Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [16]
Chuan-chi glared at his younger brother. Picard could tell there was little love lost between the Dragon’s sons. “Enough!” the Emperor said brusquely. He shook his head and rolled his eyes heavenward. “A willful and disobedient child,” he explained to Picard. “It is my own fault. His mother was my favorite concubine. I doted on her and she spoiled him in turn. Still, I delude myself that he might someday still bring honor to his illustrious ancestors.”
Picard was unsure how to respond to the Dragon’s open disapproval of his own son. “We are all willful in our youth,” he volunteered, hoping to alleviate the tension. “Isn’t that so, Number One?”
“I’m sure I gave my father plenty of cause for aggravation when I was that age,” Riker said, grinning roguishly. “Still do sometimes.”
Kan-hi, the object of the discussion, appeared unembarrassed. “You sound like a man after my own heart, Commander Riker,” he said. “Perhaps you should join our celebrations after the banquet, the Penultimate Bestowing of the Undomesticated Seeds.”
“The Penultimate Bestowing of the Undomesticated Seeds?” Riker asked, somewhat taken aback by the flowery terminology.
“Yes,” Kan-hi explained, “the traditional last revels offered to an unmarried man on the eve of his wedding. Heaven knows,” the prince said, staring glumly into the ruby depths of his wine goblet, “someone ought to enjoy himself tonight.”
“My esteemed brother does himself a disservice,” the Heir said sarcastically. “I have no doubt he will acquit himself well at the festivities; drunken debauchery is an art for which is he has shown much talent and aptitude.”
“You ungrateful, cold-blooded—!” Kan-hi exclaimed. He started to rise angrily from his couch, but a heavy arm fell upon his shoulders, pressing the offended prince back into the waiting cushions. The arm belonged to the squarely built man seated beside Kan-hi. Unlike the Dragon and his sons, this man was clad in robes of green and blue, although the fabrics seemed no less rich and expensive than the royal gold of the Dragon. He looked at the Dragon and coughed loudly.
“Oh, yes,” the Dragon said. “How could I forget? Captain, Commander, permit me to introduce my loyal and trusted subject, Lord Lu Tung, happy father of the beautiful bride.”
Seated beyond Kan-hi, as far from the Dragon as possible, Lu Tung looked anything but happy. He appeared only slightly older than his future son-in-law, his dark beard and mustache peppered with gray. He had piercing eyes half-hidden under thick, frowning eyebrows, and a face as closed and unreadable as any Vulcan that Picard had ever met. How, he wondered, did Lord Lu Tung really feel about marrying off his only daughter to the son of the man he had so recently tried to depose? Would he be content to see his grandchild ascend the throne he had failed to conquer by force? Looking at Lu Tung’s flat, emotionless expression, Picard wished that Deanna were close enough to consult. Perhaps the counselor’s empathic abilities could determine just how “loyal and trusted” the Dragon’s former adversary now was.
Indeed, there seemed to be all manner of personal undercurrents, and volatile emotions, simmering barely beneath the surface of the diplomatic pleasantries being exchanged upon the dais. Was it even possible, he mused, to unite the Pai in time for them to join the Federation—and resist the voracious depredations of the G’kkau? Diplomacy, he reminded himself, was often ten percent issues and ninety percent personalities; he had frequently managed to achieve a negotiated settlement between even more hostile and demonstrative parties. He wished,