His mouth tightened. He could lecture ministers, intimidate servants, and bully minor nobility with the authority of age and medicine, but there were boundaries he could not cross. A patient might be compelled by law. A duchess could only be inconvenienced.
 
“You should not attend the delegation in this condition,” he said.

“What condition?”

“The one you are making me name so that you can object to the name.”

“I am tired.”

“You are unsteady.”

“I missed a stair.”

“You did not miss it.”

“Zhen what is zhe problem?”

“You had to negotiate with it.”

Kimia stopped again.

The corridor ahead opened into the dining room. Through the doorway she could see a long table set for one person, silver covers shining beneath the lamps. A servant waited at the far wall with hands folded. The sight filled her with a disproportionate weariness.

Tarkhe lowered his voice.

“I am not your enemy.”

“No,” Kimia said. “You are much more persistent.”

“That is because enemies eventually go home.”

The indrel’s head turned slightly toward him. It may have been listening. It may have detected the change in his pulse. It may have understood nothing beyond the fact that two protected organisms had altered their tone.
Kimia looked up at the soldier.

“You agree with him?”

The indrel said nothing. Its mask clicked.

“Coward,” she murmured.

Tarkhe almost smiled, but did not permit himself the indulgence.

Kimia entered the dining room. The waiting servant drew out her chair. She climbed into it and straightened out her robe. The indrel positioned itself near the door, great and silent beneath the folds of its garment. Tarkhe remained standing opposite her.

The servant lifted the first cover. Cut fruit. Soft-boiled gulluk eggs. A dark green loaf of algae that was tough to chew, but easy to digest. No heavy protein. She picked up a fork.

Tarkhe watched.

“You may leave,” she told the servant.

The servant bowed and withdrew. Kimia set the fork down. Tarkhe remained.

“I included you in zhat.”

“I know.”

She looked at the fruit. Each piece had been arranged with tweezers or something very much like them. Nothing touched anything else. The little divisions between colors seemed significant. 

“I prayed zhis morning,” she said.

Tarkhe’s expression changed, though only slightly.

“To Alsper?”

“Yes.”

“Did he answer?”

“Not in language.”

He waited.

She resented him for being able to wait.

“I asked for courage,” she said.

“And?”

“I remain unconvinced zhat it was granted.”

“Perhaps courage is not administered immediately.”

“You physicians say zhat about everyzhing.”

“Most worthwhile treatments are slow.”

“Kilcane is not.”

“No.”

“Whiteblood is not.”

“No.”

There it was between them at last, set upon the table.

Kimia picked up one piece of syrupbloom and held it without eating. Tarkhe removed his spectacles. He polished them with a square of cloth although there was nothing on the lenses.

“You cannot continue using both,” he said.