Lee, Sharon & Miller, Steve - Liaden Books 1-9

by Liaden 1-9 (lit)

  She stirred and moved her arms from his waist. Er Thom stepped back, took her hand and helped her to rise. Slipping her arm through his, he guided her to the doorway and gave her over to the Healer.

  "I will be with you," he said, smiling up into her beloved and careworn face, "when you wake."

  She gave him an uncertain smile in return. "All right," she mumbled, and allowed the Healer to lead her away.

  * * *

  The Healer's exhaustion showed clearly in his face. He accepted a glass of wine with unfeigned gratitude and slumped into the offered chair with a sigh.

  Er Thom sat in the chair opposite, sipped his wine and put it aside.

  "It is fortunate," the Healer said after a sip or two of his own, "that they were able to be seen so quickly after the event. I anticipate no complications for the child: The dream will be hazy when he wakes from trance and will continue to fade over the next two or three days.

  "The lady I believe capable of recapturing the entire experience, did necessity exist. She has a disciplined mind and a very strong will. If she should find it difficult to concentrate, if her sleep is disturbed, if she is troubled in any way—only call. I shall be honored to assist her."

  Er Thom inclined his head. "I thank you."

  "It is joy to serve," the Healer replied formally. He had recourse once more to his glass.

  "The child," he said then and met Er Thom's gaze. "Your Lordship is perhaps not aware that the child is something out of the common way. It would be wisdom, were he to be shown—soon—to a master Healer, or brought to a Hall."

  Again, Er Thom inclined his head. "I shall discuss the matter with my lady."

  "Certainly." The Healer finished his wine and rose to make his bow.

  Er Thom rose, returned the man's salute with gravity, straightened and held out a hand in which a six-cantra gleamed.

  "Please accept tangible evidence of my gratitude for the service you render my lady and our son."

  "Your Lordship is gracious." The coin disappeared. The Healer inclined his head.

  "Good day, sir. Fair fortune to you and yours."

  "And to you, Healer."

  Er Thom walked the smaller man to the door and let him out into the wide, cruise-ship hallway. He closed the door and locked it—and went back through the parlor to the bedroom, there to keep watch at Anne's bedside until such time as she should wake.

  * * *

  Coming out of sleep was like coming out of heavy cloud, into lighter cloud, to dense fog, to mist—to bright, unencumbered sun.

  Anne stretched luxuriously. She felt wonderfully well, without care or grief; lucid and joyful for the first time in days.

  She stretched again, knowing that they were booked on the cruise ship Chelda, bound for Lytaxin and points outward, scheduled to leave Liad orbit this very afternoon. Her son was safe and happy—deeply asleep at the moment, she knew. Er Thom was traveling with them—she forgot precisely how that had come about, for surely—

  The thought slid away, vanishing into a warm glow of happiness.

  "Hello, Anne." His voice, in gentle Terran. "Are you well?"

  "Well?" She opened her eyes and smiled up into his, extended a languid hand and brushed his cheek with her fingertips, relishing the slow stir of passion. "I'm wonderful. I guess I needed a nap."

  "I—guess," Er Thom agreed softly. He traced her eyebrows with a light fingertip. "You are beautiful."

  She laughed. "No, laddie, there you're out. I am not beautiful."

  "You really must allow me to disagree with you," he murmured, fingertips like moon-moths against her lips. He smiled, eyes smoky, fingers running the line of her jaw. "Beautiful Anne. Darling Anne. Sweetheart."

  She gasped, as much from surprise as from the tingle of pleasure his caresses evoked.

  "You don't—You never say—things…" His fingers were tracing a line of fire along the curve of her throat.

  "My dreadful manners," he murmured, bending his bright head as his clever fingers worked lose the fastening of her shirt. "Forgive me."

  His mouth was hot over the pulse at the base of her throat. His fingers were teasing a nipple to erection.

  "Teach me," he whispered, raising his head and kissing her cheek, her eyelids, her chin. "What else should I say, Anne?"

  She laughed breathlessly, cupping his face in her two hands and holding him still.

  "I don't think you need to say anything more at the moment," she murmured, and kissed him, very thoroughly, indeed.

  She woke again, sated and a-tingle in every nerve, opened her eyes and saw him leaning above her, face suffused with tenderness. She shivered and reached for him.

  "Er Thom, what's wrong?"

  "Ah." He stroked her hair softly back from her forehead. "I shall—miss—my clan."

  Coldness leached into her, riding confusion. Why was he here? The plan—hadn't the plan been to take Shan and herself away to New Dublin? Er Thom was to have stayed with his clan, wasn't that the plan? How—She groped after the precise memory. It eluded her, leaving her blinking up into his eyes, feeling half-ill with loneliness, vulnerable as she had never been vulnerable.

  "You could—" Gods, she could scarcely breathe. She pushed her voice past the tight spot in her throat. "The ship's still in orbit, isn't it? You could—go home…"

  "No, how could I?" He smiled gently and lay his finger along her lips. "You and our son are leaving Liad. How can I stay?" He kissed her cheek. "I shall learn, sweetheart. I depend upon you to teach me."

  She stared at him, speechless—then blinked, attention diverted.

  "Shan's waking up."

  "I shall go to him," Er Thom said, slipping out of the wide bed and bending to retrieve his clothes. He smiled at her. "If you like, we three may go up to the observation deck and watch the ship break orbit."

  He was going to stay with them, loneliness and vulnerability be damned. She felt his determination echo at the core of her. He was turning his back on his clan, on wealth and position; throwing his lot in with Linguistics Professor Anne Davis, untenured.

  "Er Thom—"

  "Hush." He bent quickly over her, stopping her protests with his lips. "I love you, Anne Davis, with all of my heart. If you will not have Liad, then you must lead me to another place, and teach me new customs. Only do not put me aside…" His voice broke, eyes bright. "Anne?"

  "You lied," she said uncertainly, for that had suddenly come crystal clear. "You said you weren't a thief—"

  "Nor am I." He sat on the edge of the bed and caught her hands in his. "Anne, listen. If there were a child who was Davis, and I caused him to brought into Korval, that is thievery. But a child named yos'Galan, brought into Korval—how may yos'Galan steal a yos'Galan?" His fingers were tight on hers; she felt the truth in him, like a flame, melting away old fears.

  "I erred. That, yes. I mistook local custom and thought I had explained enough. I thought, having done honor in name, you now passed the full joy of another yos'Galan to the clan, as was right and proper. Liaden. I plead stupidity. I plead pride. But you must acquit me of lying to you, Anne. That, I never undertook."

  "You'll come with us?" she said, wonderingly. "To New Dublin?"

  "Is that where you are bound?" Er Thom moved his shoulders. "I shall stand at your side. It is what I wish." He tipped his head. "We may need to tarry upon Lytaxin. Our son should be seen in the Healer's Hall—unless there is such on New Dublin?"

  She shook her head. "We'll need to talk," she said, and heard a vague, fog-shrouded echo. She let it fade away, uncurious.

  Er Thom inclined his head. "So we shall. I will go to our son now."

  "I'll sort out my clothes," Anne said, with wry humor, "and meet the two of you in the parlor very soon."

  Shan pronounced himself both hungry and thirsty. He submitted with a certain ill-grace to having his hair combed and a wet cloth passed over his face, but took Er Thom's hand willingly enough and went with him into the parlor.

  One step into the room, E
r Thom froze, staring at the man in the black leather jacket who lounged at his ease on the low-slung sofa, long legs thrust out before him and crossed neatly at the ankle. He lifted a glass of blood-red wine in salute and sipped, room lights running liquid off the enamel-work of his single ring.

  "Daav!" Shan cried joyously.

  "Hello, Nephew," the man replied gently. His black eyes went to Er Thom. "Brother. I perceive I am in time."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Take the course opposite to custom and you will almost always do well.

  —Jean Jacques Rousseau

  Shan was settled at a low table in the corner, a crystal glass of juice and some tidbits of cheese to hand. Er Thom came back to the center of the room and stood staring down at the man on the sofa.

  "My family and I," he said eventually, and in Terran, "are bound for New Dublin."

  Daav raised his glass, lips pursed in consideration.

  "A pastoral location," he allowed in the same language. "Do you plan a long stay?"

  "I believe Anne means us to settle there."

  "Really?" Daav lifted an eyebrow. "I don't see you as a farmer, denubia."

  "That has very little to say to the matter," Er Thom informed him flatly.

  "Ah. Well, that is lowering, to be sure." He flourished the glass, switching to Low Liaden. "Drink with me, brother."

  "I regret to inform you," Er Thom said, keeping stubbornly to Terran, "that your brother is dead."

  "Oh, dear. But you are misinformed, you know," Daav said kindly, pursuing his end of the conversation now in Low Liaden. "My brother was seen not very many hours ago, booking passage for three upon Chelda. Unless the line's service has gone entirely awry, I believe we may assume he is enjoying his customary robust health."

  "Mirada!" Shan called from across the room. "More juice. Please!"

  "You will have to teach him to call you otherwise," Daav murmured, and lifted an eyebrow at Er Thom's start.

  "Father," he suggested in soft Terran, meeting the determined violet eyes. "Papa. Da. Something of that nature."

  "Mirada?" Shan called.

  Er Thom went to him, refilled the glass and ruffled his frost-colored hair. Then he came back to stand and stare. Daav sipped wine, unperturbed.

  "I repudiate the clan," Er Thom said, the High Tongue cold as hyperspace.

  "Yes, but you see," Daav returned earnestly in the Low Tongue, "the clan doesn't repudiate you. If things were otherwise, I might very well wave you away. An off-shoot of the clan on New Dublin might be amusing. But things are not otherwise, darling. The clan needs you—you, yourself, not simply your genes. I cannot allow you to leave us. Necessity." He used his chin to point at Shan, engrossed in his snack.

  "And if you think I shall allow that child beyond range of a Healer Hall any time before he has completed formal training, I beg that you think again." He cocked a whimsical eyebrow. "Come home, darling, do."

  Er Thom's mouth tightened, his eyes wounded.

  "My family and I," he repeated steadfastly, though his Terran had gone rather blurry, "are bound for New Dublin. The ship leaves within the hour."

  Daav sighed. "No," he corrected gently. "It does not."

  Er Thom drew a careful breath. "The schedule—"

  "I see I have failed of making myself plain." He swirled what was left of his wine and glanced up, black eyes glinting.

  "This ship goes nowhere until I leave it. And I shall not leave it without yourself and your son in my company." He raised his glass and finished the last of the wine.

  "There is an important package due from Korval," he said, somewhat more gently. "The ship is being held for its arrival.

  It will make rather a hash out of traffic, of course, but that's the port master's problem, not mine." He put the glass aside.

  "When I leave the ship, the package will be delivered and Chelda may be on its way." He moved his hand as if he cast dice. "It is now your throw, brother. How long shall we hang in orbit?"

  There was a long silence.

  "Anne and I are—tied together," Er Thom said eventually, and in, his brother heard with relief, the Low Tongue. "Understand me. I heard her call—from across the Port. I followed her thought to a place—" He moved his shoulders. "There is a dead man named Fil Tor Kinrae in the back room of a warehouse in Mid-Port."

  "How delightful. Your work?"

  "Anne's. In rescue of our son." He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair. "The Healer has been to both."

  "Very good. I hesitate to mention that Master Healer Kestra awaits you at Trealla Fantrol."

  Er Thom stiffened. "Anne and I are tied. I had just told you."

  "My dreadful memory," Daav murmured. "I do however seem to recall that the lady swore she would have none of you. This leads me to the unfortunate conclusion that any— bonding—that exists is on your side alone."

  Er Thom bowed with exquisite irony. "As you will. Onesided or not, it exists. I go with Anne, since choice is necessary. I cannot do otherwise."

  "Ah, can you not?" Daav frowned; turned his head.

  The door to the bedroom slid open and Anne came into the room. She advanced to Er Thom's side and looked down, her face tranquil, as the faces of those newly Healed tended to be. Daav inclined his head.

  "Good-day, Anne."

  "Daav," she returned gravely. "Have you come to take Shan away?"

  "Worse than that," he said, watching her face with all a Scout's care. "I've come to take your son and your lover away."

  Something moved in her eyes; he read it as anger.

  "Er Thom makes his own choices," she said flatly. "My son comes with me."

  "To New Dublin?" Daav asked, keeping his voice gentle, his posture unthreatening. "Anne, your child bodes to be a Healer of some note, if he does not come to halfling as one of dramliz. How shall New Dublin train him to use these abilities? Will you wait until he harms someone through ignorance—or until he begins to go mad—before you send him back to Liad to be taught?" He showed her his empty palms.

  "How do I serve my cha'leket by denying his son the training he must have to survive? How does flinging talent into exile serve Korval?" He lowered his hands and gave her a rueful smile.

  "For good or ill, Shan is of Korval. We are in Liaden space, subject to the law and customs of Liad. Shan's delm commands him to bide at home. The law will find no different."

  She licked her lips. "Terran law—"

  Daav inclined his head. "You are free to chart that course. However, for the years such litigation will doubtless encompass, the child bides with Clan Korval, his family of record." He shifted; came to his feet in one fluid move, hand out in a gesture of supplication.

  "Anne, hear me. The luck was in it, that you brought your child to Liad. There is nowhere else in the galaxy where his talents are understood so well. I am not your enemy in this, but your friend. Only think and you will see that it is so!"

  Her mouth was tight, fine eyes flashing. "You seem to have me over a barrel," she commented. "What do you propose I do, hang on as Clan Korval's guest until my son is come of age?"

  Daav tipped his head, watching Er Thom's face out of the side of an eye.

  "Why, as to that," he said calmly, "here is my brother says he can do nothing other than stand at your side, whatever ground you choose. He makes a rather compelling case for himself, casting aside his delm's word and escaping from his rooms down a vine. If things were otherwise, I might well give such devotion its just reward. But the devil's in it, you see—I need him. Korval needs him. He comes with me, if I must have him off this ship in chains."

  "So the great House of Korval holds hostages, does it?" Anne flashed. "Is this honor?"

  "We had been—wishing—to talk," Er Thom said, very softly, from her side. "Perhaps—we might find the proper compromise—on Liad."

  Anne spun to look at him, eyes wide.

  Er Thom met her gaze. "Is the intent of the trade to keep we three together?" he asked. "Or is it to keep us forev
er at— at—"

  "Loggerheads," she supplied, almost absently. "You would burden yourself with a Terran on Liad?" There was a note of wistfulness beneath the disbelief. Daav relaxed, carefully. Er Thom took her hand and smiled up into her eyes.

  "You would have burdened yourself with a Liaden," he murmured, "on New Dublin."

  Daav felt a small hand slip into his and looked down into Shan's bright silver eyes.

  "Hi, Daav," that young gentleman said comfortably. He smiled impartially at all three adults. "We go home now?"

  "May I offer you more fruit, Master Healer?" Petrella yos'-Galan asked from the head of the table, "Cheese?"

  "Thank you, my needs have been well provided for." Master Healer Kestra inclined her head.

  Thodelm yos'Galan's displeasure with her son was entirely audible to the Healer's inner ears. It was, of course, bad form to broach the subject of emotional turmoil with one who had not specifically requested aid, and Kestra had scrupulously kept to good form. Thus far. She could not help but admit, however, that her sympathies lay on the side of the abruptly absent a'thodelm and the lady his heart would not relinquish.

  The shabby little love-knot had been compelling, as had the struggle she had perceived in the room's echoes. Two people who loved each other, each striving for right conduct. More the pity that the two were persons of melant'i and that right conduct shifted like moon shadow, world to world.

  "I must offer apology," Petrella yos'Galan said ill-temperedly, "for my son's lack of manner. Of late he has come unruly, to the clan's distress."

  "No need of apology," Kestra returned mildly. "Those of Korval are understood to be unruly." She smiled.

  "I recall when the delm—Scout Cadet yos'Phelium he was at the time—applied for Healing, after his ship was disabled. Four Healers were required for the task of smoothing the memory—myself and another of Master rank, with two high adepts—and he wished to forget!" She sipped tepid tea and set the cup down with a tiny click.

  "For all of that, we did not entirely accomplish our goal. We succeeded in blurring the experience, but he recalls it. I am certain that he does. I believe it to be a distant recollection, devoid of emotion, as if he had read of the incident in a book. But I am entirely certain he could tap the memory in all its horror, did he become convinced of necessity."