran things, he would have to take care of it himself.

The old monster sighed.  He'd taken precautions so that the Graycloak Clan would stay largely on top during the upheaval he'd foreseen, and now he would simply have to wait.

The old monster smiled.  Wait, of course; but no one said that he had to be idle while he was waiting.

*    *    *    *