Counterweave

7. DANGEROUS QUESTIONS

Every morning since her daughter's engagement to that horrible ba Tir man, K'arrala entered her garden retreat, hoping that someday her daughter would arrive. They used to enjoy breakfast together here almost every morning. But since the ba Tirs arrived, everything with her little girl changed, including how Chalatta glanced at her.

Del had told her what the Xantis Tey did to those who married into their race. They forced their intendeds to forget or discount as inconsequential everything prior to their marriage. Outsiders. That was the word they used for someone not born Xantis Tey. Their Talented, like the Emperor's family, could literally change a person's way of thinking, and make them believe anything.

At least that was what her husband claimed. They can't make her forget her own mother, can they?

For six mooncycles K'arrala had come up here, faithfully, no matter what the Council wanted. Nothing kept her away from this one appointment. She always arrived a little early, and stayed until ten hundred, often longer. She adjusted her appointments for later in the day, and stayed up until all hours getting her paperwork finished. There were no unscheduled meetings, especially morning ones, just in case her daughter found her way back here for one last visit.

Usually she changed the code to her retreat every tenday, but she had not changed it once since her daughter's capture by the royal family. Just in case.

Only nine days remained until the ceremony.

Del had told her that except for the exchanges of wealth and title, and consummation, their daughter was already married.

How could she be married, K'arrala had shouted back. She is still a child.

She's almost twenty, Del had reminded her as if she didn't know her own daughter's age. The Prince looked at her age, not her physical maturity.

But she's Krindarwee. Her body won't be ready for a husband for years yet.

That had silenced Del. I know. His voice, too quiet, almost failed to reach her. I told him so. He didn't believe me. He thought I was trying to keep him from wedding her.

Well, Karra said, you were.

I was. Yes. I wish... He shook his head. It doesn't matter what I wish. It's done. Every effort I used to stop this arrangement from taking place has been useless. And then his face had turned as rigid as stone as he marched from the room.

The Prince had even changed her name. He called her Chala now, a pet name. His Delight. Karra had wept then. She did not weep now. Now she needed to steel herself for her day with the Council.

She paused to look at the small table where she used to breakfast with her daughter, still serviced for two, with her daughter's portion untouched. Every day, for the last six months, K'arrala removed the untouched dishes, cutlery and food, while she fought a nearly overwhelming sense of loss. After six months of wracking emotion, however, she now felt hollow inside.

She pushed back from the table and stood, when the door opened.

As Chalatta shut the door quietly behind her, she stared back. She looked thin and disheveled, and exposed with the transparent tunic on her hiding nothing. Her eyes were smudged from exhaustion, not a surprise since she was known for dancing all night with her husband.