Vehm smiled.

“Zhere she is.”

Kimia's laughter stopped. She looked at him.

“What?”

“Nozhing.”

“You said somezhing.”

“I said zhere she is.”

“Who?”

Vehm drank water now.

“Miss Kimia.”

She disliked the answer.

Not because it was wrong, because part of her wanted it to be true.

Kimia looked down at the empty bowl.

“You're drunk.”

“Yes.”

“Zhat explains it.”

“Perhaps.”

She poured herself more water.

Not vodka.

The pitcher remained between them with perhaps a third left.

Vehm could have it.

Kimia decided this without announcing it.

For a while they did nothing.

This was the great luxury.

No council. No tax projections. No Tilmuhl. No House Ivenmoth. No dead predecessors staring from painted walls. No computer asking what she wanted when she had forgotten. No Tarkhe. No questions about dosage. No prayer. No Alsper. Even Vehm's debts withdrew.

The restaurant contained sufficient noise to prevent the mind from becoming the loudest thing present.

Kimia listened without following any conversation.

A glass broke somewhere. Applause. A waiter cursed. Someone told a story loudly enough that three neighboring tables began listening. Music changed.

Ghi'cha's pipe went out. He relit it.

The artificial eye caught amber light.

Kimia watched people.

Not as duchess. Not as ruler. Not as someone responsible.

Just bodies occupying an evening.

A human woman fed a piece of food to a yinglet companion.

A baxxid drank from a vessel designed to accommodate its mouthparts.

An old man slept at the bar with his head on one hand.

Nobody asked Kimia to fix anything.

The feeling bordered on religious.

Vehm poured the last of the vodka into his own glass.

He looked at her first.

Kimia nodded.

Permission granted.

He finished it.

Then sat with both hands around the empty glass.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

Kimia stiffened slightly.

“What about it?”

“It comes.”

“I know.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Yes.”

Vehm looked around the restaurant.

“But not yet.”

Kimia followed his gaze.

Amber lamps. Smoke. Food. People.

The indrel stood several meters away now, still watching, mask clicking gently at intervals.

Her human guard spoke casually to a waiter.

The yinglet guard had acquired a plate of fried shellfish and was eating while keeping one ear turned toward Kimia.

Everything under control.

Approximately.

Kimia leaned back.

The remaining whiteblood warmth and the vodka existed together within her as something soft and distant.

She knew this was not recovery. Not revelation. Not victory.

She had merely placed several hours between herself and the things that wanted to consume her.

Perhaps that was enough.

Sometimes survival seemed embarrassingly administrative.

Delay. Buffer. Distance.

Tomorrow could collect its debts when it arrived.

Tonight, Ghi'cha's remained open.

Vehm remained across from her.

The world outside still possessed wars, taxes, mines, dynasties, hungry creditors, and people arranging themselves into systems large enough to crush the individuals inside them.

Kimia knew all of this.

For once, the knowledge lacked teeth.

She took another drink of water.

The problems of the world receded into the room's warm noise.

They still existed.

They simply existed somewhere else.

Until tomorrow.