Free At The Edge Of Space (Hanan Rebellion) by C. J. Cherryh

much laughter as they hurried her off.
    The bell at the front door rang, faintly jingling, untimely. Hef slipped out to answer it, duty and the normal courtesy of Elas taking precedence over convenience even at such a time as this.
    The teasing ceased. The nemet laughed much among themselves, among friends, but there were visitors at the door, and the guests and the members of Elas both became sober.
    Voices intruded—Hef,—Hef, who was the soul of courtesy, arguing; and the heavy tread of outsiders entering the hall, the hollow ring of a staff on polished stone, the voices of strangers raised in altercation.
    There was silence in the rhmei. Mim, large-eyed, clung to Ptas’ arm. Nym went to meet the strangers in the hall, Kurt and Kta and the guests behind him.
    They were the Methi’s men, grim-faced, in the odd-striped robes that some of the townsmen wore, hair plaited in a single braid down the back. They had the narrowness of eye that showed in some of the folk of Nephane, like Bel, like Bel’s father Han t’Osanef.
    The Methi’s guards did not take that final step into the rhmei, where burned the hearthfire. Nym physically barred their way, and Nym, though silver-haired and a senior member of the Upei, the council of Nephane, was a big man and broad-shouldered. Whether through reverence for the place or fear of him, they came no further.
    “This is Elas,” said Nym. “Consider again, gentlemen, where you are. I did not bid you here, and I did not hear the chan of Elas give you leave either.”
    “The Methi’s orders,” said the eldest of the four. “We came to fetch the human. This betrothal is not permitted.”
    “Then you are too late,” said Nym. “If the Methi wished to intervene, it was her right, but now the betrothal is sealed.”
    That set them aback. “Still,” said their leader, “we must bring him back to the Afen.”
    “Elas will permit him to go back,” said Nym, “if he chooses.”
    “He will go with us,” said the man.
    Han t’Osanef stepped up beside Nym and bent a terrible frown on the Methi’s guardsmen. “T’Senife, I ask you come tonight to the house of Osanef. I would ask it, t’Senife—and the rest of you young men. Bring your fathers. We will talk.”
    The men had a different manner for t’Osanef: resentful, but paying respect.
    “We have duties,” said the man called t’Senife, “which keep us at the Afen. We have no time for that. But we will say to our fathers that t’Osanef spoke with us at the house of Elas.”
    “Then go back to the Afen,” said t’Osanef. “ I ask it. You offend Elas.”
    “We have our duty,” said t’Senife, “and we must have the human.”
    “I will go,” said Kurt, coming forward. He had the feeling that there was much more than himself at issue, he intruded fearfully into the hate that prickled in the air. Kta put out a hand, forbidding him.
    “The guest of Elas,” said Nym in a terrible voice, “will walk from the door of Elas if he chooses, and the Methi herself has no power to cause this hall to be invaded. Wait at our doorstep.—And you, friend Kurt, do not go against your will. The law forbids.”
    “We will wait outside,” said t’Senife, at t’Osanef’s hard look. But they did not bow as they left.
    “My friend,” Han t’Osanef exclaimed to Nym, “I blush for these young men.”
    “They are,” said Nym in a shaking voice, “ young men. Elas also will speak with their Fathers. Do not go, Kurt t’Morgan. You are not compelled to go.”
    “I think,” said Kurt, “that eventually I would have no choice. I would do better to go speak with Djan-methi, if it is possible.” But it was in his mind that reason with her was not likely. He looked at Mim, who stood frightened and silent by the side of Ptas. He could not touch her. Even at such a time he knew they would not understand. “I will be back as soon as I can,” he said to her.
    But to Kta, at the door of Elas before he went out to put himself into