“No, the opposite: for all of us.” Not harshness but warmth rose in Caesar’s eyes, in his face, a human warmth which caught Andō off guard. “This is our child.” He looked to Andō first, then Spain, Faust, the Duke, the staring Censor, “I’m sure you feel it too, all of our child, the child of our … connections, to each other and Madame, as much as if this were a real bash’.” Even brooding Andō could not resist the word, the smile it coaxed. “We can’t be a real bash’,” Caesar added quickly, “but this child should be raised among us, all of us, or as close to among us as we can make possible. As Porphyrogene the child will grow up at the center of world politics, and the public will think it perfectly natural if my peers and collagues come to know them, and spend time with them. That way you will all be able to help raise them, not only here, but out in the public world, as ba’pas should.”
Warm feelings rose in all their faces, longing, friendship, many different things named love, even the primordial tenderness called parenthood, except in Ganymede de la Trémo?lle.
“Do you propose to raise the Prince away from here, Caesar? In Alexandria? Not at Madame’s?” Here the Duke-Consul’s impossibly blue eyes show his reflexive fear, Madame’s creation remembering how hard he fought to break from her, to seize even the tiny hint of freedom he now enjoyed having his own houshold at La Tremouille. A childhood in Alexandria could spare this child that fight, but, on the other hand, to be raised outside this house in Paris is to be raised a sexless, cultureless barbarian; can the noble Duke wish that upon a babe who shares the blood of Charlemagne?
“Oh, he must stay here with me!” came the Lady’s sweet but absolute reply. “He must have the proper tutors and attendants”—she smiled down at little Dominic—“and here he can spend time with His Majesty”—a nod to Spain—“and all of you, freely, outside the public eye. But I do think it would be a great thing for him to learn outside ways as well, and to see Alexandria, and Tōgenkyō.” A smile for Andō. “And, yes, Felix, you may take Him to the Institute.” A more teasing smile for her brother. “And I trust Your Grace too will be at His little Highness’s service, to tutor him in what you have learned dallying among the Humanists?”
Before this Matriarch, who had crafted him day by day and gene by gene but never let him speak the word ‘mother,’ the Duke could only take his place beside young Dominic and bow. “Of course, Madame. It will be an honor to aid in the Prince’s education.”
See victory in her smile.
“Good, I’ll need that,” the Emperor confirmed, smiling with unaccustomed warmth upon the Duke-consul, and winning in return a glance of blue perplexity. “I’ll need all of you. Precedent dictates that the porphyrogene should not be my successor. Nonetheless I hope our child will someday hold high office”—he squeezed Madame’s hand—“the world will expect it, in Romanova perhaps, or among the Humanists, or in another of your Hives. I want all of you to act as bash’parents, to spend time with the child, bring them to your capitals, teach them the ways and mind-sets of your Hives. I want you all to give them Minor offices when they’re old enough, so they can get to know all the Hive governments, and choose freely among them when they come of age.” He met the eyes of each colleague in turn. “I don’t want to make them Porphyrogene to take them away from the rest of you, I want to make them Porphyrogene so that all of us can spend as much time with our child as we like without the public finding anything strange in it, and so they can have a free choice of Hives, as all children should have. I know your objection, Andō,” MASON pressed before the Chief Director could interrupt, “but think carefully. Being Porphyrogene will not make our child a Mason, it will give them the freest choice of all, since they will grow up assuming that my seat—the only seat so tempting that it trumps all other choices—is not an option. I’m the only one who can take away that option, and thus make all others equally appealing.”
Doubt morphed to delight in faces around the room, then into doubt once more.
“What will you tell the public about the child’s parentage? It’ll be obvious it isn’t yours.” It was Censor Ancelet who had the thought first, his own dark African complexion making him acutely aware that he and deep bronze MASON were the two in the room who would least resemble this child of two pale parents. “The Celebrity Youth Act will seal the records, but if Spain spends a lot of time with the child people will talk.”
“Unless there’s a rival rumor!” Headmaster Felix Faust cut in, his eyes and fingers lively with delight. “You’re lucky, Andō, thanks to Queen Yijun you’re going to have your wish.”
Spain turned at this invocation of his Chinese ancestress. “What?”
“You take after your grandmother quite strongly, Spain,” Faust answered, pointing to His Majesty’s perfectly straight black hair, “and it’s visible in your little Leonor as well. If it’s visible in this child too then a credulous public should be willing to believe it’s Andō’s.”
“Andō’s…” the King Prime Minister repeated.
Was the Chief Director’s frown embarassement? Or frustration that the old Brillist had read his thoughts? “My offer stands to take responsibility for the child,” he began, stepping forward to place a hand beside MASON’s upon Madame’s belly. “I know you will not lie to the public, Spain, but if a rumor spreads that I’m the father, it will divert gossip, and strong Mitsubishi ties on top of Masonic ones will firmly eliminate the chance of entanglements with the Spanish succession.”
“I don’t…” Spain hesitated, “… what about the Princesse?”
Duke Ganymede scowled on behalf of his married sister. “The rumor will wound her little compared to the fact that Andō needed to wait for today’s test to be sure it’s not his child.”
If the rebuke stung Andō, he did not show it. “I will support this plan,” he confirmed, “the adoption and the rumor. This will be best for your people, Spain, and for the bash’ that the group of us can almost be for this child.”
“And for Madame foremost.” Now MASON set his grim left hand upon the warm bulge that held the child, so his right could grasp Madame’s. “I have no doubt, Madame, that such a loving mother as yourself will not rest until you have made your son the most privileged child in the world. Safer for all of us, I think, to get it over with.”
As when Medusa’s stare makes stones of heroes, the room froze at Madame’s smiling silence as she weighed MASON’s words. “You are right, of course, Cornel,” she pronounced at last. “I would like nothing better than to give my child every privilege, and I shall commit my full resources to that end. But I cannot accept your offer, generous as it is.”
“May I know your reasons?”
“You’re entitled to know, my dear.” She squeezed his hand in hers, but sighed at the other, its black sleeve. “The Porphyrogene must be a Familiaris. I will not have my son in your power to execute at will, especially if, as you propose, he will be raised by all of us, and thus have sympathies for many rival fathers, tempting him to stray.”
MASON frowned. “You think I am looking for a legal excuse to kill your son? My affection for you aside, Madame, I and all here know what the consequences are of breaking friendship with you. You could destroy me.”
Her head slumped back against her pillow in a show of delicate fatigue. “You are the Masonic Emperor, Cornel. It is hard to believe you fear anything, besides your law.”
The others waited for MASON’s next move, all silent except for Spain, who hiccupped with soft sobs, neither joy nor sadness, but commingling passions too multiform to have a name.
“Let them be a Familiaris Candidus, then,” Caesar offered, “the office I created for Apollo Mojave. With a Familiaris Candidus the Hive retains the authority to override my justice should it prove too harsh. While the child remains a Minor, Romanova’s Third Law will guard them from my Capital Power,” he nodded to the Censor, “and, once they pass the exam, veto will rest in the leader of whichever Hive they choose.” He nodded to the others: Andō, Faust, the bright Duke-Consul, Prime Minister Spain. “You already control five Hives, Madame, and neither the Cousins nor Utopia will tolerate death.”