She spoke well. Perhaps exceptionally well.

Tarkhe watched her from the wall. The indrel stood silent behind her. The baxxid diplomat listened. The Ivenmoth representative took notes.

Nobody in the room could see the thought moving through Kimia with increasing regularity.

After this.

No.

After council.

No.

Tonight.

No.

The answers became harder each time. 

Kimia smiled at the appropriate moment. Asked another intelligent question. Remembered a figure from a report she had read three weeks earlier. Corrected the Ivenmoth representative on the location of an Olissingen rail junction.

The duchess performed beautifully.

Somewhere beneath the performance, Kimia watched her perform and wondered how long excellence could continue to count as evidence of health.

The meeting ended cordially.

Of course it did.

Hands and appropriate limbs exchanged formal gestures.

House Chityala reaffirmed friendship. House Ivenmoth reaffirmed cooperation. The baxxid diplomat conveyed respect. Kimia conveyed gratitude.

Nothing had been decided because nothing had been meant to be decided.

This too was diplomacy.

The delegates departed through the foyer with palace guards receiving them at the door.

Kimia remained standing after they were gone.

The great doors closed. Silence returned. Tarkhe approached.

“You did well.”

Kimia did not look at him.

“I know.”

“That was intended as reassurance.”

“I know.”

The indrel stood several paces behind.

Kimia could still feel the moment in which it had gathered itself to move.

She turned toward it.

“What did you see?”

The soldier said nothing.

Of course.

Its pheromone mask clicked. Kimia stared at it.

“Fine.”

She looked toward the stairs. Her pocket watch came out.

The hands told her how much time remained before council: under three hours. 

She understood the number. She put the watch away.

For the moment the palace was only a palace. The floor was stone. The walls were walls.

Nobody had blackguarded her. Nobody had humiliated her. Nobody had discovered anything she could not permit them to know.

The strong front had held.

This should have felt like victory.

Instead Kimia could think only of how badly she wanted to stop being the person who had won it.