by Sharon Lee
There was a pause, and a whisper of velvet along silk. He glanced away from Aelliana's face, just as orange-and-white Relchin settled himself at her opposite side, chicken fashion, his eyes slitted in approval.
Distantly, Daav felt relief. Relchin had an . . . affinity for the Rainbow. That he appeared to oversee Aelliana's inaugural journey could only be a good omen.
"Now," Aelliana whispered.
"Good," he answered, drawn back into his role as her guide.
Color by color, he took her through the Rainbow, watching her relax more deeply at every level.
Once, at yellow, and again at purple, he reminded her that she might exit the exercise simply by opening her eyes, which was the protocol. She chose to continue, which everyone did.
In the choreography of the Scout's Rainbow, the ultimate safe place lay beyond violet. Each person who traversed the colors found a different door at the end of the Rainbow, uniquely theirs, the room behind it always a refuge.
At the far side of violet, with Aelliana breathing as sweetly as a child asleep, he asked the question, softly as her own thought: "What do you see?"
"Hatch," she murmured. "Ride the Luck's hatch."
Oh, indeed? And what shape had her safety taken before she acquired her ship, he wondered, and shuddered to think that there might have been none.
"Will you enter?" he suggested.
She did so, and he guided her into a deeper trance—not as rich as the Healers might provide, but restorative beyond mere sleep.
Copilot's duty done, he stood, ordered himself, and took stock. Reviewing the Rainbow had lent him an extra level of lucidity beyond even what the grandmother's art had given him. Which was well. For now, he must take up lifemate's duty, which was stern. Stern, indeed.
He dropped to one knee and gathered her into his arms, his lifemate, his love. Rising, he turned toward the path, and the house, Relchin his high-tailed escort.
One-handed, he flicked the blue coverlet back, and laid her gently down among the pillows. Relchin leapt up to the bed and was already curled next to her head by the time Daav had dealt with her boots and straightened again.
He drew the cover over her, smoothed his hand along her hair, lying in a tangled fan across the pillow—and dropped to his knees, his face buried in the cover by her side.
His lifemate, for whom he had ached, whom he had waited for, and despaired ever of finding. Against all odds, she was discovered, willing—no, eager!—to stand with him—
And he was a deadly danger to her.
That Aelliana could sense his emotions—that was abundantly plain. As plain as the fact that his will had overruled hers and influenced her to knowledge and actions beyond her—and perhaps repellent. Daav shuddered, and pushed his face deeper into the coverlet.
Despite the gift that Aelliana had received of the Healers' meddling, he knew no more of her now than a Scout with a high empathy rating had ever known. And how they two might remain together, when he could overpower her with a thought—
That was not a lifemating. Lifemates stood equal upon all things. This . . . aberration that the Healers had wrought—
"It will not do," he said, raising his head, and looking down at her sleeping face. So precious—and his, to treasure as she deserved, and to protect from any who might do her harm.
Even from himself.
"We are a broken set, van'chela," he told her, tranced though she was. "And I could wish your brother not already dead so that I might thank him fitly for his care of you."
Which was perhaps, he thought, something that he might not wish Aelliana to feel from him.
He stood, staggered and caught himself with a hand against the wall. Looking down, he saw her face through a fog of tears, and shook his head.
"Good night, beloved. Sleep deeply. Dream well."
He bent, and kissed her, chastely, on the cheek. On the neighboring pillow, Relchin yawned.
"Mock me, do. It's no more than I've earned." He extended a hand and rubbed the cat's broad head. "Guard her well," he murmured.
At the door, he paused to turn on the night dims, so that she would not be frightened to find herself in a strange room, should she, after all, wake.
Then he went away, eventually to his own apartment, stopping first at the central control board, where he removed himself from the list of those whom the house would admit to her rooms.
Chapter Eleven
A scholar is illuminated by the brilliance of her students.
—
Liaden proverb
Aelliana stirred toward wakefulness, not knowing what roused her, nor with any memory of having gone to sleep. They had returned late to The Luck, tipsy with wine and drunk on the good wishes of their comrades. She had gone up the ramp, Daav a warm shadow at her back, opened the hatch, and stepped within. They had talked; though she failed of recalling their topic. The sound of his voice—that she recalled, serious and comforting; his arms when he embraced her warm and certain.
Someone tickled bristles across her nose. Aelliana sneezed, and opened her eyes.
A large orange cat looked curiously into her face from its nest on the pillow beside her. Its whiskers had precipitated the sneeze and, very likely had been what had set her on the path to wakefulness.
"What have you done with Daav?" she demanded, and pointed an accusing finger at its nose. "I know you—you were prowling in the garden last night!"
Which meant, she thought with a start, that she wasn't on The Luck, after all.
The cat bumped a damp nose companionably against her finger and purred gently. She rubbed its ears absently while she looked about her at the sun-filled room, the blue coverlet, the wooden wardrobe with its fanciful carvings of winged lizards lounging among fruit-heavy vines.
"This," she told herself, or perhaps the cat, "is the apartment Daav has given me in Jelaza Kazone."
The cat pushed his head into her fingers, demanding more robust attention.
"Brute," she said, which was how one addressed Patch, the resident cat and co-owner of Binjali Repair Shop, when he made demands upon one's affections.
To judge from the increased level of purrs, the orange cat likewise found this to be an acceptable mode.
She had been so certain that she—that they—had come home to The Luck! Aelliana sighed.
"All very well for the Healers to give one the capacity for amusing dreams," she told the cat, "but I believe I would prefer the reality."
And that quickly, memory arose, as if all she needed to do was wish for it.
The tangled skeins of desire and need, the heat in her blood, Daav's flesh under her hands . . .
Aelliana gasped and sat up, clutching the coverlet to her, abandoning the cat utterly.
"I—repelled him," she whispered, shivering with the memory of cold horror. "How—it was everything he desired; I—I felt it . . ."
The cat yawned, stomped across her thighs and jumped to the floor.
Aelliana swallowed.
The Healers' gift was plainly a double-edged blade, new to her hand and risky to wield. That she had in some way misused it—and Daav! Would he even see her, after he had thrust her from him so coldly?
She closed her eyes, visualizing a gradation of color, and felt the panic growing in her stomach subside. Daav had done copilot's duty; he had succored her when she had asked for his aid. Someone must have brought her—and the cat!—here to her rooms, and she thought it had not been Mr. pel'Kana.
"I must speak with him," she said firmly, as she would to a row of attentive students. "Surely, we can sort this out."
She pushed the cover back and followed the cat's example. Once on the floor, however, she hesitated, looking down at herself. The olive trousers were rumpled and grass-stained, the black sweater flecked with stems and small bits of fluff.
"First a shower," she told her invisible class. "This is not something to be discussed in less than a clean face."
The cat was sitting in the window, gazing dow
n into the garden, the tip of his striped tail flicking—one . . . two-three!—when Aelliana came into the parlor, her hair damp and loose along her shoulders.
In the shower, she had decided that the best course would be to send him a note through the house base, asking when they might speak together. She would be careful not to touch him, or in any other way offend him. In the time between, she would study the problem as she knew it to exist. She would, she vowed, do better for Daav than she had for Clonak.
She loved him, she thought, coming 'round the desk. Ought she to tell him so? She glanced at the computer; the message light was glowing a steady blue. Slipping into the chair, she touched the proper key.
Words bloomed on the screen; his name was the first she saw.
Good morning, Aelliana. I trust and hope that you slept well in our house. Korval's business rules me today, and so I am early away. That being so, I have asked my sister Anne to come to you and take you to the city to acquire clothing and whatever else you may need or desire. Please do me the honor of placing yourself entirely in Anne's care, and be guided in all things by her judgment.
Daav
She blinked and slumped back in her chair. Shopping? But—she needed nothing! Moreover—shopping with a strange lady—a Terran lady, whose book she still had not read? Was he mad?
"No," she said, leaning forward abruptly. This was, after all, Daav, who did nothing for one reason if it could be done for six.
So, then, reason number one: Perhaps a wardrobe consisting entirely of two pairs of trousers, a sweater, a shirt, and a pilot's jacket was, just a bit, thin.
Reason number two: She had wanted to practice her Terran against a native speaker.
Reason number three: The lady was lifemated to Daav's sunny-haired brother, and counted the bonding as the greatest joy of her life.
"This is," she told the orange cat, "a person I will wish to see."
He had asked the lady to come to her, he said, but made no mention of an hour, nor left her any means of contact.
"Well, let us find Mr. pel'Kana," she said to the cat. "Doubtless, he knows everything."
As it happened, Mr. pel'Kana had been well-informed on her topic. He engaged to call Trealla Fantrol's butler with a message for Lady yos'Galan while Pilot Caylon chose her breakfast from among the foodstuffs on offer in the morning room.
Pilot Caylon had submitted to the morning room, seeing Daav's hand once again, and discovered herself most wonderfully hungry. By the time Mr. pel'Kana had come with the news that Lady yos'Galan would be pleased to wait upon her at the turn of the hour, Aelliana had consumed two cheese rolls, a cup of curried vegetables and drunk two glasses of tea.
"Thank you," she said to the butler.
"Certainly, Pilot. Will there be anything else?"
"No, I—yes! I wonder, what is the name of the cat?"
Mr. pel'Kana leaned forward gravely. "Which cat, Pilot? There are several."
"Oh! The orange one."
"That would be Relchin. Quite the outdoors enthusiast. You'll find him more often in the gardens than the house, though he does enjoy his little luxuries. Lady Dignity prefers to observe the wilderness from the comfort of a window seat or an adjacent shelf."
"I will watch for her," Aelliana said solemnly, and Mr. pel'Kana bowed as if were perfectly natural that she do so.
"If I may, Pilot, you will not wish to forget your jacket, for your trip into the city."
Her jacket. She looked at him doubtfully. "Is that . . . proper wear for—shopping?" Her cheeks warmed; she ought, she told herself, to know these things.
"A pilot's jacket is proper attire everywhere," Mr. pel'Kana answered her gravely, and not as if her question had been absurd at all.
"Then I will fetch it immediately," she said. "Thank you."
"You are quite welcome, Pilot. Will there be anything else?"
"No—not at the moment."
"Very good, Pilot." He bowed again, gently, and wafted out the door.
Aelliana finished her tea, cast a speculative eye on the remaining cheese rolls, and regretfully decided against. Lady yos'Galan was due in a very few minutes, and she still had to fetch her jacket.
She had just gained the second floor hallway when the bell rang.
Mr. pel'Kana met her at the bottom of the stairway, guided her to the threshold of the small parlor, and left her to enter alone.
A very tall lady stood by the mantle, her chestnut hair brushed back from a face that was both interesting and intelligent, but in no way beautiful. The jacket she wore open over her dull-gold shirt was good, serviceable twill. She smiled when Aelliana came into the room, as if the sight delighted her as few things had, and bowed in the mode of adult-to-adult.
"You must," she said, as she straightened to her full, improbable height, "be Aelliana Caylon. I am Anne Davis."
Aelliana returned the bow. "Lady yos'Galan," she said, glad of adult-to-adult. "Thank you for your consideration."
"Please, call me Anne," the tall lady said. "I am very happy to meet you at last."
At last? Aelliana inclined her head. "If you will be Anne, then I will be Aelliana," she said, her words freighted with more formality than adult-to-adult easily carried. "It—It is very good of you to take me to the shops. I hope that I have not disrupted your whole day."
"Not at all! If I had stayed home, I would only be reading student papers."
Aelliana smiled. "I would rather go shopping myself," she said. "But is the university not at recess?"
"The university is on recess, but I have six graduate students who do not know the meaning of the word 'rest.' Their enthusiasm does them credit, of course." This was accompanied by a knowing look from well-opened brown eyes, and Aelliana smiled again.
"Of course. I hope, however, that they will grant their mentor the gift of a few days."
"Oh, I have a plan," Anne said airily, and plucked up a package from the mantle.
"Daav said that you were interested in reading my distillation of Professor yo'Kera's theory of the common root-tongue. Please, accept this as a gift."
Aelliana received the book, and bowed. "My thanks to you for your kindness."
"Please, think nothing of it," Anne Davis told her. "If you are at liberty, we might go up to Solcintra now."
"I lack any students as enthusiastic as yours," Aelliana assured her, "and so am perfectly at liberty. I wonder . . . I wonder if I might ask a boon."
Anne Davis tipped her head to one side. "Certainly."
"I have . . . very small Terran," Aelliana told her, in that tongue. "It would oblige me, if we might speak so." She paused and said, more rapidly in Liaden. "It is for selfish purposes alone; I would very much like to improve my command. If it will be tiresome for you—already burdened with six eager students—then I thank you for your consideration of my request."
"Has Clonak been teaching you Aus dialect?" Anne asked her, in the brisk modelessness of Terran.
Aelliana blinked up at her. "Trying, he has," she admitted. "An apt pupil, I am not."
"I think you're very apt, indeed. And I will be perfectly happy to let you sharpen your Terran against me. After all, I practiced my Liaden against Er Thom and Daav. Still do," she added thoughtfully.
She moved toward the hall, and Aelliana perforce went with her, finding to her dismay as they approached the house's entrance hall that she was still carrying the lady's book.
A shadow moved to the the right of the door: Mr. pel'Kana, coming to unlock for them.
"Lady. Pilot. A pleasant day to you both."
"Thank you, Mr. pel'Kana," said Anne Davis, sweeping out the door with a stride even longer than Daav's.
Aelliana paused, and pressed the book into the old man's hands.
"Please," she said, "if it is not too much trouble—would you put this on the stair? I'll carry it up with me when I return."
"I'll take care of it, Pilot," he said solemnly. "Never fear."
Chapter Twelve
If hono
r be your clothing, the suit will last a lifetime.
—
William Arnot
"Here we are," Anne Davis said, pausing on the walk before a crystal-laced gate.
Beyond the gate was a tapestry of tiny flowers, shy among glossy green leaves and interwoven with pinpoint lights. At the garden's foot was a door and a large window, half-hidden by an artful rain of crystal and leaf. To Aelliana's eye it looked—expensive. In fact, the whole street looked expensive, hardly a shopping district at all, and certainly not a street where a daughter of Mizel ought to be looking for a few shirts and some serviceable pants. Why, even Voni's most expensive marriage-clothes had been bought ready-made, and adjusted by the in-shop tailor!
"Your pardon," she said to her guide, distress plunging her into Liaden, when they had been happily conversing this last hour in Terran.
Anne looked down at her. It seemed to Aelliana, feeling her cheeks warm, that her companion was—amused. Doubtless, she came here often; this shop one of her favorites. It would be instinct, would it not, to bring a new acquaintance in need of clothes to one's favorite shop? And it would be an impertinence to call the judgment of one's host into question. Yet, how much more distressing to find that the guest could not meet her debts?
"I feel," she said slowly, "that I cannot afford anything that might be on offer here. My needs are modest. Quite modest," she added, firmly.
Her companion nodded easily.
"I understand perfectly," she said in Terran. "The first time I was here, I thought I'd melt into a puddle, I was so embarrassed. There I stood, great, hulking gel that I am, wearing not much more than my socks, and not a cash card to hide behind. I couldn't remember when I'd been so unnerved—and all for nothing! By the finish of it, I was almost enjoying myself."
"Yes, but—" Aelliana ran her thumb across the tips of her fingers; the hand-talk sign for cash.
"No, now, lassie, you mustn't worry about money." Anne put a gentle hand on Aelliana's shoulder. "You've plenty for this. The delm's orders to me were to find you a 'suitable' wardrobe, since you'd come away without. We can outfit you here with everything you need. They'll measure you, take note of your wants, put it all together and send it! In the end, it's much less tiring than going through half-a-dozen shops, looking for something ready-made that will do. Now." She tipped her head toward the expensive door. "If you find you don't like the place, after we've gone in, just give me a wink and we'll go elsewhere. Is that fair?"