by Sharon Lee
Rys took a deep breath.
It came now, his judgment.
His death.
He bowed in the mode of lesser to greater, thereby giving his agreement to what would come after, and said, respectfully, “Korval.”
Straightening, he met that brilliant gaze, saw a smile on the firm mouth.
“Brother,” came the reply, accompanied by the easy nod one might accord to kin.
Rys stiffened.
“I am not your brother,” he said.
“Are you not? And yet I have never before now met another who had broken training, and regained a measure of what he had been, before the Department had trained him.” He tipped his head to one side, eyes speculative.
“Surely, that binds us in some way?”
It was true that Val Con yos’Phelium, he who was now Korval, had been an Agent of Change. He was, perhaps, the Department’s greatest failure, for he had broken with the Commander and with the Plan, and actively worked to the Department’s despite.
As, Rys thought, he would himself, were he to live.
“Well,” said Korval, “you will think on it. Perhaps we will speak of it again, sometime later. In the meanwhile, my sister tells me that you have some anxiety with regard to a ship.” He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper, which he held out with a smile. “I hope that this will serve to reassure you.”
Hope and terror clashed in his heart. Rys fairly snatched the paper from the outstretched hand, unfolded it to find a ship’s registry page, his gaze running feverishly down the few lines…
Momma Liberty
Out of Waymart
Captain Jasin Bell
First Mate Kayla Bell
Trader Morgan Fairchance
Status active
Taking cargo and passengers
Tears, sudden and grateful. He had not…he had never…He closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“I am grateful,” he said. “Korval, I am in your debt.”
It was an idiotic thing to say, given what was the most likely outcome of this encounter, but Val Con yos’Phelium inclined his head gravely.
“Let there be no debt between us,” he said in his soft voice, and looked up with a gleam in his eye.
“Where will you go now?” he asked.
Rys stared at him. “Go?”
“Yes, go. My sister assures me that you are no longer a danger to the clan; that, indeed, you may prove an ally. We are not so foolish as to turn allies away, you know. So I ask—where will you go?”
Rys took a breath. He had woken this morning knowing that he would be dead before evening. This sudden leap to life—
He studied the man before him; could detect nothing false in face or eyes.
“If my life is truly mine,” he said carefully, “I would return to the Bedel.”
“I had guessed as much,” Korval said, “and took the liberty of calling your brothers to take you home.”
“My—”
“They are waiting for you upstairs,” Korval interrupted, stepping back and bowing Rys toward the door. “I have the impression that they are eager to see you. Please, do not keep them waiting on my behalf.”
* * *
Syl Vor lay with his Mother under the Tree, his head on her shoulder, her arm holding him close.
“I like visiting the Tree,” he said drowsily, “and I’m happy to make the acquaintance of my new cousin Talizea, but I’ll be very happy to go home again.”
“I will be very happy to have you back, again. I make no secret, Syl Vor-son, that Mr. Golden has been cast quite into despair by your absence, and Beck is not to be borne!”
He gave a small gurgle of laughter.
“Your Aunt Anthora tells me that you have progressed well in your lessons with her, though she still holds shy of telling me what those lessons where. May I persuade you, my child, to tell me?”
Syl Vor laughed again, and snuggled his head closer against her shoulder.
“Oh, she said she was teaching me to be a boy. I think that was a joke, because of course I am only a boy!”
“Of course you are,” his mother said. “As fine a child as any might wish for. Barring the occasional adoption of sisters.”
He grinned.
“Is Kezzi being very bad?”
“Not,” his mother said judiciously, “by Kezzi’s lights. But I digress. Did your aunt teach you anything other than to be a boy?”
“No-o-o. But she did tell me that many people get muddled when they’ve been in very great danger, and that I’ll probably never really recall how Mike came just in time to, to stop that woman who was going to blow up the school. Do you think if I ask Mike, he’ll tell me?”
“To say true, I think that Mr. Golden’s memory of the event is a little muddled, as well. Certainly, Kezzi’s is,” his mother said slowly. “Best, perhaps, to leave it.”
“That’s what Uncle Ren Zel says. The threads are well-woven,” he quoted, “and no need to try the knots.” He sighed.
A bell rang out over the garden, and his mother sat up, tumbling him over into the leaves.
He laughed, and jumped to his feet. She was up, as well, and brushing the leaves out of her hair. She looked at him from beneath her lashes.
“Race you,” she whispered, and took off across the lawn, golden hair flying behind her.
Syl Vor shouted, and ran after her.
—END—