«You said it’s safe for Cyril to be here. Isn’t it safe for us?»

«Safe is not happy,» she said. «Safe is not comfortable.»

«Safe isn’t powerful, either,» he countered, with a trace of bitterness.

«Jinadh … » She closed her eyes, face crumpling in frustration. «It’s not about that.»

«If you could tell me what it is about, I might believe you.»

“I just want to get our name up out of the dust. I know it sounds hackneyed, but the DePauls had honor once—”

“Honor.” He said it not with anger but exhaustion. «What kept us apart in Porachis, Lillian? What made me miserable for years? I’d rather be a father than found a dynasty. I’d rather be happy than honorable.»

“It’s just a few more months,” she said. “We go to the polls just after Equinox. If nothing comes of it after that…” She managed a small shrug, rustling the bedclothes, but couldn’t look at him.

He sighed deeply. «I will be very glad when this election is over.»

She hoped she would share the sentiment.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

Aristide recognized the harbor in his soul, and at the same time hardly knew it.

The water stank like it always had: oil and sewage and shriveled seaweed. The shape of the Spits stood out sharp against a steely sky, and he remembered a thousand sunsets sinking behind them, seen from the fashionable side of the bay. The dome of the capitol, which had once been visible over the masts and hulls and chimneys in the harbor, was now obscured by scaffolding.

“Still cleaning up?” Daoud stood beside him at the railing, wrapped to the nose in a muffler. “It has been a year of peacetime.”

“A year under an interim government,” said Aristide. “With many other nasty dishes on its plate.”

“Talking of nasty dishes,” said Daoud. “When would you like to meet with Jamila?”

“Now, now.” Aristide slotted his fingers together, pushing his gloves more tightly onto his hands. “Ms. Osogurundi has done very well by Cross-Costa in the last six months.”

«I appreciate that,» said Daoud. «Almost as much as I appreciate the fact she’s been doing it here instead of in Rarom.»

“The only reason you don’t like her is you’re fussy, and she’s not afraid to put her arms in the midden to the elbows. Which is what makes her perfect for the job.”

“Then it is good she does it, and not me.” Daoud shivered. “Mihaaz. How do people live in this climate?”

“Speaking for myself,” said Aristide, “mulled wine, silk underwear, and an eiderdown duvet. It isn’t the worst of the seasons, if you’re well prepared.”