24. Rules of Engagement

"Cato!"

He looked up from lacing his shin guard as Nikos stomped into their room.

"What did I do?" Avocato asked, reading the mood.

"That's what I want to know!"

Taking advantage of his roommate's presence, Avocato slid his forearm guards on and held his arm out for Nikos to lace them. Annoyed as he was, Nikos automatically set to work and tied them snugly, tucking the ends in at the wrists.

"Too tight?" asked Nikos.

"Perfect. What's wrong?" He tried on his headpiece, then pulled it off to adjust the band.

"I received a letter from Lady Cordell today."

Avocato frowned. "And you're complaining?" he asked in disbelief.

"Hardly. She sent me this."

He handed over a snap image, which Avocato tapped to activate and looked at with great interest. He recognized the painting in the background immediately, and not without a slight pang. This had been taken in his mother's sitting room. The snap image, which moved for a few seconds before replaying, showed Cordell and Clawdia sitting close together, looking absolutely delighted. They giggled and leaned close before facing the camera, loveliness personified, and then the image started again.

Avocato could not help but think that Clawdia, plump little Clawdia with the tiny pink nose, had a much livelier and more open demeanor than he'd ever observed in the past. He'd never thought her pretty, but there was an undeniable brightness about her, and her pleasure was genuine. Was this what Kedi had seen? If so, he could understand why his friend was smitten. MewMew had written him that Clawdia's parents, Clawdius and Chattail, were thrilled by their daughter's new outlook. Kedi was also probably responsible for this shift in attitude, because Clawdia knew he found her and not her fortune to be desirable. That had made all the difference, especially in the way Clawdia saw herself. And as for Cordell . . . There was no denying she was one of the most graceful and attractive young women in Alfitrix. Even amidst the crowds of noble ladies Avocato was used to, sweet, odd-eyed Cordell was nothing short of enchanting.

"Ah! They went to visit my lady mother, I see. My mother's secretary probably took this. She's quite good at it."

"What?" The observation threw Nikos off balance, as he'd hoped. "Yes, but, that's not the point!"

Avocato tried the visor on again. "What is the point, then?"

"Look at what she's wearing!"

He looked again, at a loss. Cordell was wearing pale gold, with a jaunty little fascinator sporting long gold feathers that arced over her head, held in place by her left ear with an amber hair pin. "She has a fascinator, so she's wearing a dress?"

Nikos was clearly seconds away from carrying out the murder he'd been promising since last year. "On the hat, Avocato!" He tapped the snap image to freeze it. "Look!"

Avocato obeyed, not daring to correct him. Another look. He squinted, then remembered the visor he'd been sizing, and hastily removed it again. On the fascinator, black against gold, was a small and shiny pin of a fork-tailed bird in flight. "It looks . . . like a silverwing?"

"Now you're just being obtuse. Yes, it's a silverwing! My mother made it! Out of the dunefly wings I caught!" He smacked Avocato with the letter he carried. "This is her note thanking me!"

"She wears it beautifully. Tell her that from me, please."

Nikos let out a howl of pure frustration. "Cato!"

Felice's voice droned from across the hall. "Avocatoooo! Did you break Nikos again?"

Another howl.

"I'll take that as a yes. Hit the reset," Felice advised.

"I have to get on the court," he said, checking the time. "Pawlette will kill me if I'm late for warm-ups. Come walk and yell at me on the way."

He grabbed his smasher, Nikos grabbed his coat, and Avocato banged their friends' door and yelled as they passed, "Game in an hour! Get your roommate there, Felice!"

"I am surrounded by the least-helpful people on this planet!" stormed Nikos, hurrying to catch up. "Avocato!"

"Your mother told me that you wanted to send a pin to Cordell," said Avocato, holding the stairwell door open. They pounded down the steps at breakneck speed.

"I did! But Kedi told me I can't give jewelry to a young woman I'm not engaged to."

"Don't worry. You're not engaged. Yet."

"WHAT?"

"You're correct," he continued, ignoring the outburst. "You can't give jewelry to a young woman. However, my lady mother is not so limited. Piarcynka sent extra pins and I asked my mother to be generous."

"So why did Cordell thank me?"

"Because she knows who wanted her to have it, and who hunted for the duneflies."

"But . . . "

Avocato grinned as they hurried outside and headed for the gym. "Rules are made to be broken at times, Nikos. Or, if not broken . . . outmaneuvered?"

"Why don't you tell me anything?" fumed Nikos.

"I'm telling you now."

"Your timing leads much to be desired."

They reached the gym. Nikos followed Avocato straight to the thimbles court as the discussion continued. Avocato paused to wipe his boots and grab some water.

"You wanted Cordell to have something from your home, something your mother made. Until she gets you, she'll have to make do." Before Nikos could process this statement, Avocato leaned in and poked him in the chest. "That snap image is a very good sign."

"Of what?"

"Between the drawing she sent and now the image, it means the gifts given has started."

Nikos stared. "The what?"

"The gifts given. The- you . . . don't do that in the Answaar?" he finished in a small voice, realizing. It was Avocato's turn to stare.

"Do what?" Nikos asked in confusion, his concern blossoming.

"Avocato!" Pawlette shouted, tired of waiting for him.

Avocato edged away. "After the game. Don't panic."

"Too late," murmured Nikos, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"I will explain."

"Don't get killed, Cato. I want that pleasure for myself."

"Promise."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

The thimbles match, which was the best of three rounds, went to all three rounds. Despite having won the first two games, a clean victory, Pawlette called for an all-or-nothing disqualifier. Her blood was up and she was out for a sweep, even though if they lost a disqualifier, the match would go to the other team..

There were dozens of teams in each cadet class, broken into three leagues by skill levels. They played each other throughout the year, gradually eliminating teams. From the second years onward, each year's winning team was allowed to play the other years in the final tournament. Normally the fifth-years won, sometimes the fourth-years. Once, a century ago, the third-years had won. Avocato harbored a sinking feeling Pawlette was determined to break all records. He wouldn't have minded such levels of competitiveness, except they needed more than a year to truly come together as a cohesive team. Also, he stood ears and whiskers over everyone else and he was blue, so he was a pretty irresistible target.

Four players on a team was a luxury. Avocato actually preferred three, but could play with any number against any number. He had single-handedly beaten a team of four to get his singles elite ranking his last year of grade school, only one of a scant handful of students to manage it. Now he played with Pawlette, the team captain, along with Currant and another engineering student named Miette. Pawlette had chosen with care, and they were all good players. With work, they would be a team.

Back in his old school league, Avocato's best position in four-person thimbles had been rear striker, the player responsible for most of the offensive. Pawlette had shifted him to smasher, a more defensive position in the front of the lineup. Student level competition did not allow for the dismemberment rules (nor did the Royal Academy want their graduates to be disabled before they even got their first round of combat), but their suits were programmed to freeze a limb for a minute if they took a shot that would have dismembered them. By the end of the second round, Avocato was numb from having taking so many shots. His penalties, however, were part of Pawlette's strategy, because with Avocato was a diversion, she and the others were able to rack up points and pull ahead. Currant helped him to stand, but Avocato just fell over again after one step.

"Put me in the back," he insisted when he could feel his legs again. He was still winded, as much from exertion as pain, but he was more than capable of playing through both. "They won't fall for it again."

The last-minute shift in their lineup drew some suspicious looks from the opposition, and Avocato exploited their hesitation. He opened with his signature jump-spin serve, one of his best moves and almost invariably lethal, and that initial ricocheting shot landed the other side's score deep in the negative just as they got started.

The opening set the pace for the final game in the set. The other team had already been beaten twice, and they knew they were outclassed. Still, they put up a respectable fight even if the round was over in record time.

"Nikos looks like he's about to implode," observed Pawlette, standing beside him.

Leaning on his knees, Avocato was able to look her right in the eye. "He is."

She smirked, knowing them both. "Remind him I need you alive next week."

Avocato grumbled about her priorities and went off to meet his doom. He took one look at Nikos and said, "Let's get lunch."

"Stalling," accused Nikos in a sing-song.

"Starving," he corrected, matching his tone. "Come on."

Over bowls of stew in the dining hall, Avocato explained.

"I don't know how things work in the Answaar, but in my . . ."

Suggested Nikos, "Circles?"

"Circles, and Cordell's circles, it's considered gauche to just come out and tell someone you like them."

Spoon raised halfway to his mouth, Nikos paused. "That's ridiculous, Cato."

"Yes, but . . . something of a defensive mechanism when you can anticipate an arranged marriage. Remember, not everybody gets a say in whom they marry, and now . . . it's something of a social norm?"

"There's very little normal about that."

"I can't argue. However, it gave rise to the tradition of gifts given. It's another form of communication. Essentially, within the limitations of acceptable gifts, when we want to tell someone we like them, we give them something. It doesn't have to be anything grand at first - a pen, a brush, candy, a poem, flowers. If they like you back, they'll give you something in return. The more personalized it is, the more they like you."

"What if they don't like you?"

"Your gift will be returned. If they hate you, it will be returned in pieces."

Nikos' blue eyes opened wide with shock as realization hit. "Are you telling me your brother started this - this giving gifts-"

"Gifts given."

"-gifts given with Cordell on my account?"

Avocato clamped his mouth shut, trying to navigate the sudden complexity of introducing someone to what was for him everyday and expected conduct. "Um . . . a little? But - but - for meeting at an event like you did, it's a little different."

"How little?"

"Since the initial gift was from you to her when you met the first time, it doesn't count towards the ten gifts unless Cordell decides it does."

"What?"

Avocato paused. That reaction again. "I'm explaining this badly, aren't I?"

"Very."

He stirred the stew, letting it cool, and tried a new tack. "If things are getting serious between a couple, the gifts will gradually get more elaborate and valuable. And meaningful. It can take years. My parents courted a good three years before my lord father worked up the nerve to ask to marry her. Traditionally, there are ten gifts, sometimes one or two more or less, depending, culminating in an engagement bracelet. That's why we can't give jewelry, and why none of the young girls we saw at Catomar's wedding wore bracelets. They won't until they're engaged - until then, they need to show they're available. The point of gifts given is to demonstrate to the other person's family that you'll be able to provide for them."

Nikos frowned at his first taste of stew, then proceeded to empty half a bottle of hot sauce on it. Avocato watched in alarm, but Nikos just dug in, asking, "How so?"

"Well, you need to show you know what the person likes, that you respect them, you can provide food and an income and material needs. That sort of thing. I can assure you, you've already made a very good impression on Lord Cordo and Lady Merim."

"How can you tell?" demanded Nikos. "I met them once for about twenty seconds!"

Avocato raised a paw and counted off on his fingers. "One, they didn't stop Cordell from dancing with you all day at the wedding. Two, she kept and used the brush. Three, she's writing to you. Four, I can promise you, Arch Lady Merim was planted in my mother's sitting room, in the same seat Cordell's snap was taken, before the week of the wedding was out, collecting every scrap of information about you, your academics, family, background, and anything else she could find out. Meanwhile, her attendant would have been talking to our maids and staff and probably Catowba if she could corner him. Both he and my mother and the maids would have given glowing reports, including the fact that you make your own bed. Trust me, Nikos, you have been scrutinized thoroughly and have not been found lacking."

"Except by Cordata."

He tasted the stew, then reached for the hot sauce. "My cousin hates everyone. You're not special."

"All that because I like Cordell?"

"Pfft. No!" he protested, as if Nikos was missing the obvious. "All that because Cordell likes you. There's a difference. So far you've clearly demonstrated you support her interests with the brush, and you're a capable hunter, not to mention intelligent and resourceful and beloved by our next queen."

Nikos proceeded to dump the rest of the hot sauce onto his stew. "Be that as it may, the chances of me marrying Cordell are slim to none."

"Why?"

"Cato! She's an heiress of a noble house! I'm the son of a farmer!"

Avocato shook his head. "Twenty years ago, Pipar could have bought and sold Lord Cordo for all the financial woes becoming an arch lord brought him. That's why Cordata's mother divorced him. Wealth can be a factor, but not always. Some of the oldest houses are the poorest. Breeding - well, Kitner is supposedly well bred, and only Stergar can stand him. Fann was right - noble blood doesn't guarantee noble graces. I'm sure Cordell has had her fill of noble young prigs who only see a pretty face and a hefty dowry, who don't know the first thing about her."

"I can't ask her to leave that life behind."

"Why would she leave anything? You're in the military. You'll be away for years."

"I could hardly keep such a wife on an officer's salary!"

Avocato stared, suddenly understanding his meaning. "Nikos! You wouldn't keep Cordell! She'd keep you!" He laughed, leaning in close. "In my circle, when people get married, the one with greater wealth or status is expected to set and maintain the standard. I told you how I anticipate marrying the daughter of some smaller house, and when that happens, she will become a lady of House Cato. Unless she somehow has a lot more money than I, I maintain the household. But, say I married, oh, a princess or the king's non-existent sister, I would be elevated to the royal house and all the misery that entails, and my wife's money would support me. My mother is of higher status than my father, which is why her name is announced before his. Her proper title is Grand Lady Cato, Princess MewMew of Hiis, not MewMew, Grand Lady Cato. She keeps him."

Nikos blinked, astonished. "That's . . . normal?"

He saluted with his drink, sensing victory. "It's expected."

"That's a lot to think about."

"Provided you do think about it, Nikos. I'm serious."

"I will. Probably too much," he added in a whisper, not quite able to keep from smiling.

Avocato laughed, gently teasing. "Didn't I promise you I'd find you a beautiful wife who wants a dozen blue-eyed children?"

Nikos gave him a stern look. "Still not telling you how many teeth I have."

"Damn!"

And they laughed.