rushed marriage. It would help if he had any idea how that sort of person looked.

A projection flickered into life: a Thean noble in rich cream silks and pearls, standing, her long hair swept up in an elaborate, feather-like confection anchored with a wooden comb. Kiem blinked and adjusted his perceptions just in time.

Gender on Iskat was easy: anyone wearing flint ornaments was a woman, wooden ornaments signified a man, and glass—or nothing—meant nonbinary. It was a straightforward system that even Galactics used. But Bel had said sister, so Ressid must be female despite the comb. Jainan might have humored Iskat customs in his photo, but apparently that didn’t mean the rest of Thea adhered to them.

“Lady Ressid,” Kiem said, with a seated bow.

Lady Ressid’s eyes were almost the image of Jainan’s in the photo, but there was something harder in them. “Prince Kiem,” she said stiffly, and curtsied.

“An honor to hear from you,” Kiem said. He kept a wary eye on the projected caption to the side of Ressid’s image where Bel was pointedly displaying proud to continue the alliance in memory of my revered cousin. But Ressid didn’t immediately congratulate him. There was a split-second pause, and Kiem suddenly realized that the crease at the corner of her mouth was a sign of strain.

“I am calling to formally request access to my brother,” she said. The words came out clipped and hard, like a hail of small stones. “If Your Highness is pleased to grant it.”

That was a weird way of announcing a visit. “Well, of course,” Kiem said.

“Glad to have you to stay. When?” The call was coming from Thea: the flight took a few days each way. “I thought we usually got these requests through your Foreign Affairs Bureau—wait, we’re going to be in Thean space next month for Unification Day. I think it’s on your orbital station. Aren’t you going to be there?”

“I didn’t mean that,” Ressid said. “I meant access to call Jainan.” The line of strain hadn’t moved.

Kiem stared at her, nonplussed. He was completely at sea with Thean formalities. “That’s got nothing to do with me.” Wait, it must be a ceremonial thing. Only ingrained training in royal manners stopped him from casting an agonized look at Bel off-screen, but she was apparently just as confused, because the screen caption flickered and changed to? ?? instead of a script. “Um, forgive me. Is there some kind of formal response?”

The line at the corner of Ressid’s mouth creased, deepened, and then disappeared as she forcibly smoothed out her expression. “It is a practical

matter.”

“Oh. Then—wait, is this about him moving living quarters?” The realization was a relief, because now he had some clue about what was going on. “That won’t be a problem. He’s only moving within the palace, his ID should work fine. The palace systems will route his calls here.” Jainan should know that; Kiem had no idea why Ressid was asking him. But maybe Jainan hadn’t paid much attention to the palace systems. “And he’d have his wristband anyway.”