Inspector Adjunct Ceit had three close friends, all three of whom had incomes and positions similar to hers, to judge from the gifts they’d exchanged with her. Two lovers intimate enough to exchange tokens with but not sufficiently so to be considered very serious. No strands of jewels, no bracelets—though of course if she did any work actually inspecting cargo or ship systems such things might have been in her way—and no rings over her gloves.
And there, on the other shoulder, where now I could see it plainly and look straight at it without being excessively impolite, was the token I had been looking for. I had mistaken it for something less impressive, had, on first glance, taken the platinum for silver, and its dependent pearl for glass, the sign of a gift from a sibling—current fashions misleading me. This was nothing cheap, nothing casual. But it wasn’t a token of clientage, though the metal and the pearl suggested a particular house association. An association with a house old enough that Seivarden could have recognized it immediately. Possibly had.
Inspector Adjunct Ceit stood. “The inspector supervisor is available now,” she said. “I do apologize for your wait.” She opened the inner door and gestured us through.
In the innermost office, standing to meet us, twenty years older and a bit heavier than when I’d last seen her, was the giver of that pin—Lieutenant—no, Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat Awer.
18
It was impossible that Lieutenant Skaaiat would recognize me. She bowed, oblivious to the fact that I knew her. It was strange to see her in dark blue, and so much more sober, more grave than when I’d known her in Ors.
An inspector supervisor in a station as busy as this likely never set foot on the ships her subordinates inspected, but Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat wore almost as little jewelry as her assistant. A long strand of green-and-blue jewels coiled from shoulder to opposite hip, and a red stone dangled from one ear, but otherwise a similar (though clearly more expensive) scattering of friends, lovers, dead relatives decorated her uniform jacket. One plain gold token hung on the cuff of her right sleeve, just next to the edge of the glove, the placement that of something she intended to be reminded of, as much for herself to see as anyone else. It looked cheap, machine-made. Not the sort of thing she would wear.
She bowed. “Citizen Seivarden. Honored Breq. Please sit. Will you have tea?” Still effortlessly elegant, even after twenty years.
“Your assistant already offered us tea, thank you, Inspector Supervisor,” I said. Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat looked momentarily at me and then at Seivarden, slightly surprised, I thought. She had been addressing Seivarden primarily, thinking of Seivarden as the principal person between the two of us. I sat. Seivarden hesitated a moment and then sat in the seat beside me, arms still crossed to hide her bare hands.
“I wanted to meet you myself, citizen,” Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat said, when she’d taken her own seat. “Privilege of office. It isn’t every day you meet someone a thousand years old.”
Seivarden smiled, small and tight. “Indeed not,” she agreed.
“And I felt it would be improper for Security to arrest you on the dock. Though…” Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat gestured, placatory, the pin on her cuff flashing once as she did. “You are in some legal difficulty, citizen.”
Seivarden relaxed, just slightly, shoulders lowering, jaw loosening. Barely detectable, unless you knew her. Skaaiat’s accent and mildly deferential tone were having an effect. “I am,” Seivarden acknowledged. “I intend to appeal.”
“There’s some question about the matter, then.” Stilted. Formal. A query that wasn’t a query. But no answer came. “I can take you to the palace offices myself and avoid any entanglement with Security.” Of course she could. She’d worked this out with Security’s chief already.
“I’d be grateful.” Seivarden sounded more like her old self than I’d heard her in the last year. “Would it be worth asking you to assist me contacting Geir’s lord?” Geir might conceivably have some responsibility for this last member of the house it had taken over. Hated Geir, which had absorbed its enemy—Vendaai, Seivarden’s house. Vendaai’s relations with Awer hadn’t been any better than with Geir, but I supposed the request was a measure of just how desperate and alone Seivarden was.
“Ah.” Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat winced, just slightly. “Awer and Geir aren’t as close as they used to be, citizen. About two hundred years ago there was an exchange of heirs. The Geir cousin killed herself.” The verb Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat used implied that it hadn’t been an approved, Medical-mediated suicide but something illicit and messy. “And the Awer cousin went mad and ran off to join some cult somewhere.”
Seivarden made a breathy, amused noise. “Typical.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat raised an eyebrow, but only said, temperately, “It left some bad feeling on both sides. So my connections with Geir aren’t what they could be, and I might or might not be able to be helpful to you. And their responsibilities toward you might be… difficult to determine, though you might find that useful in an appeal.”