They had taken the plants with them to their worlds of exile, but not the machines; those, they had had to reverse-engineer. Some to rett the fiber (and oh, how bitter it had been at first, the carefully-tended tivish turned stiff and brittle by their own errors)! More to spin the thread too fine to be seen, still more to weave it into cloth light as mist—none of that had been easy, and nor had it been simple to rediscover the dyes that would bind properly to the fiber. It had taken years for them to replicate the infrastructure that had been available to them on ch'Havran, especially when they needed to spend such time and effort on mere survival. Compared to food and shelter, tivish was a luxury.
But that was the point, was it not? This was better than jewels or precious metal, better than fine swords; the former the Rihannsu disdained, and the latter they passed down as heirlooms. But the robes and scarves and fine shawls of tivish they bought new; and the finest-grade cloth, light and airy and brilliant of color, had become quite the status symbol.
Half the Praetorate and still more of the Senate would be wearing Kavethssu tivish by now, little though they might suspect. Even the Three themselves.
That rankled some of the family—to sell the fruits of their long labor to their enemies. But pleased Thala t'Kaveth, new-made Mother of the House, very much. She reminded her kin that money was money, and soon spent—on weapons, on research, and most of all on their ship, the home-to-be of their children. What better vengeance on those who had stolen their ancestral lands, than to make them fund their own downfall?