Free Ancillary Sword by Ann Leckie Page B

her whole career as a common soldier on this ship and likely knew Kalr Five’s peculiarities, said, “Begging the fleet captain’s indulgence, these plates are lovely.” Five didn’t smile, she rarely did in front of me, but I could see Ekalu had hit her target dead on.
    “Five chose them,” I said. Approving of Ekalu’s gambit. “They’re Bractware. About twelve hundred years old.” For an instant Ekalu froze, utensil just above the plate, terrified of striking it too hard. “They’re not actually terribly valuable. There are places where nearly everyone has part of a set wrapped up in a box somewhere that they never take out. But they’re lovely, aren’t they, you can see why they were so popular.” If I hadn’t favorably impressed Kalr Five yet, I did so now. “And Lieutenant, if you start every single sentence with
begging the fleet captain’s indulgence
this is going to be a dreary meal. Just assume I’ve given my indulgence for polite conversation.”
    “Sir,” acknowledged Ekalu, embarrassed. She applied herself to her eggs. Carefully, trying not to touch the plate with her utensil.
    Tisarwat had said nothing yet beyond the occasionally required
yes, sir
and
no, sir
and
thank you, sir
. All the time those lilac eyes downcast, not looking at me, or Ekalu. Medic had tapered down her sedatives, but Tisarwat was still under their influence. Behind them, crowded back by the drugs, was anger and despair. Just noise, right now, but not what I wanted to predominate when she wasn’t taking medication anymore.
    Time to do something about that. “Yesterday,” I said, after I’d swallowed a mouthful of eggs, “Lieutenant Seivarden was telling me that Amaat decade was obviously the best on the ship.” Seivarden had said no such thing, in fact. But the surge of offended pride from Etrepa Eight and Bo Nine, standing in a corner of the room waiting to be useful, was so distinct that for an instant I had trouble believing Ekalu and Tisarwat couldn’t also see it. Kalr Five’s reaction wasn’t nearly as strong—we’d just complimented her porcelain and besides, captain’s decade was in some ways above that sort of thing.
    Ekalu’s conflict was immediate, and plainly visible to me. She’d been an Amaat until very recently, had, now, the natural response of an Amaat on hearing someone claim her decade’s superiority. But of course, now she was Etrepa lieutenant. She paused, working that out, working out, I thought, a response. Tisarwat looked down at her plate, probably seeing what I was up to, and not caring.
    “Sir,” said Ekalu, finally. Obviously having to force herself to leave off that
begging the fleet captain’s indulgence
. Carefully navigating her accent. “All
Mercy of Kalr
’s decades are excellent. But if I were to be called upon to narrow itdown…” She paused. Perhaps realizing she’d gone a bit too awkwardly formal with her diction. “If one were forced to choose, I’d have to say Etrepa is best. No offense to Lieutenant Seivarden or her Amaats, all due respect, it’s just a fact.” Slipping back closer to her own accent, at that last.
    Silence from Tisarwat. Betrayed alarm from Bo Nine, at silent attention in the corner of the decade room. “Lieutenant,” said
Mercy of Kalr
into Tisarwat’s ear. “Your decade is waiting for you to speak up for them.”
    Tisarwat looked up, looked at me, for just a moment, with serious lilac eyes. She knew what I was doing, knew there was only one move she could make. Resented it, resented me. Her muted anger swelled by just the smallest amount but couldn’t sustain itself, died back to its previous level almost instantly. And not just anger—for a moment I’d seen yearning, a momentary hopeless wishing. She looked away, at Ekalu. “Begging your pardon, lieutenant, with all due respect, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” Remembering, halfway through the sentence, that she shouldn’t be speaking like Seivarden. Like Anaander Mianaai.