Bren watched the flat, long-grassed plains fly by from the jeep's window, and tried to keep from biting off his tongue as the vehicle hit another deep rut at the same too-fast pace they had carried since they left the paved road. At one time, the pace the driver now kept would have worried him, even scared him, but that was a long time ago. After a decade of being the paidhi-aiji, chief translator between humans on their island enclave and atevi on the mainland, he had gotten used to such speeds. Such speeds that seemed so reckless to a fragile human mind in a fragile human body, but that suited atevi—black skinned, golden-eyed atevi who stood head and shoulders taller than even the tallest human—quite well.

Still, the fact that they seemed to be following the most rudimentary of roads—if a road existed at all—at such high speeds was hardly comfortable, and he focused on the scenery passing by. Even after ten years, most of them spend living on the mainland, he had never seen the vast northern plains, home to the best tamers of mechieti—the giant atevi riding animal. And this trip was Tabini-aiji's gift to him, a welcome-home-glad-you're-still-alive present, it seemed, after he had arrived home safely after spending more than two years in space—that being a very long, and complicated story. A chance to see a part of the land he had never seen before, and not only that, but in the company of the aiji's grandmother, Ilisidi, whose company Bren had always particularly enjoyed.

And so he found himself in the jeep, with his security detail, Banichi and Jago, and the dowager, with her security, Cenedi, and a man Bren hadn't caught the name of. They were followed by several more vehicles bearing more security—always there was security with the atevi, for whom assassination was a legal option for solving disputes—as well as the routine entourage of staff that accompanied any lord when he traveled.

Make no mistake, he had to remind himself, he was now more of a lord than he had ever been before. As, before the long journey in space, Tabini-aiji had named him lord of the heavens. A paidhi had never been named lord of anything, and even before this latest distinction, he had already gained more favor, more notice from the aiji, the most powerful atevi in existence, than any paidhi had done with any aiji in the past. And then Tabini had gone and made him lord of the newest province atevi had acquired: space.

Certainly, definitely atevi had acquired the province of space. Even more than any human had, despite the fact that humans had been the first there. Had, in fact, come from space, abandoning the station Alpha after their ship (which had, through some technical problem, gotten completely lost and so had decided the atevi homeworld was the most convenient planet to build a station above) had abandoned them.

And when that same said ship, Phoenix—on which he had just spent the last two years of his life—returned, it had been atevi, with all the natural resources of the mainland, and Tabini-aiji's foresight and ambition, who had rebuilt the station, which had fallen into disrepair. And not only that, but had also built their own shuttle to fly them to the orbiting station.

So, yes, make no mistake, atevi owned the province of space. Without them, without the fuel they brought from the planet, the ship-humans could not have returned to their other station. Without atevi, Mospheiran humans could never have made it to space. Without atevi, there would be no human movement in space. And Tabini had made him—a human—lord of the stars. Not an ateva. Note that. He had spent many a night over the past two years pondering the length of the aiji's trust in him. Sometimes, when he had his darkest moments, when he couldn't sleep, and all he could do was doubt himself, he wondered how wise a decision Tabini had made.

But Tabini, in the end, was aiji. The most powerful ateva, and what he said, went, no matter how far-fetched or ridiculous it sounded. And Bren had come, in the past years, to trust Tabini, and knew that the man didn't make rash decisions, had a good and sound reason for everything he did. And even if Bren couldn't understand, couldn't see, that reason, it was there, and he trusted it.

So what was a human to do but simply enjoy the scenery passing by, the prospect of riding mechieta again? --Even if he had spent the last two years thinking of fishing with Jase and Toby. But when the aiji said go, you asked where, and for how long, and do I have time to pack? You didn't question, you didn't say But I have other plans. The fishing trip had to be post-poned.

A thundering of hooves—loud, even over the roar of the engine and the thunk of them hitting a patch of rough ground—made him turn his head, look across Ilisidi. A herd of several dozen mecheiti was galloping across the plain, long necks stretched out, leathery black hide glistening in the sun. He watched the ripple of those powerful, impossibly powerful muscles, and felt the first twinge of excitement. For the next week or so—Tabini really hadn't been clear on the length of his stay—he would be riding those creatures.

He wondered if the aiji-dowager might not be tempted to take an overnight trip. Ilisidi was getting old, quite old, but she was the toughest—and, sometimes, meanest—ateva he knew, and this would certainly not be the first time he saw her spend all day on mecheita-back and then sleep in a tent.

"Beautiful," was the dowager's comment.

"Yes, 'Sidi-ji."

She sniffed. "The land is infinitely better than all that cold metal."

Speaking of the woman's endurance, she had accompanied him on his two-year voyage through space. And, he was sure, there had certainly been times that had tried her. But never had he ever heard a word of complaint from her, unless it was for show, and he trusted that he never would.

"One certainly agrees," he said, politely, delicately. He was, and had been, in her good graces for long enough that he did not have to worry so much about the intricate courtesies that accompanied atevi language. But since he had first met her at the Bujavid government complex to begin their trip, she had seemed agitated, her temper quick to flare, so he censored himself and kept to the politeness.

And he had to wonder, despite himself, why Tabini-aiji, who usually understood so well his desires to reconnect with his species, to see his family, had insisted on this trip before he went home. If Mospheira could even really be called home any more, which he doubted, now that he had his own abode—far from humble abode—on the coast. He lived on the mainland, among atevi, worked on the mainland. This was home, he had to admit.

And still, human wiring wanted to reconnect with other humans, with his mother who, astoundingly, had not passed away while he was gone. He hadn't even gotten to speak with his brother, no chance for a ten-minute phone call back to the island. He had arrived at the Bujavid in the capital to an immediate summons from the aiji, who had granted him this trip up to the north, and wanted the trip taken now. He had seen the inside of his apartment long enough to greet the staff he had left behind, to see that the proper luggage was packed—which was not his responsibility at all, but that of his staff. And then he had been herded off down to the underground train station below the complex, where Ilisidi had joined him.

Remarkable. And, not wholly amazing. It was, in general, the atevi way of doing things. And yet, it irked him. Perhaps 'Sidi-ji's bad mood was simply connected to the fact that her grandson had forced her along on this trip as well, and that she had not gotten the chance to enjoy home, either.

Still, it seemed there was something else, as well. After all, Ilisidi would more than likely have retreated to her country estate as quickly as possible, to enjoy the mechieta, the brisk morning air, the ancient castle, the outdoors. Which was, plus or minus the centuries-old castle, what they were doing out here. He thought, with a nagging suspicion, that there was probably something else, some other reason why Tabini had sent him out to the far north, and why Ilisidi had been dragged along.

Long years' experience with intricate atevi court intrigue dictated that he be suspicious. Not just now, but always. But unlike so many times before, he did not know at what to focus his suspicion. In the past, in the early years of his term as paidhi-aiji, he might have been tempted to think that Tabini had sent him out to the far-reaches of the land to be killed, quietly, where no one would ever notice or remember. But he knew that couldn't be the case. First, there was no reason for Tabini to kill his new lord at all. He was simply too valuable to the aiji. Second, there was no reason, if Tabini did indeed want him dead, which he knew not to be the case, that it should be done quietly. Tabini could have had him shot right in the comfort of his luxurious apartments in the Bujavid, or perhaps poisoned while he had breakfast on the balcony of his own spacious home on the coast. In a culture where assassination was a very legal and very real option for settling disputes, there was no reason for his death—should it not be accidental—to be done quietly.

It was not there that the options for suspicion stopped, but that was obviously the most dangerous. And yet, everything else he could think of did not warrant the quick exit, the lack of down-time, that Tabini had insisted upon.

A second thought: there were lords up here, as far as he knew. Provincial, country lords who rarely saw the intrigue of the courts of Shejidan and the Bujavid. As far as he knew, these lords retained none too few of the much older atevi traditions, harking back to times long before humans had appeared on the scene. Perhaps several of these lords had gotten into a dispute, and the aiji had sent his prime negotiator to quell the hostility.

Such a situation might even explain Ilisidi's presence on the trip: she served as a reminder of the aiji's reach. Even so far away, I can still reach you, the aiji seemed to be saying. I can still take care of you, I can still settle your problems. And that might also explain Ilisidi's ill temper: after all, who would really want to come as a sidekick to a negotiator. And if Ilisidi had agreed to come (as she obviously had), then she must be getting something out of it, too.

The mechieti, of course.

He sighed, sat back in his seat and tried to relax his muscles so the bumps weren't quite so jarring. That was it, then. Tabini had sent them on a vacation to view the mechieti, and as a side note, he wanted Bren to quell some minor dispute between atevi lords. Speak to them, one lord to another.

Though he might not have exactly appreciated being sent out on a mission without being told at all what it really was, he also felt relieved, and rather relaxed to know—or at least be relatively sure—that it was no worse than that. And it was rather comforting, too, to think of returning to his old job, as it were. He could be the paidhi again, translator, negotiator, mediator. Instead of lord of the heavens.

They passed the mechieta herd and Ilisidi said, "And now on to business."

He resisted the urge to ask what business. Whether he was right in his assumption that they were gone to visit disputing lords, or not, he was not yet ready to show that he had no information at all. Which, really, was just his pride acting, as the aiji would surely have informed his grandmother of everything he had told Bren, which was nothing.

Ilisidi knew, of that Bren was certain. Nevermind that Tabini might not have told her. Nevermind that they had not been back on the planet for more than three days. Ilisidi knew. She would have gotten word of all the intrigue and happenings of the atevi world, especially the important events, as soon as she stepped out of the shuttle.

He, too, probably had all the information, but instead of coming through his security (who, doubtless, knew, but had been informed by Tabini, apparently, to keep him in the dark), it was all sitting in the pile of message cylinders that had doubtless accumulated over the last two years. What staff had done with those cylinders, he had no idea. But he trusted that the important ones—both those dealing with atevi affairs and those from his family (the Mospheiran government having stopped communicating him some years back, when they realized he would put Tabini's priorities above humans')—had been kept safe somewhere, waiting for his return.

And Bren, watching the frozen plain fly by, feeling the cold even through the jeep's heated interior, was just glad he had returned to receive those messages, though it would undoubtedly mean many weeks of staying up late reading. But he would be staying up in his own apartment, or even better, in his own estate, in his furniture, comfortable and warm, with not a metal wall in sight. And if he wanted to, he'd be able to open a window without the fear of being sucked out into space. He could feel the breeze, however frigid. He could smell the flowers. Watch the ocean.

Oh, yes, he was glad to be home. Home now not just meaning a place of residence, the Bujavid apartment or even the sea-side estate, but meaning the planet, and all the life and inconsistencies that went with it. Lightning and thunder and rain. Uncomfortable heat and uncomfortable cold. And dust and mud and grass and sand he could walk bare-foot in. Oh, yes, he was glad, never doubt that.

He took the chance, thinking the mechieta herd might just have put 'Sidi-ji in a better mood. "What business, exactly, 'Sidi-ji?"

She gave him a glance, a flash of pale gold eyes in the late afternoon winter light. "The vacation business," she said, and gave him another look that most definitely said there was real business at hand.

He allowed ample time to pass that she would not think he was challenging her. "Are the lords disputing, aiji-ma?"

She gave a not-too-delicate snort. "The lords are always disputing, Bren-ji. My grandson would hardly send his favorite lord out to the ends of the earth to solve a squabble between country lords."

Internally, he frowned, but kept his face passive. It was not the lords, that told him. And: but it was something. And that it was something urgent. Something he had obviously not thought of yet, and urgent enough that Tabini had seen fit that he should be sent out to the plains as soon as he returned. And he wanted so badly to ask her why Tabini had not told him why it was so.

As if she had read his thoughts, Ilisidi said mildly, "My grandson has his foolish reasons for keeping you uninformed. But I think that all ridiculous, and I hardly think it fair to send you into a situation completely blind."

"I would be most appreciative of any information you would give me, aiji-ma."

She waved a bony hand airily. "Let us dispense with the formalities. They are hardly necessary." She paused to watch the frozen landscape pass by for a second, sitting incredibly still for all the jarring. "You keep my grandson in good form, Bren-ji. Good man. But when you are not here…" She tsked disapprovingly. "My grandson takes risks."

He was starting to get that feeling in the pit of his stomach. That feeling of intense dread. "Risks, aiji-ma?"

"Risks, Bren-ji. Like the risks that dealing with humans without any mediator."

The feeling of dread got much, much worse. And since the information flow had begun to run, one dared not ask questions that might interrupt that flow, or limit the information that might come, if unhindered.

Ilisidi continued, her tone airy, unworried. "It seems as though my grandson has taken the time that you have been absent to open the door to humans, to make relations even more…welcoming."

She was getting to something. But what, he couldn't imagine. Or didn't want to imagine.

"My grandson, it would seem, as adjusted the Treaty of Mosphei' to suit his own purposes."

He swallowed, and worked very hard to keep his face still and expressionless. "I'm afraid I do not understand, aiji-ma. How has Tabini-aiji adjusted the Treaty?"

"My foolish grandson has allowed a colony of humans to live up here on the plains."