A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [64]
Reynald had always been fond of his grandparents, able to talk with them about leadership, the Ildirans, the Terran Hanseatic League. Much as he respected his own parents, Reynald felt that Uthair and Lia had a broader, more politically savvy perspective.
He sat in the warm glow of a phosphor fire in his grandparents’ quarters in a high section of the main fungus-reef city. They had invited Reynald and Estarra to dinner. Though they pretended it would be a relaxed social evening, he knew Uthair and Lia wanted to “talk about things,” now that his imminent succession had been announced.
Uthair and Lia loved to sit on their frilly balcony and stare out at the worldtree labyrinth, watching flying insects and colorful flowers. The old couple could talk with each other for hours, still interested in each other, though they had been married for well over half a century.
Estarra busied herself setting out dishes to serve a chowder of mushrooms and herbs, supplemented by skewers of spiced condorfly meat. “You make the best soup, Grandma,” she said, sneaking a taste.
“It is my responsibility to teach you how to make it.” Lia gave a mock frown. “And you’re certainly old enough, Estarra. Eighteen! You’re an adult…though your parents still pamper you like a little girl.”
Uthair smiled. “You treated Alexa that way until she was twenty-eight, dear.”
“It’s a mother’s prerogative.”
When the old man moved from his balcony chair to the table, he pretended not to notice that Reynald stood ready to help him. Then, as they ate, neither Uthair nor Lia seemed in a hurry to address the reason for the meal invitation. Afterward, Reynald and Estarra cleaned up while their grandparents took a pair of musical instruments from a shelf on the wall and went to the balcony.
Uthair strummed a resonating harp-guitar he had invented, while Lia played a melody on a hollow flute. Since they’d retired, the two had busied themselves with creating imaginative music-makers from forest materials. They gave their instruments to children, who ran about tooting and strumming and jangling in the wilderness. Uthair and Lia couldn’t have been more pleased.
Finally, his grandmother got down to business. “Reynald, if you are going to take the throne as Father of Theroc, it’s high time you chose your wife. The people will expect it.” Lia set the flute in her lap. “You are already older than your mother was when she married Idriss. Your father was proud and capable, the young leader of a worm-hive city. Their joining has produced a fine brood of offspring. They’ve ruled well; they’re liked by the people.” She sighed. “But peaceful times and comfortable living have made them a bit…placid.”
“She means soft,” Uthair said. “Theroc is self-sufficient, and we don’t rely on trade with either the Hansa or Ildirans. Nevertheless, Alexa and Idriss are mistaken to think we can ignore the hydrogue war. There is no such thing as neutrality against an alien enemy that kills indiscriminately.”
Lia said, “I’m not even convinced the hydrogues make any distinction between Ildirans and humans.”
“Your parents are taking the tack of doing nothing and hoping the problem will go away. For months now, Lia and I have been trying to convince them to let you take charge in these difficult times. And they’ve finally listened.”
Lia patted him on the arm. “You’ll be a much better leader, dear. You’ve got the heart and the head for it.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Reynald asked.
Estarra spoke up. “Because in a month you’ll be the next Father, and they’re counting on you. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Uthair chuckled. “Listen to your sister. She’s perhaps the wisest one in the family. Maybe a bit blunt, but she speaks the truth.”
At another time, Reynald might have gone over to punch Estarra in the shoulder. Now, though, he paid attention. “All right, you invited us to dinner so you could give me advice.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me about the challenges