“I think of her frequently.” She took a breath, let it out. Took another. “I think maybe I’m not being fair to you, Breq Ghaiad.”
I knew. I knew what name was on that pin, even though I hadn’t seen it. Knew it. Wasn’t sure if, knowing, I felt better about Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat, or much, much worse. But I was in danger, at this moment, in a way I had never anticipated, never predicted, never dreamed might happen. I had already said things I should never, ever have said. Was about to say more. Here was the one single person I had met in twenty long years who would know who I was. The temptation to cry out, Lieutenant, look, it’s me, I’m Justice of Toren One Esk was overwhelming.
Instead, very carefully, I said, “I agree with you that Seivarden needs to find herself a home here. I just don’t trust the Radch the way you do. The way she does.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat opened her mouth to answer me, but Seivarden’s voice cut across whatever Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat would have said. “That didn’t take long!” Seivarden came up beside me, looked at me, and frowned. “Your leg is bothering you again. You need to sit down.”
“Leg?” asked Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat.
“An old injury that didn’t heal quite right,” I said, glad of it for the moment, that Seivarden would attribute any distress she saw to that. That Station would, if it was watching.
“And you’ve had a long day, and I’ve kept you standing here. I’ve been quite rude, please forgive me, honored,” Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat said.
“Of course.” I bit back words that wanted to come out of my mouth behind that, and turned to Seivarden. “So where do things stand now?”
“I’ve requested my appeal, and should have a date sometime in the next few days,” she said. “I put your name in too.” At Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat’s raised eyebrow Seivarden added, “Breq saved my life. More than once.”
Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat only said, “Your audience probably won’t be for a few months.”
“Meantime,” continued Seivarden with a small, still-cross-armed acknowledging gesture, “I’ve been assigned lodgings and I’m on the ration list and I’ve got fifteen minutes to report to the nearest supplies office and get some clothes.”
Lodgings. Well, if her staying with me had looked wrong to Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat, doubtless it would, for the same reasons, look wrong to Seivarden herself. And even if she was no longer my servant, she had requested I accompany her to her audience. That was, I reminded myself, the important issue. “Do you want me to come with you?” I didn’t want to. I wanted to be alone, to recover my equilibrium.
“I’ll be fine. You need to get off that leg. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. Inspector Supervisor, it was good to meet you.” Seivarden bowed, perfectly calculated courtesy toward a social equal, received an identical bow from Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat, and then was off down the concourse.
I turned to Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat. “Where do you recommend I stay?”
Half an hour later I was as I had wished to be, alone in my room. It was an expensive one, just off the main concourse, an incredibly luxurious five meters square, a floor of what might almost have been real wood, dark-blue walls. A table and chairs, and an image projector in the floor. Many—though not all—Radchaai had optical and auditory implants that allowed them to view entertainments or listen to music or messages directly. But people still liked to watch things together, and the very wealthy sometimes made a point of turning their implants off.
The blanket on the bed felt as if it might be actual wool, not anything synthetic. On one wall a fold-down cot for a servant, which of course I no longer had. And, incredible luxury for the Radch, the room had its own tiny bath—a necessity for me, given the gun and ammunition strapped to my body under my shirt. Station’s scans hadn’t picked it up, and wouldn’t, but human eyes could see it. If I left it in the room, a searcher might find it. I certainly couldn’t leave it in the dressing room of a public bath.
A console on the wall near the door would give me access to communications. And Station. And it would allow Station to observe me, though I was certain it wasn’t the only way Station could see into the room. I was back in the Radch, never alone, never private.
My luggage had arrived within five minutes of my taking the room, and with it a tray of supper from a nearby shop, fish and greens, still steaming and smelling of spices.
There was always the chance that no one was paying attention. But my luggage, when I opened it, had clearly been searched. Maybe because I was foreign. Maybe not.
I took out my tea flask and cups, and the icon of She Who Sprang from the Lily, set them on the low table beside the bed. Used a liter of my water allowance to fill the flask, and then sat down to eat.