Vehm heard.
“What?”
“Nozhing.”
Vehm waited, buttoning his waistcoat partially when he noticed the cold starting to take hold.
He had become irritatingly good at waiting.
Kimia looked toward him.
“What?”
“You sighed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I have lungs.”
Vehm stared. Kimia looked away.
He said: “Somezhing is bozhering you.”
“Many zhings are bozhering me.”
“Which one is winning?”
Kimia considered.
The answer took longer than expected.
“The Diet.”
Vehm's ears shifted.
“Val Salian?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Few days. I leave in two.”
“Ah.”
He understood enough not to ask whether she could simply decline.
Kimia leaned backward against the stone.
“I've got to attend zhe Val Salian Diet. Discuss matters of import with zhe other lords.”
Vehm looked out across the garden.
“Do you want to go?”
Kimia opened her mouth, then closed it while she reconsidered her answer.
“I have no idea.”
“Zhat sounds promising.”
“I’m sure it'll be fine.”
Vehm looked at her.
Kimia continued.
“We'll probably be discussing why other parts of zhe world are going to hell.”
Vehm laughed once, then winced and touched his forehead.
“Don't do zhat.”
“You did.”
“I know.”
The humor passed.
They both understood what she meant. Anyone who followed the news understood.
Some places had already collapsed into obvious disaster. Others remained technically stable while every informed person quietly moved money, family, equipment, or military units according to assumptions they would not say aloud.
Tilmuhl belonged to the second category.
For now.
The Heart had the peculiar burden of being powerful enough that other people's disasters eventually became questions placed before its own rulers.
Intervene? Do not intervene? Protect trade? Protect allies? Protect civilians? Protect mines? Protect reputation? Pay? Send soldiers? Send money? Send nothing?
Every option could be described as moral or monstrous depending on which paragraph one began reading from.
Vehm tilted his head upward.
“Zhe Heart loves meetings.”
“Yes.”
“Because meetings make history ask permission.”
Kimia looked at him.
“Zhat sounds like somezhing Kalgkur would say.”
“I stole it from someone.”
“Kalgkur?”
“No idea.”
Vehm drank.
“Are you going to see zhe boss himself?”
Kimia knew immediately who he meant.
“Ieronim Val Salia?”
“Yes.”
“Oh yeah.”
She looked toward the Heavenly Veil.
“I’m going to see zhe big-dick himself.”
Vehm chortled. He tried suppressing it and failed.
The sound grew until he had to put the water glass down on the bench.
Kimia felt herself smiling.
“Zhat is terrible,” he said.
“Accurate.”
“You cannot call him zhat.”
“I know.”
“What if you do?”
“I'll become historically interesting.”
Vehm laughed again.
“Please don't.”