“Ma, look, Ma!” Tia interrupted, grabbing Shae’s hand and trying to drag her over to the tea party she’d set up for her dolls.
“I’m sorry, I can’t play right now, Tia.”
“You have to go to work again?” Tia complained, sticking out her lips in a pout.
“Only for an hour or so,” Shae told her. Despite longing for more time to spend with her family, Shae sometimes wondered if she was even qualified to be Tia’s mother. She was confident she could face nearly any situation on Ship Street, but she was hopeless at meeting the little girl’s demands for friendship stories about every single one of her dolls. “You and Da are going to come over to the big house later, and we’ll all have dinner together with some guests.”
“Who’re we having dinner with? Will there be any other kids?”
“Just Ru and Jaya,” Shae said, although they hardly qualified. Jaya was already sixteen, almost a year-seven at the Academy, Ru was a year older than that, and sometimes Shae wondered if Niko had ever been a child at all. Tia had no siblings or cousins near her own age.
“They’re big kids!” Tia objected.
“You’re getting to be a big kid too.”
Tia shook her head, wide-eyed. “I never want to be a big kid.”
“You don’t?” Shae exclaimed curiously. “Why not?”
The girl hugged Shae’s legs anxiously. “Big kids have to learn to fight. When I fell down and got a nosebleed and cried, Jaya said I have to get used to blood. She says big kids don’t cry when they get hurt.”
Perhaps, Shae thought, it had not been a good idea to ask her niece to babysit. Jaya was utterly without tact. Shae crouched down and pulled her daughter into her arms. “Not all big kids are the same. But if you’re worried about it, you can stay a little kid for as long as you like. I won’t mind.”
_______
Shae changed into clean clothes and walked over to the main house. Ru was doing homework at the dining table, chewing the end of his pencil. Koko lay sprawled under the table at his feet, gnawing a rubber toy. “Hey, Aunt Shae,” Ru said, glancing up for a moment before returning his attention to his textbooks. He was in his last year of high school and only a few months away from final exams.
Wen stepped out of the kitchen and pulled the pencil away from his mouth. “Don’t do that,” she admonished. “It’s a bad habit that makes you look weak and nervous.” Peering into the kitchen, where her mother and the housekeepers were working, Shae could see some of the dishes being prepared: fish in milk broth, cold sliced pork with pepper sauce, greens with garlic, fried noodles. “Gods forbid our guests think we aren’t good enough patrons to feed them well,” Wen said. Shae, who hadn’t experienced a clean house since Tia was born, noticed jealously that the main residence appeared immaculate. Fresh-cut dancing star lilies, symbolizing friendship, scented the foyer in elegantly tall vases. Wen claimed to have never wanted nor expected the public role of the Pillar’s wife, but she’d nonetheless made herself an accomplished hostess.
“The Pillar and the Horn are in the study,” she told Shae.
Shae walked in to find Hilo and Juen in serious conversation. “Lott Jin’s changed a lot since he was a Finger,” the Horn was saying. “He’s diligent and fair with everyone, maybe a little too moody at times and soft at others, but no one doubts his greenness. He takes great care of his mother and siblings. My only small concern is that he doesn’t have a wife or children, which seems a bit unlucky at his age.” Juen blew out a thoughtful breath. “As a First Fist, however, he’s been excellent, and when it comes to the job of the Horn, he’s the best person for it. It’s your decision, Hilo-jen, but he’s who I would trust.”
Promoting someone into the highest circle of leadership in the clan was tantamount to making them an honorary member of the Kaul family. They would be living on the estate, having dinner in the house, brought into the closest confidence. It was a decision that needed to be made with great consideration, and the person’s character was as important as their capability.
“If you decide you’re not ready to retire after all, just say so,” Hilo said to Juen. “You’re only forty-five.”
“Forty-five is old for a Horn,” Juen said ruefully. “Being on the greener side of the clan is like living in dog years, you know that, Hilo-jen. My wife and I had barely any time to ourselves when we were young, not with four children and the life of a Fist, so I always said I would make it up to her later on.”