Free Playing God by Sarah Zettel

Sister, and to inform me I was now their official representative.”
    Senejess looked from her to Armetrethe and pulled Praeis into a close embrace. “I’m so glad, Sister.”
    Slowly, Praeis realized she was, but that Senejess was also disappointed. She was hoping for more than Praeis had said. A cool thread began to ease through the warmth of her blood. Her skin rippled, and she extricated herself from her sister’s arms. “They didn’t mention money yet, of course. Is that not how it always is with the Majestic Sisters? Order now, pay when you work out how.”
    Before they laughed, another look passed between Armetrethe and Senejess, just a flicker, but nonetheless too long to be imagined.
    “So,” Praeis tried hard to sound completely conversational. “Tell me how things stand in the Council of True Blood.”
    Armetrethe shrugged. The stump of her missing arm flailed outward. “It is full of arguments as always. Not everyone accepts this Confederation. Some find petty ways to assert what independence we have left instead of working toward effective solutions.”
    Well, Sisters, now we have exchanged ambiguities. Praeis tried to relax again, to sink back into the rivers of warmth and be washed away on their currents. She did not want this. She did not want to be apart and afraid. She wanted her birth sisters. She wanted them so much, she felt tears welling up in her eyes.
    “Ah, nothing new then,” she said softly.
    Armetrethe touched Praeis’s shoulder with her one hand. “What is it, Sister?”
    Tell them, tell them. There is no need for this. You can be birth sisters again. They’ll forgive you anything, if you tell them now. Your daughters will have their cousins, and you will have your sisters blood and soul again. Tell them.
    But there was that silent look between Senejess and Armetrethe that stood for all they had not told to her.
    “Nothing, Sisters. We spent a good deal of today under stress, and I am tired.”
    Senejess swallowed. “Of course. We are careless. There is food waiting for you. Daughters, you will bring our meal to the serving tables.”
    The daughters scrambled to their feet in a ragged chorus of “yes, Mothers.” Res and Theia went with them as they hurried to the kitchen alcoves to pull platters of sea fish and shellfish, baskets of both flat and raised bread, and deep bowls of legumes, milled and seasoned so sharply, Praeis could smell them where she sat.
    The daughters set the food on the serving tables. The dishes were passed around, and the talk turned to nothing but food. The things they ate as children, the prices of shellfish and legumes, the superiority of this food they ate now compared to what could be gotten in the colonies. Time and again, Praeis’s soul reached out, seeking the warmth and easy rhythms she had felt when they first arrived. A few times she thought she almost found them, but they always slipped away again.
    She cast a glance at Res and Theia. If the daughters felt the unease between their mothers, they were doing a fine job of hiding it. They seemed absorbed in one another, talking about homes and Humans, the food, all the vast strangeness of Mars and the Solar system, of what it was like to travel in space, of all the technological miracles that Humans produced.
    The sky darkened and the plates and bowls emptied. The overhead lights came on as the electric service started up for the night.
    Then, suddenly, Armetrethe asked, “So, what is this assignment the Queens have given you as their representative? You did not say.”
    Praeis’s fingers fumbled reaching for a slice of bread. “The Queens say they need a diplomat.” She concentrated on scooping some of the legume paste onto her bread. “They want me to help build support for the Confederation.”
    Senejess’s ears curled. “You are supposed to understand the complexity of the Confederation agreement and our Great Family’s response to it? After living apart from us for twenty