That night, Father Idriss called a family banquet, insisting that Reynald would have enough time to speak with other representatives later. Alexa and Idriss and all their children wanted to hear him tell his stories first.

This diminished the impact of Estarra’s news about the worm hive. Beneto gentled her, knowing there would be time enough for that announcement.

During courses of larva steaks, yeasty bread smeared with spreadnuts, and a messy dessert of his favorite candied splurts, Reynald spoke, and everyone else listened. Sarein did her best to keep Celli shushed and attentive, though the girl still asked far too many questions.

Reynald’s eyes sparkled as he told his news. “Best of all, I got along very well with the Ildiran Prime Designate Jora’h.” He turned, grinning, toward his brother Beneto. “And he granted me permission to send two green priest representatives to Mijistra. Oh, it’s a wonderful place!”

“And what will these green priests do there?” Beneto asked, intrigued.

“They will have access to the Saga of Seven Suns—the complete Ildiran epic, not just the edited versions the Terran scholars have been allowed to read.” Reynald smiled, know-

ing what a stir his news would cause among the green priests. “Other than a racial reverence for their Mage-Imperator, this precise oral history is the closest thing to a religion the Ildirans seem to have. They believe they are all part of a grand plan, a cosmic story line that must work its way to the end, like a plot concocted by an omnipotent audience.”

Reynald leaned closer to his brother. “Jora’h will let you study their billion-line poem, all the history and legends of the Ildiran Empire. It’s said that no human can read the entire document, even if he devotes a lifetime to the study.”

Beneto seemed dazzled, knowing how much the worldforest would enjoy the input. The prospect of a marvelous new story seemed to bring him hope to mitigate the trees’ recent uneasiness. “This will be a time of great rejoicing for the worldforest. It is not every day that the trees get access to such a wealth of information.”

Estarra stared through the fungus-reef chambers to the shadowy greenness of the jungle, as if expecting to see the worldtrees dancing for joy. Even without such a miracle, though, the delight on Beneto’s face seemed reward enough.

“How were the Roamers?” Idriss asked. “We know so little about their culture.”

“I doubt you accomplished much with them,” Sarein said sourly. “They probably tried to entangle you in a marriage alliance.”

Reynald smiled at his sister. “Don’t underestimate the Roamers, Sarein. In fact, that may have been our largest mistake of all. They seem very open to closer ties with us. One of their leaders, Cesca Peroni, is quite captivating.”

“They want our green priests, I bet,” Sarein said.