As long as that spouse was following your agenda, her brain pointed out. Which would be a primary problem with Nadashe Nohamapetan. Whatever her plans were, they were made well in advance of Cardenia arriving on the throne. That would be a disqualifier on Nadashe’s part. Plus, Cardenia not really being interested in having sex with her was an issue. In mourning or not, it had been a damn long time since Cardenia had gotten laid.
But you don’t want to have sex with Amit, either, her brain reminded her. Which was also true enough. He had the right gender but the wrong personality and was so transparently a puppet for his sister’s machinations that the only thing Cardenia could ever think while in his presence was When can I leave. It was also clear to Cardenia that Amit found her attractive, or attractive enough, anyway, which meant he would definitely want to have sex with her.
If you don’t want to have sex with either of them, then you might as well marry the one who won’t want to have sex with you either, her brain reasoned. This was an excellent point, except she didn’t know Nadashe’s sexuality, aside from “ambitious.” Nadashe would marry Cardenia, if that was on offer. Would she want everything else that was supposed to come with it? Possibly. But that’s not what Cardenia wanted.
Not that you couldn’t get sex if you wanted, anyway. Which was also a thing. Political marriages were what they were, and the House of Murn, which controlled the sex work guild, had a thriving presence on Xi’an. She could very easily get as much service as she could stand. Certainly she wouldn’t be the first emperox to do so. She knew that from the Memory Room, where she foolishly asked the simulation of her father about his imperial marriage, and Attavio VI revealed the extent of his own extracurricular activity.
This squicked out Cardenia, not for the fact of the sex, but because she, like most people, preferred not to picture a parent going at it. Cardenia wasn’t opposed to sex work or getting sex that way, if one were feeling a need and it was the easiest way to deal with it. But she didn’t want that as the default for her. Or to have lovers on the side doing the job of a spouse. If she was going to be married, she wanted a spouse who would be the focus for all of that. Call her old-fashioned.
And beyond all this nonsense about sex, the issue of children: conventionally solvable with Amit Nohamapetan, technically solvable with Nadashe, but leaving unanswered the question of whether she wanted children with either. She didn’t care for the Nohamapetans much. She had no doubt she would love any child she had, but she was worried that she wouldn’t like them, if the Nohamapetan personality set was the dominant one.
And none of any of that changed the fact that when it came right down to it, Cardenia didn’t want to marry either Amit or Nadashe Nohamapetan, not only because she didn’t find either attractive but because she resented being forced into a political marriage at all. She resented the Nohamapetans for pressing a claim that she had not been party to. She resented the executive committee for tacitly and explicitly promoting their suit. She resented the political realities with the guilds that made a marriage to a Nohamapetan a prudent move, in terms of the emperox retaining and exercising power. She resented her brother for dying, and she resented her father for suggesting that she didn’t have to marry a Nohamapetan, after all, when every other person, faction, and reality itself, strongly suggested otherwise.
My life sucks, Cardenia thought to herself. I am emperox of all humanity, and my life sucks. She laughed a little bit at that.
“Ma’am?” Nadashe said, bringing her out of her reverie.
“Sorry,” Cardenia said. “I was thinking about our predicament.”
“May I offer a suggestion?” Nadashe asked.
“You may.”
“For my house and for my brother I would be willing to give up my seat on the council, but only if it were because you agreed to marriage. So let me suggest this. While you are in mourning, spend significant time with Amit. Not merely formal settings but situations where the two of you could be yourselves with each other, if you were together. Where you might learn to see him as a partner. A consort. A spouse. On the anniversary of your coronation, tell him whether you accept him. If you do, I’ll resign from the executive committee. But if not, I’ll stay on, and at least Amit and my house have an answer. But I would need your promise that you wouldn’t then attempt to dismiss me from the committee. Is that acceptable?”
Cardenia thought about it. “I think so,” she said.
“Good,” Nadashe said. “In that case, I have an invitation for you, from Amit. Your construction yards have just completed the House of Nohamapetan’s latest tenner, the If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out. He invites you to a private tour of the ship, with him.”
“When?”
“In two days.”
“And your brother issued this invitation when?”
“Yesterday. He would have sent it directly but I’m on the committee and he knew I’d see you.”
“And you anticipated us having this conversation, Nadashe?”
Nadashe smiled. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t have imagined that the House of Lagos would convince other houses to try to have me removed, although I’m not surprised now that I know. Or could know that you and I would make a deal because of it. No, the thing is, ma’am, Amit actually seems to like you. So he asked me to intercede on his behalf.”
“You’re a good sister.”
“I’m an adequate sister,” Nadashe said. “I mean, I was going to see you anyway. It wasn’t any extra effort.”
They both had a laugh at that.
Shortly thereafter Cardenia was back in her private wing, with Gell Deng. “I’d like you to keep me updated on the latest about the bombing today,” she said. “Not just from the news feeds.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Deng said.
“Also, I’ve agreed to tour a new ship with Amit Nohamapetan two days from now. Please contact his people and make the arrangements. Allow for two hours, plus travel. Late afternoon.”
Deng raised his eyebrows slightly at this but otherwise said nothing on it directly. Instead he said, “The Imperial Guard will want blueprints and a proposed tour path.”
“I don’t think there is a proposed tour path. It’s meant to be informal.”
“The Imperial Guard will be very unhappy about that.”
“Then have them inform Nohamapetan’s people that there needs to be a tour path, but don’t tell me. I want to be surprised.”
“Yes, ma’am. Also, you asked to be told if there was ever news from the Count of Claremont on End.”
“Yes?” In the first week of her reign, Cardenia had sent a letter to the count informing him of Attavio VI’s passing and requesting the latest on his research. It would still be far too early for the count to respond directly to that letter.
“It’s not the Count of Claremont himself, but his son, Lord Marce Claremont. He just now arrived on a Lagos fiver and will be at Imperial Station in roughly thirty hours. He requests an audience with you.”
“His son?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We’re sure about that relationship?”
“The note came with the same security cipher the Count of Claremont used on all his correspondence. It’s legitimate.”
“Did something happen to the count?”
“The request doesn’t say. Would you like to schedule him, or should I shunt him off?” The Office of the Emperox had more than three dozen protocol officers to meet with low-level officials, apparatchiks, and flunkeys. If any of them were important enough to escalate, Deng would get a report and decide whether to bring it to the emperox’s attention.
“Schedule him.”
“I can give him fifteen minutes prior to your walkabout with Amit Nohamapetan, whatever time that is. That should be enough time for Lord Claremont to disembark and catch a shuttle to Xi’an.”
“Have someone meet him. It’s probably his first time off End. I don’t want him to get lost.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do I have anything else for the rest of the day?”
“Only a few minor things. Nothing that won’t keep.”
Cardenia nodded. “Then I’m going to speak to my ancestors for a while. About political marriages.”
“They would know all about those, ma’am.”
“Yes they would.” Cardenia nodded and headed off to the Memory Room.
Chapter