Iliac watched Pylo as she began to wind down her performance.

Taking in the numerous views. Angles, contexts and perspectives that she could interpret each nuance of it from.

It had long become obvious to the Masque that there would be a Courtesan Siren to fill the carefully honed and shaped hole in the lineup that had been vetted and accepted by the ship so far.

The question had been who that Siren would be.

Iliac had thought for nearly half her career in the trade and immigration offices that most of the subtle currents of manipulation and incentives pointed to a lesser cousin of the main family employed within the customs and trade commissions.

Possibly one of her own co-workers.

The patterns and plays were all there if you paid attention.

It would be a Siren and they needed one with a certain balance of skills, preferences, alliances and a particular acceptance of foreigners.

Such a potential Siren crewmate would be one with deep familial ties to Courtesan of course but otherwise one with solid exposure to not just the manners of Tractae vessels but the idiosyncrasies of trader law and its traditions.

It was also quite likely to be a veteran who had traveled beyond the system as well. There were numerous candidates in that criteria that Iliac had spotted with both authority over her and subservience to her position.

There would probably be some theater of tests to prove and winnow down the potential list to an ‘ideal’ selection divined by the Courtesan oversight of both Siren and Masque scions.

And to fill out the rest of the obvious gaps in the load out some adjacent or already connected Masque would be arranged to suit and support the Siren in the blatantly slotted counterpart and support role.

She had enjoyed quite a few strategic and political games of shadow play with her coworkers on guessing which of them seemed best poised to be ‘selected’ on the basis of their numerous relationships with the ideal Siren candidates in their collective awareness.

Proposing unknown unknowns, fanciful organizational structures and potential deep plots or power plays that could explain a given candidate’s eventual selection by the hidden forces behind Courtesan power.

Iliac had not been given (by herself or her peers) very good odds for being the match for any of those.

That’s how hidden information shook out wasn't it?

But given what they had known in their little corner of the dockworks it was a fair and solid guess.

None of the Sirens she worked with were particularly close with her as such things could be said.

Not politically or romantically anyway, they were all incredibly friendly as was expected.

But not more than was strictly polite and expected of them and Iliac did not have the heart to pursue any of them either.

It was no fault of the species, she just was not really interested in any of them per say.

Sirens were fine, you could hardly be a resident of any of the territories in Matriarch’s Gown without knowing quite a number that could appeal to some ideal you held.

Usually several simultaneously.

But they were also somewhat volatile and when you could actually see past their specialization and innate gifts they were all a bit helpless really.

She could appreciate and even understand how others might love a Siren. The sheer unrivaled political, social, aesthetic and even economic power by even the poorest and least skilled Courtesan Siren in Matriarch’s gown was a thing to be treasured.

The satisfaction guaranteed in such a relationship was also a huge plus. And even if you were theoretically (impossibly) completely immune to their idealized skills of affection a Courtesan had even further benefits.

If you could actually catch one of their fancies Courtesan Sirens did and continued to bring otherwise un-notable individuals, communities, organizations and even entire species to incredible prominence.

Iliac had nothing against Sirens in theory.

But in practice she’d never met one that really appealed as a partner. They were polite, convenient and capable individuals who would accomplish tasks in their specialization with great aptitude.

But they required incredible oversight or coddling to have any long term effectiveness.

Uncourted Courtesan Sirens were practically invalids without the extended support network provided by the Matriarch and the efforts invested in approximating courts with more generic quorums.

The weakness was obvious, exploitable and frustrating to witness. It was the source of comedy and tragedy in games and gauntlets by many artists as was expected of beings of incredible political power.

But again it’s not that Iliac had no empathy for the poor dears either.

Quite the opposite in fact.

There had been a few Orphan Sirens in Iliac’s time at immigration that wandered in on Ships having paid their way to Matriarch’s Gown by whatever manner they could.

And for everything a Courtesan Siren might be, Orphans were not.

Those were sad, broken creatures.

Barely able to function, some clinging to whatever random collection of mates and offspring they had managed to scrape together around them in their poverty out beyond Courtesan Control.

Even the strange foreign clans were better than the Orphans.

If there needed to be any reminder of how fragile any Siren, even a Courtesan was, you only had to look upon an Orphan.

Their minds were laughably simple, leaning so heavily on whatever creatures they had pulled into their influence to supplement their terrible cognition.

Iliac had seen some using the input and problem solving of SERVILES to shore up their terrible deficiencies.

Rehabilitation of refugees was never pleasant.

But with Sirens it was especially heart breaking.

In some cases the poor Orphans were so locked into their chosen support families there could be nothing done but to subsidize their metabolic needs with a stipend and employ them in work vastly inferior to their niche.

Serviles were sad enough, but to see a Siren who in a better life could have been raised at least as well as a Courtesan?! Trapped in barely being able to manage more than the meagrist of political acumen?

No Iliac had plenty of empathy and care for Sirens.

But she also shared an Understanding of them that not even all of her peers in computation, intellectual niche and caloric throughput managed.

It was easy after all to be caught up in their wiles and stories. The fiction that it was the Masque that was tamed by the Courtesan?

Among the Masque families that story was understood a bit differently.

For some it was seen as superficial aggrandizement. Flipping the accepted and public narrative is a simple toy and a trap for children.

“You think that the meaning was so simply hidden that an infant could realize its potential?”

That’s what was written in the tales if you cared to make the connection.

But there was a deeper truth that Iliac was sure could be missed by those that had only ever seen or interacted with Sirens at their best.

Full and strong with the support and training of the wise Matriarch and her daughters Siren and otherwise.

Who had only ever lived in communities that flocked to support and enrich even the poorest Siren infant.

Who had never met a Siren that had been born with no Mother to teach her how to be a Siren.

Or worse had been borne by a Mother that was herself an Orphan child of an Orphan of an Orphan going back dozens of generations.

Taught to be broken daughter to daughter.

If you had only ever seen Sirens who were raised properly and healthily you’d never see the heart of that story.

Iliac looked upon Pylo and for all the support and enrichment of a full and direct scion of the Matriarch , she saw something else in Pylo.

For all of her power and skill, for all of the benefits and abilities afforded her.

For every single benefit and luxury given this child to help raise her up into one of the pinnacles of her species.

For all that she was an expression of a clan whose very name had supplanted or even superseded the invention of a word to mean political acumen, intrigue, council and the virtues of love exchanged honestly and fairly for power in kind.

Iliac saw the faultlines.

The brittleness.

The poor fragile creature that she was.

A Siren child striving on her own.

Iliac looked upon this dear precious thing and had to consider if she could take on the burden and responsibility to try and keep her safe.

To be there to help her think what she could not.

To quite literally stand against forces she could only bear with great pain.

Was Iliac prepared to take that on?

Could she possibly refuse?!

It was a clever manipulation that the Masque had missed until this moment, here watching the desperate, blatant pleading of a child to be accepted.

Of course she would not be the voice to deny support! Their mistresses and mothers had certainly been supremely clever.

Iliac might not be confident to say she could love Pylo as others might guess she had too for her role.

But she would protect her.

They told the old story of the Masque and the Courtesan backwards.

It made for good publicity, it cemented the powerbase of the Matriarch solidly and it gave her Masque Daughters freedom to move and shift things as was needed.

It gave Courtesan as a clan an internal and loyal foil to direct ire and discontent towards.

But it was just a story.

Courtesan did not Tame those primordial Masque partners from wickedness at the birth of the Clan.

It also was not Iliac’s long distant and diluted ancestors that domesticated and conquered a Siren and forged a clan to rule the stars.

Only infants would believe that.

No, it was both simpler and far more painful to admit the truth.

Courtesan had needed a protector, and a Masque who Iliac now felt a sharp kinship too had seen that.

The old joke of her home’s name took on a new meaning in that light.

They called the Star Hollow Matriarch’s Gown.

The blind creatures inferior to Iliac’s niche in cognitive awareness might think that meant that the whole hollow, cities and its grounds were a garment worn by The Matriarch Courtesan.

The Giant statue of her certainly supported that impression.

Her peers, Masque and otherwise might think it was a clever hidden (but obvious to those that could think) nod to the instrumental role the Masque Gowns played to their Siren sisters.

To have the system named after their own role in the clan heaped secret delicious praise and political acknowledgement upon all.

Which was as with most proper narratives also too shallow.

For a Gown was although many layers removed simply a garment.

Clothing.

Protection from the elements for those species that needed it.

To the unaware the idea of a Siren needing protection from anything was laughable.

Their bodies were practically ablative armor but for their incredibly hardened cores.

Their native tongue was living weaponry.

Their thoughts could slay nations.

But here was this fragile child. For all her size and raw caloric throughput fragile and small in a way Iliac was not.

Needing protection.

She had come to the decision it seemed.

The weighting and the insights and the undeniable machinations of her betters aligned to put her here with a choice that was never a choice.

They had all been very clever to maneuver her to this place, a match for Pylo.

A gown to be worn.

Armour for her soul.

Iliac would keep her safe.