The Collapsing Empire (The Interdependency #1)(63)

“I understand entirely, sir. But as I said, this is just misunderstanding and rumor.”

“Then you won’t mind apologizing to the Count of Claremont personally.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“I’ve invited the count this morning to a small meeting. More of drinks and a chat, really, at Weatherfair.” That would be the duke’s “getaway” palace, not far outside the city. “You and me and him. There you’ll explain the entire situation to him, and apologize to him.”

“Sir, for what? As I said, this is entirely a misunderstanding.”

“Then you’ll apologize for the misunderstanding. Ghreni, it doesn’t matter whether you actually have anything to apologize for. The act of apologizing is the thing. You should know that already. That’s basic diplomacy.”

“The meeting will be just the three of us?”

“Yes. I think that’s best. No need to make a spectacle about it. The word will get out anyway.”

“The Lady Vrenna will not be there?”

“The count’s daughter? No. Why?”

“Just checking.”

“We could invite her if you like.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Then I’ll see you in a few hours. Dress casually. Practice groveling.” The duke disconnected.

And that was point eight.

So, to recap: People wanted Ghreni dead or at least seriously injured, his plans to maneuver himself to a dukedom through fomenting a revolution were falling apart at a rapidly accelerating rate, and in a few hours he’d have to feign regret for an incident he’d have to maintain never happened, even though it had and Ghreni had absolutely no regrets doing it, save that it didn’t go to plan. Unless something miraculous happened in short order, Ghreni would be dead or in jail and the House of Nohamapetan legally on the hook of his actions.

The worst of it was, none of this was originally his idea.

*

By the time they were all in their teenage years, it was clear to anyone who cared to look that each of the Nohamapetan scions had a certain leading characteristic. Amit was the conventional one—unoriginal, unthreatening, but always ready to be out front for family and house, a tractable figurehead who would one day publicly take the reins of the House of Nohamapetan. Ghreni was the useful one, the one good with people, the “salesman”—or the confidence man—the one who could intrigue you with an idea and get you to sign your name on the line, whether or not you really understood what you were buying.

But it was Nadashe, the sister, who was the brains of the operation. She was the one who told the figurehead what to say, and pointed the salesman at the mark, and set into motion the plans that would take years, or even decades, to come to their fruition.

As she did that first night, when the siblings were all gathered in Xi’an to celebrate the birthday of Rennered Wu, the crown prince, whom Nadashe had so recently begun negotiations with, in regards to a marriage.

“He’s a prick,” Ghreni had said, to his sister, after the three of them had departed the festivities and decamped to the Nohamapetan apartments, not too far from the imperial palace.

“I kind of like him,” Amit replied. Amit was lounged on a chaise, a glass of Nohamapetan shiraz in his hand. The shiraz was contraband, or would be if anyone other than the Nohamapetans themselves were to drink it; the House of Patric owned the monopoly on grapes and all their products. But when the Interdependency was formed, and the monopolies parceled out, the existing Nohamapetan grape stock was grandfathered in, for the family’s private use only. The house’s famous shiraz, acknowledged to be one of the finest outside the now-lost environs of Earth, was now accessible only if one was a Nohamapetan. Or one of their guests, for a small private party or perhaps even something more intimate. It was not unheard of for especially fervent oenophiles to proposition Nohamapetans on the chance there might be a particularly vintage bottle in the offing.

“You would,” Ghreni said. From his point of view, Rennered Wu and his brother were cut out of the same boring, playboy-ish cloth. Ghreni didn’t dislike Amit, nor did Amit dislike Ghreni, but in their adult years they didn’t spend all that much time with each other. They both had friends who were more suitably interesting to each of them.

Ghreni didn’t spend that much time with his sister, either, although not for lack of interest. It’s just that Nadashe had plans. When they involved Ghreni, he saw her. When they didn’t, he didn’t. The fact that she had dragged them both back to her apartments, minus their escorts for the evening, meant that her plans involved them in some way.

But she wasn’t telling them what they were yet, so Ghreni decided to needle her, just for fun. “And what’s your excuse, Nada? Why are you consorting with that stiff Rennered?”

Nadashe, standing behind Amit’s chaise, reached over and took her brother’s wineglass from him and took a swig. Amit protested mildly but shut up when it was returned to him. “You mean, aside from the fact that one day he will be emperox and that allying with the imperial house will give our family an unassailable position among the guilds, and that one of my children will be the next emperox, forever embedding our interests into the fabric of the Interdependency?”

“Yes,” Ghreni said. “Besides that.”

“He’s an acceptable dancer.”