Protector

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Lace was back in fashion this spring–starched and delicate at once, layers of it flowing from cuffs and neck. It was a damned bother at a formal dinner, but there it was: the Lord of the Heavens had to be in fashion, and a state dinner in the court of Tabini‑aiji meant a new coat, no question about that. So Bren Cameron arrived at Tabini‑aiji’s door, accompanied by his four black‑clad bodyguards, in a mode quietly equal to any of the lords present.

This new coat was a subdued beige‑and‑gold brocade, able, in this sparkling crowd, to fade into the background, and Bren Cameron–paidhi‑aiji to that same Tabini‑aiji, the ruler of the aishidi’tat, the Western Association of the atevi–liked it that way.

Paidhi‑aiji. Official human‑language translator–at least as he’d signed up for the job years ago. Back then he’d been the interface between the human enclave, restricted by treaty to the island of Mospheira, across the straits–and the atevi, native to the planet, who ruled the rest of the world.

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