Kimia took another sip of water.
“Zhat generally ends well.”
No one laughed.
Better.
Outside the dining room, somewhere in the palace, a clock struck the quarter hour.
Kimia counted automatically.
Her mind remained functional. Sharp. Too sharp perhaps.
The craving had gone quiet.
Not disappeared.
Waiting.
It waited behind the conversation like an animal beneath furniture.
Whiteblood. Kilcane.
Later.
No.
She corrected herself again.
No.
The baxxid diplomat asked her opinion on whether the Minor Houses would support a broader Ivenmoth guarantee to Olissingen if the security situation deteriorated.
Kimia answered carefully.
“Some would.”
“Chityala?”
She paused. There was the actual question.
Kimia looked toward the human representative, then the baxxid.
“I would need to see zhe terms.”
The Ivenmoth representative smiled.
“Diplomatic.”
“Accurate.”
“Would Chityala oppose such a guarantee in principle?”
“No.”
“Would you support one in principle?”
“No.”
The human laughed softly.
Kimia continued.
“I would support a guarantee whose obligations were limited, whose duration was stated, whose financial costs were distributed honestly, and whose military objectives could be explained in fewer zhan twenty pages.”
The baxxid produced a low resonant sound. Amusement perhaps.
“An ambitious standard.”
“I enjoy impossible zhings.”
The sentence escaped before Kimia examined it.
For a fraction of a second she heard another meaning inside it.
The room tilted inward. Not visibly. She kept her face unchanged.
The indrel behind her moved.
Only slightly.
One of its enormous limbs shifted beneath the garment. Kimia felt rather than saw it.
It knew.
Not what. Something.
The pheromone mask clicked once.
The baxxid diplomat looked toward the soldier.
Kimia saw the diplomat's attention move, then the indrel’s head turned too quickly, all of its visible eyes fixed upon the delegate.
The room became still.
The movement had lasted less than a second.
The palace guards were outside. Tarkhe was already half upright.
The indrel had interpreted something.
A posture. A glance. A movement of a limb.
Kimia did not know.
Its body gathered beneath the garment.
Not attacking.
Ready.
The difference was meaningful only while nothing happened.
Kimia turned her head.
“No.”
The word came quietly. The indrel froze. Its mask clicked.
One second.
Two.
Then the enormous body eased by a fraction.
The baxxid diplomat had not moved. Neither had the Ivenmoth representative.
Kimia looked at her bodyguard.
“Stand down.”
The soldier obeyed. The room resumed.
Not immediately.
Rooms did not recover as quickly as people pretended.
Kimia turned back toward the delegation.
“My apologies.”
The baxxid diplomat spoke after its characteristic delay.
“Unnecessary.”
“My guard misread you.”
“Then its vigilance is functioning.”
Kimia studied the diplomat.
No insult. No challenge.
The baxxid had saved her the embarrassment. This kindness made her feel briefly ill.
The Ivenmoth representative reached for his coffee.
“Where were we?”
Kimia knew exactly.
“Impossible guarantees.”
“Ah. Yes.”
And just like that, the machinery restarted.
Kimia continued.
She spoke of limited commitments. Of escalation thresholds. Of extraction interests disguised as security priorities and security priorities that remained real despite the disguise.