Eye of the Ocean Book 3 Ji'jin Station

Eye of the Ocean – Book 3: Ji’Jin Station
matched the pearls around her neck. Spann tops swung from the girdle ties,
sounding like ti'Linn tics when they knocked together. The guard that escorted
the pair to the table tic'd in response.
Instead of sitting, Ritsiniti motioned to the remainder of his party. “The Lady
Kori of our House,” he said and without pausing for the whispers to die down,
“Asam e'Bolda, Master Weaver of the Imperial House.” To those here, they were
creatures of legend and myth. And lies - only the demonstration of Ca’mit’s own
belief made them believable.
“I feel quite overshadowed,” he said as he settled back onto the cushion.
Instead of kneeling, Lanasi squatted instead, one arm leaning heavily on his
shoulder; she was the only one who chuckled at his joke.
“The Camerat?” he whispered to Lanasi in Poultat. He had expected Kalduka
d'Nivkh. She didn't answer for a moment, then whispered in the same language,
“Shall I open a Net link?”
Ca'mit shook his head and she sent an aide instead. Sitting back on his heels,
he made a motion to his San to perform the acknowledgments of the others
attending here, then succumbing to a whim, added a sign requesting indulgence,
forming it as an inferior would to his superior.
Lanasi moved against him. The same blue as on the backs of her hands was
around her eyes in a thick band and continued into the frost pattern on each
cheek. A talc and butter smell for all it was ground up beetle cases. “If you're
going to be difficult, you might reconsider and make this a private Audience.”
“He could be reciting recipes and no one would notice.”
Lanasi glanced at Ritsiniti - did she think he would notice - but all she said in
return was, “I would.”
He softened his voice although he wasn't the only one talking, although
perhaps the only one being obvious about it. Waving fans and sheltering hands,
heads together behind convenient backs, all opportunities were taken advantage
of, the size of the Chamber and the large number of people helping. “Am I being
a trial?”
“You are, haven't I've always said so?” She had.
Uspani raised his staff as the whispering continued unabated. Small taps on
the flagstone floor were lost in the noise. More taps, taken up now by the guard
with the sound of hard claws against stone. Knowledge of the action's significance
spread in a wave of concentrated whispering, leaving relative silence in its wake.
Clearing his throat, Uspani looked around slowly, the staff poised.
“Lady Priest Finola...,” Uspani began in a ringing voice.
The ranking Alisim Priest had half her staff attending her, arranged in rows
back of where she sat, only her tass'alt and San kneeling beside her. Uspani
worked his way through all of them, full names and ranking, social and Temple.
Then started with the others, the few other Priests and their staff, then with the
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