by Sharon
She moved her head, idly nuzzling the skin beneath his collarbone.
“Aelliana, we will be late.”
Her lips moved, trailing fire. She sighed and looked up at him, eyes as bright as he had ever seen them.
“Daav,” she murmured. “I think we should have another child.”
He considered her. “Do you plan on murdering the one we have, or is this to be in addition?”
“In addition,” she said.
“Very good. I approve in principle.”
Her hand slid inside his robe, and he gasped, ready all at once.
“Are we,” he asked shakily, “to begin construction at once?”
Aelliana smiled, her fingers moving maddeningly. “I think that would be perfect.”
“I can scarcely argue with a lady who has a plan. However, I point out that we will miss the play, which means that we must on the morrow write a note. I mention this only because I am aware of how little you like to write notes.”
Her other hand crept up ‘round his neck and pulled him down to her.
“We only have to miss the first act,” she whispered.
*
Aelliana slipped her hand through Daav’s arm, letting the familiar and ever-new wash of his signal buoy her. They had parked in Korval’s usual space by the theater. Ahead, she could see the intermission crowd just beginning to return to the theater, for the beginning of the second act.
“There,” Daav said. “We shall be seen by all the world; no notes need to be written—truly, a most satisfactory outcome!”
Something moved in the shadows ahead. She felt Daav take notice, but no more than just that—notice. They walked on, quickly enough that they would merge with the last ripple of returning theatergoers, thus making it appear that they had been there for the entire time. They would go up to Korval’s box and—
From behind them, a shout. Daav half-turned; she felt the stab of his concern.
A shadow stepped out of the shadow ahead; a tall, broad-shouldered man—a Terran, she thought with cold clarity. He brought his gun up, unhurried and certain.
Aelliana saw him acquire his target. Inside her head, she saw the bullet’s trajectory, saw Daav’s head explode. She jumped, twisting, striking Daav with every bit of her strength, throwing herself forward and up—
The last thing she knew was satisfaction, and the beloved sense of him holding her close, and forever.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Al’bresh venat’i …
“Daav.”
From the silent, freezing dark of outspace, he took note. Of the word. And of the voice.
“Daav.”
He drifted closer. The word had a certain familiarity; there was a worn feel to the voice. It was not, perhaps, the first, or even the fiftieth, time it had spoken that word.
“Daav.” The voice caught. “Brother, I beg you.”
He was close now; close enough to know whose voice it was—one of two in all the universe, that might have called him back.
“Er Thom … “
He felt—a grip. Fingers closing hard around his—around his hand. Yes. He gasped, groped, as if for controls, and opened his eyes.
For a heartbeat, there was input, but no information. Colors smeared, shapes twisted out of sense, a whispery keening disordered the air. The strong grip did not falter.
“A moment, a moment. Allow the systems to do their work, Pilot … “
He had weight now, and a form that stretched beyond his hand. The colors acquired edges, the shapes solidified, the keening—he was producing that noise, dreadful and lost.
“Daav?”
He blinked, and it was Er Thom’s face he saw, drawn and pale, lashes tangled with dried tears.
He licked his lips, and deliberately drew a breath.
“Brother … “
The keening stopped, unable to fit ‘round the fullness of that word, but the sense of it remained at the core of him, jagged with horror, blighted by loss.
Fresh tears spilled from Er Thom’s eyes. He raised his free hand, and tenderly cupped Daav’s cheek.
“Denubia, I thought you were gone from us.”
“Where?” he asked, meaning, Where would I have gone? but Er Thom answered another question.
“High Port Medical Arts.”
The hospital.
“Why?”
Er Thom moved his hand, smoothing Daav’s eyebrows, brushing tumbled hair from his forehead.
“The response team brought you both in, of course,” he whispered; the tears were running freely now. “They—there was no visible wound, and yet—you did not wake. Your life signs grew weaker, and the Healers—Master Kestra herself—said she would not dare to intervene, for she did not know what she was seeing.”
The horror at the core of him grew toothier. He tried to pull his hand away, but Er Thom held on like a man with a grip on a lifeline.
“Aelliana?” he asked, and that was an error, for as soon as he spoke, he remembered: the shout, his turn, the sound of the gun, and Aelliana leaping, graceful and sure—her body torn by the blast, slamming into him, and a vortex of absence, sucking him out, out, alone, gone, dead …
“Aelliana!”
He twisted, prisoned by the bedclothes, desperate to escape the agony of loss.
Er Thom caught his shoulders, pressed him against the bed and held him there while he flailed and screamed, and at last only wept, weakly, turning his face into the tumbled blankets.
His brother gathered him up, then, and held him cradled like a babe, murmuring, wordless and soothing, and Aelliana, Aelliana …
“Another child,” he whispered. “She had said we should have another child. We were late … “
“He thought he had missed you, going in,” Er Thom murmured. “The gunman said as much before he died of his wounds. He thought to wait until the end of the play and catch you as you came away.”
“Wounds? There was no one but us, on the street, who would have wounded—”
“You,” his brother said. “The medics found your hideaway by your hand, and that prompted them to look for another who might be in need.”
Had he been quicker, had he been more alert—he might have preserved her life.
“He said,” Er Thom murmured, “that you were the target. That the Terran Party has a price on your head.”
“She saw him,” he whispered. “Timing and trajectory were blood and breath to her. She deliberately put herself into harm’s way. Gods, Aelliana … “
“Pilot’s choice,” Er Thom said, though his voice was not by any means steady. “Brother, will you come home?”
Home? The rooms, her things lying where she had left them. Their apartment, with her scent and her imprint on everything. He could not … And yet where else was there to go?
His heart was beginning to pound. He drew a hard breath, and forcefully turned his thoughts to other questions; questions that Er Thom would expect.
“How long have I been—unconscious?”
“Three days,” Er Thom answered, adding carefully, “Val Con is with us.”
Val Con. Another bolt of agony shuddered through him. What was he going to tell their child? How could he begin to comfort Val Con, when he could scarcely hold himself rational from heartbeat to heartbeat?
“Daav?”
“Yes.” He raised his head and kissed his brother, softly, on the lips. “Let us by all means go home.”
Of course, it wasn’t as simple as merely going home. The med techs needed their time with him, running suite after suite of diagnostics. He was found to be well-enough for a man who had sustained what the head of the tech team termed “a massive shock to the nervous and circulatory systems.” One received the distinct impression that med techs had not expected him to survive.
If only he had not.
Blackness seized him; his breath went short; the room, the med tech, the instruments—all and everything smeared into a blur of senseless color. Dislocated, he fell—and hi
s knees struck the vanished floor.
The jolt focused him; he gasped for breath; heard the med tech call out; felt a hand beneath his elbow.
“Are you in pain?” the tech asked.
Was he in pain? Daav felt something like laughter, if laughter were bleak and bladed and chill, snarling in his chest. He gritted his teeth and denied it.
“I am—a thought unbalanced,” he managed, breath coming easier now. “A momentary lapse.”
“Ah,” the tech said and spoke over Daav’s head. “Let us assist the pilot to the chair, please. Then, rerun the room readings for the last six minutes.”
He allowed them to lend him support and crept to the diagnostic chair on their arms, like a toddler taking his first steps on the arms of fond family. Once he was seated, the shorter med tech left them, doubtless to find the room readings, as she had been directed.
Daav leaned back and closed his eyes, spent.
“Blood sugars critical,” the tech murmured. “Systolic … “
He took a soft breath. “Attend me, Pilot. It would seem that you have suffered yet another potent shock to your system. Please rest here. The chair will give you several injections, to assist in balancing your body’s systems. I will return in a moment.”
He departed. Daav lay limp in the chair, scarcely caring when the injections were administered. Over in the corner, he could hear the techs speaking quietly, they thought. His hearing had returned with his eyesight, however, and he heard how worriedly they discussed plummeting blood pressure, a sudden, unexplainable crisis of blood sugars, and a glittering moment of cranial pyrotechnics.
“Seizure,” the team leader murmured.
Fear flooded him, very nearly drowning the horror of his loss. If the med techs could prove brain damage, he would never fly again. He stirred in the chair.
“I am,” he said, and stopped, shocked at how weak his voice was. He opened his eyes. Both of the techs were watching him, alarm clearly visible.
Daav took a deep breath.
“I am,” he said again, “the surviving partner of a true lifemating.”
The techs exchanged a glance.
“I suggest,” Daav continued, “that I be released into the care of my kin, with whatever regimen will, in your professional opinions, best restore my strength. When I have had some time to become … ” His breath grabbed; he deliberately breathed deeply, ” … some time to become accustomed, then I will return for another series of diagnostics.”
“If you have another seizure,” the head tech said, “you will immediately return here.”
“Agreed,” he said, feeling considerably more awake. The injections from the kindly chair at work, no doubt.
“Very well,” the head med tech said, motioning his subordinate out of the room ahead of him. “We will call your kinsman to you, and bring a mobile chair. Please remain in the diagnostic chair until the mobile arrives. The room is awake and watching as well.”
And would certainly report another seizure or any other small infelicity, Daav thought. As it happened, he was content for the moment to rest where he sat.
“I understand,” he told the med tech, who gave him one more hard look before he, too, departed, leaving Daav alone.
Carefully, wishing neither to think, nor to invite yet another state that might cause a med tech even the smallest concern, he began to review the Scout’s Rainbow.
In general, he had only to think of the Rainbow in order to achieve its benefits, as accustomed as they were to each other. Now, however, he deliberately slowed the process, visualizing each color particularly and fully before moving on to the next.
He was contemplating, with difficulty, the color blue when he heard the door cycle, and opened his eyes, fully expecting to see Er Thom.
But it was not Er Thom.
He straightened sharply in the chair, his heart jolting in what he could only hope was an unalarming and perfectly usual manner.
“Go away, Master Kestra,” he said, his voice harsh. “I don’t want you.”
The Healer raised her hands, fingers spread wide.
“Peace,” she said softly. “I had only come to look, now that you are aware again.”
She paused, her eyes focused on some point just above his head, as Healers were wont to do.
“Well,” he snapped, “and what do you see?”
“I am not certain,” she answered, dreamily. “I note that I am neither blinded nor deafened in your presence, and that we both know the Rainbow is not potent enough to quiet you. Normally.
“I see your pattern, and I see your anguish, and I see the abyss that you carry within. Apparently, choice is available to you.”
She blinked, her face sharpening as she looked directly into his eyes.
“You are not brain-burned, if that soothes you, Daav.”
“If I continue to have seizures, it will scarcely matter why,” he pointed out. “If I continue to have seizures, the Guild will have my license, and rescind my right to fly.”
“And you still care about that,” the Healer murmured. “Deeply.”
Anger licked through him, and he took a deliberate breath.
“Master Kestra, are you through looking?”
She bowed, gently. “In fact, Korval, I am. In this, I am timely. Your brother approaches.”
With no further ado, she turned and walked toward the door, triggered it and stepped back, allowing Er Thom to enter first, in deference to his rank, and then the chair, in deference to the inept driver.
“Master Kestra,” Er Thom murmured, pausing to give her a bow. “Have you business with my brother?”
“Our business is done,” she said, inclining her head. “He does not accept my assistance. If it should come about that he requires it, please have no hesitation in sending for me.”
Er Thom bowed. “Our House is grateful.”
“Of course,” she said, an edge of irony on her voice. “In the meanwhile, by all means take him home. Hospitals magnify every ill and pain; it is better to heal among kin, especially of such wounds as his.”
She bowed then, and passed through the door. Er Thom turned to Daav and offered his arm.
“Daav.”
Anne’s embrace was sisterly and enveloping. He leaned his head against her shoulder and for a heartbeat simply accepted the comfort that she offered, feeling her warmth and her true affection.
She held him lightly, as would a woman accustomed to handling wild things, or small children, and released him the instant he lifted his head.
“Er Thom will have told you that the boy’s with us,” she said, in her lilting Terran. “He and his cousins have been having a fine time of it, running Mrs. Intassi ragged. I took it on myself to have some of your things brought up and a room made ready. You’re to stay with us for as long as you want and wish to, understand me, laddie?”
“I understand,” he said. “Thank you, Anne.”
“No thanks,” she said severely, and gripped him by his shoulders, forcing him to look up into her face. “No blaming yourself, either—do you hear me? She knew what she was doing.”
“I think so, too,” he whispered, and cleared his throat, blinking his eyes to clear them.
“Now, you’ll tell me what you need to make you comfortable—a bite of food, maybe?”
“No,” he said, striving not to sound as if he found the thought of food nauseating. “No, I—I thank you. I think that I wish … to be alone for a time.” He paused and added, “I’m very tired,” which had the felicity of being perfectly true.
She glanced over at Er Thom, who was leaning quietly against his desk. He straightened and came forward.
“Of course you are tired,” he murmured. “Come, let me show you to your rooms.”
Daav glanced back as he followed Er Thom out of the room and saw Anne watching him, a look of naked concern on her face.
“Would you like to stop by the nursery and speak with Val Con?” Er Thom asked, as they mounted the back staircase.
He took a breath and shook his head.
“Not just—yet, please.”
There was a pause before Er Thom said, “Of course,” and sighed.
“You should know that Anne had told him that we had bad news from the port, and that his mother … would not be returning.” He shot Daav a sidewise glance.
“Val Con refused to believe Anne’s information,” Daav said slowly, “and may have … lost his temper, just a little.”
“Mrs. Intassi reports a display of epic proportion,” Er Thom agreed. “She said that she was reminded vividly of yourself.”
Daav said nothing, and they walked down the hall in silence, turning the corner into the family wing.
“Here,” Er Thom said.
They had given him Sae Zar’s old apartment; he recalled coming here once or twice as a child, with Er Thom. It was a gentle choice: on the family wing, yet removed enough from Anne and Er Thom’s suite that he could be private in his comings and goings.
Daav put his hand against the plate, sighing as the house recognized him, and opened the door.
“Good evening, Brother,” he murmured and took one step forward.
“Daav.”
Nerves grating, the longing for solitude a thirst, yet he turned back to face his brother.
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Er Thom asked. He reached out to stroke Daav’s cheek, a gesture that moved them both to tears. “Daav? I—I fear for you, alone.”
I fear for me, alone, as well, Daav thought, even as he shook his head.
“I swear that I will do nothing … irrecoverable tonight,” he said, and felt that, perhaps, he would be able to honor that oath. “And you—denubia, you are as exhausted as I am—more!—for it fell to you to do all that had to be done, for—for her, and for me. I—” He leaned forward and kissed Er Thom on his damp cheek.
“Go to your lifemate, darling. I—I will come to you tomorrow, and be as seemly as may be.”
Er Thom bit his lip. “I cannot imagine,” he said, his voice so low that Daav could scarcely hear him. “Beloved, I—” He moved, pilot fast; his embrace swift and fierce.
“Do as you must,” he whispered. “I love you, Daav.”