Left.

Thirty seconds.

Right.

Thirty seconds.

Left.

The front doors opened.

Not yet.

A servant entered carrying correspondence. The doors closed again.

Kimia nearly laughed.

The reaction frightened her.

She did not laugh.

Three minutes.

She stood. Sitting had become intolerable.

Tarkhe said nothing. The indrel turned its head. Kimia adjusted one cuff, then the other.

Her hair was still properly arranged. Tail fur properly combed. Kaftan straight.

Duchess assembled.

Good.

Footsteps outside.

Voices.

The guards moved. One opened the door. The delegation entered.

The Ivenmoth representative came first.

Human.

Older than Kimia had expected, silver beginning at his temples. He wore the red-and-gold of House Ivenmoth in a formal coat whose colors had been subdued enough to avoid looking military but not enough to permit anyone to mistake allegiance. The House emblem sat over the breast in fine embroidery.

He carried no visible weapon.

Behind him came the baxxid.

Kimia had met individuals who wore wealth like armor.

This one did the opposite. Its clothing was plain.

A long fitted mantle of pale fabric followed the upper exoskeletal plates and left the limbs free. No gemstones. No gilding. No ridiculous attempt to make baxxid anatomy resemble human court fashion. Around the head rested a folded ceremonial cloth of muted cream and gray, arranged with such precision that its simplicity became more expensive-looking than ornament.

The exoskeleton beneath it was immaculate.

Not young. Not old. Maintained.

The baxxid stopped just inside the entrance.

For an instant the room acquired two centers of gravity.

Kimia stood at one. The baxxid stood at the other, then etiquette resolved the problem.

The human representative bowed.

“Your Grace.”

The baxxid inclined the forward body.

A low infrasonic resonance entered the floor beneath Kimia’s feet before the humanoid speech followed.

“Duchess Kimia. House Chityala honors us with reception.”

The words emerged slowly, but not laboriously. This baxxid had trained for humanoid diplomacy until the alien mechanism of speech had become almost elegant.

Kimia bowed her head.

“House Chityala welcomes you both.”

Good.

Her voice sounded correct. The mask held.

She gave the human representative his name and title.

Then the baxxid's.

She remembered the formal title after all.

This pleased her more than it should have.

Introductions concluded.

The human glanced toward Tarkhe, then toward the indrel.

There was a tiny hesitation at the latter. Most people experienced the same when seeing Kimia's bodyguard for the first time.

The indrel did not move.

Kimia said, “We’ll use zhe dining room. It’s quieter.”

“Of course,” the Ivenmoth man said.

They proceeded.

Kimia led.

This mattered.

Not because anyone would have objected if a servant guided them, but because walking ahead prevented her from watching their faces.

She knew exactly where she was going.

That helped.

The small dining room had been prepared without excess ceremony.

Water. Coffee. A light arrangement of fruit and shellfish. No alcohol.

Kimia noticed this and was briefly, irrationally offended.

Then grateful.

Then offended by the gratitude.

She sat at the head. The two delegates sat opposite and adjacent, although the baxxid delegate opted to remain standing. 

Tarkhe remained farther back near the wall.

The indrel stationed itself behind and slightly to Kimia’s right.

Servants poured water.

The formal exchange began.

“How fares House Chityala?”

There were correct answers to such questions.

Kimia supplied one.

“Productively. Agricultural receipts remain stable. Industrial revenue is slightly below projection, but not enough to concern us. Infrastructure expenditure is higher zhan I’d prefer.”

The Ivenmoth representative smiled.

“That is true everywhere.”

“Zhen everyone is spending too much.”

A small laugh. Good.

The correct amount.