The Dragon Variation

by Sharon Lee

  "This marriage which my mother desires," he said softly. "It is old world, and as a dutiful son I should accept the match and give the clan my heir, which is duty long past fruition." He tipped his head, anxiety overriding tenderness for the moment. "You understand, this is the—manner in which things are done—and no slight to you is intended."

  "I understand," she said, hearing the iron back in her voice.

  Er Thom inclined his head. "So. But it happens that there is you and there is our son and we two—love. There is that bond between us which—after even such a time—remains unabated. Unfilled. That is true, Anne, is it not?"

  "True." True . . .

  "I had thought so," he said, very softly, and she saw the shine of tears in his eyes.

  "Since we wish not to part—since we wish, indeed, to become lifemates—this marriage that my mother hopes for is—a nothing. I have taken counsel on the matter. A lifemating between us shall be allowed, does the delm hear from your lips that it is your desire as well as my own. Alas, that my mother has sought to—to force the play—striving to divide us and burst asunder the bond we share." He reached out and took her hand; her traitor fingers curled tight around his.

  "If we stand together, if we hold now as the lifemates we shall soon become, she cannot win," Er Thom said earnestly. "It will be difficult, perhaps, but we shall carry the day. We need only give her what she desires—in certain measure. She desires to have the lady here to meet me. So we acquiesce, you see? The lady is a child. She does not want me. She wants the consequence of bedding an a'thodelm, of having borne a child to Korval.

  "The—infelicity—of the proposed match can easily be shown her, gently and with all respect, in the course of such an affair as my mother plans." His fingers gripped hers painfully, though Anne made no demur.

  "We need only stand together," he repeated earnestly. "You must not allow yourself to be frightened into leaving our house. To do so ensures my mother's victory. You must only attend the gather and show a calm face. Why should you not? When the gather is done, we shall go hand-in-hand before the delm and ask that he acknowledge what already in fact exists."

  Lifemates? For a moment it seemed she spun, alone in void, the familiar markers of her life wiped clean away. For a moment, it seemed that here was a better plan, that kept her son at her side, and her lover, too, with no duplicity, no lies, no anguish. For a moment, she hovered on the edge of flinging herself into his arms and sobbing out the whole of her pain and confusion, to put everything into his hands for solving—

  The moment passed. Cold reason returned. Er Thom had lied. From the very beginning, he had intended to steal Shan from her, though he swore he would do no such thing. There was no reason to believe this plea for lifemates was any truer than his other lies.

  "Anne?"

  She stared down at her lap, at her fingers, twisted like snakes each about the other, white-knuckled and cold.

  "Your mother," she said, and barely recognized her own voice, "will be just as well served if I shame you."

  "It is not possible," Er Thom said quietly, "that you will shame me, Anne."

  She had thought herself beyond any greater agony, foolish gel. She stared fixedly down at her hands, jaw clenched until she heard bone crack.

  "We may go tomorrow into Solcintra," Er Thom continued after a moment, "and arrange for proper dress."

  "I—" What? she asked herself wildly. What will you say to the man, Annie Davis?

  But she had no more to say, after all, than that bare syllable. Er Thom touched her knee lightly.

  "Lifemates may offer such things," he murmured, "without insult. Without debt."

  Oh, gods . . . From somewhere, she gleaned the courage to raise her head and meet his eyes levelly.

  "Thank you, Er Thom. I—expect I will need a dress for—for the gather."

  Joy lit his face, and pride. He smiled, widely, lovingly. "We play on," he said, and laughed lightly. His fingers grazed her cheek. "Courageous Anne."

  She swallowed and tried for a smile. It was apparently not an entirely successful effort, for Er Thom rose and offered his arm, all solicitude.

  "You are exhausted. Come, let me walk you to your rooms."

  In the moment of rising, she froze and stared up into his eyes.

  "Anne, what is wrong?"

  "I—" Gods, she could not sleep with him. She wouldn't last through one kiss, much less through a night—she would tell him everything, lose everything . . .

  "I was thinking," she heard her voice say, "that maybe we should—sleep apart—until the gather is over. Your mother—"

  "Ah." He inclined his head gravely. "I understand. My mother shall see that all goes her way, eh? That the guest has heeded her word and behaves with honor regarding the House's wayward child." He smiled and it was all she could do not to cry aloud.

  Instead, she rose and took his arm and allowed him to guide her through unfamiliar hallways to the door of her room.

  Once there, she hesitated, and some demon prompted her to ask one last question.

  "Your mother had said that the clan would be—grateful—for Shan's adoption. I didn't quite—"

  "That would be the proposal of alliance," Er Thom said gently, "as well as other considerations. Daav and I had drafted the papers yesterday, and a trust fund has been created in your name." He smiled up at her, sweetly. "But these matters are moot, when we are lifemates."

  Speechless, she stared down at him, wondering what—considerations—what possible sum of money—Clan Korval had thought sufficient to buy a child.

  "You are tired," Er Thom murmured. "I say good-night. Sleep well, beloved." He raised one of her hands, kissed the palm lightly and released her.

  Tear-blinded, Anne spun and fumbled her hand against the lock-plate, escaping at last into grief-shot solitude.

  "WHY NOW?" Daav demanded.

  Petrella regarded him calmly from the comm screen. "Why not now? He has been coddled long enough. Nexon calls Korval's melant'i into question. What better way to give such question rest than by proceeding as planned?"

  "As you planned!" Daav snapped and sighed, reaching up to finger his earring.

  "Aunt Petrella, be gracious. The guest will still be with you two nights hence. She holds Er Thom precious, whether you will see it or no. What can possibly be gained by wounding her in this manner? Such action does more harm to Korval's melant'i than all Nexon's petulance can accomplish!"

  Petrella raised her hand. "I hope we are not rag-mannered, nor behind in our duty to the guest," she said austerely. "Certainly, there was instruction given. The guest cannot hope to know our custom. A word in her ear was sufficient, as it happens. I find Scholar Davis a very sensible woman."

  "Oh, do you?" Daav closed his eyes briefly, running a Scout's calming exercise, trying not to think of Er Thom's desperate gamble and what must be made of his wooing now.

  "Indeed I do," Petrella replied. "Shall I have the honor of seeing you at the gather, my delm?"

  "Why certainly," he said, hearing the snap in his voice despite the exercise. "I can always be depended upon to dance for you, Aunt Petrella. Good-night." He swept the board clear with a violent palm and surged to his feet as if he would run immediately out into the night.

  Instead, he walked very slowly over to the windowsill and reached down to stroke the leaves and white flowers of the plant Olwen had left with him. Nubiath'a.

  "Ah, gods, brother," he whispered to the little plant, "what a coil we have knotted between us . . ."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Accepted of Clan Korval: Identical twins, daughters of Kin Dal yos'Phelium and Larin yos'Galan.

  Accepted of Line yos'Galan: Petrella, daughter of Larin.

  Accepted of Line yos'Phelium: Chi, daughter of Kin Dal.

  —From The Gazette for Banim Fourthday

  in the Third Relumma of the Year Named Yergin

  TWO DAYS AGO she had dreamed of such a visit to the City of Jewels. Then, Solcintra had gone pas
t the car-window in a dazzle of possibility, and she had imagined walking the wide streets safe on Er Thom's arm, enclosed by his melant'i, guided by his care.

  Today, she stared, sand-eyed, at a city gone gray, and listened to the cold, back-brain planner make its cold and necessary plans.

  Tomorrow and today were her last on Liad. On the morning after Er Thom's betrothal party, she and her son would be gone. That was the plan.

  The plan called for precise timing. It called for the ingenuity to forestall Er Thom immediately petitioning the delm to acknowledge lifemates. It called for pulling a few strands of wool across the eyes of an unsuspecting yos'Galan driver. It required the fortitude to leave everything—everything—behind, save her son and what could be carried in her briefcase.

  Necessity existed. These things could be done.

  It required sufficient funds to book passage for herself and her child on the first available ship.

  Cash was the sticking point: She had a little, in Terran bits, which enjoyed an—unequal—exchange rate on Liad.

  Of course, she would sell her jewelry, paltry stuff that it was. Er Thom's good-bye gift would fetch the most of the lot, but she was not fool enough to suppose it would cover even a tenth of the passage price to New Dublin.

  For it was to New Dublin she had determined to go, where laws were sane and where she would have her brother's staunch and stubborn support.

  From Liad to New Dublin the price will be dear, she told herself wearily, as she had told herself all last night, pacing, exhausted and shivering, through the luxurious, alien apartment.

  She wondered if she dared ask Er Thom how to access the trust fund he had set up for her.

  While she was weighing that question, the car pulled into a parking slot and stopped.

  "We arrive," Er Thom said softly, and turned to look at her. "Are you well, Anne?"

  He had asked her that once already, this morning at breakfast. Anne had a moment of despair, that a whole day in her company would reveal to him that she was sick with fright, bloated with deception. She would lose—

  I will not lose, she thought firmly. Clan Korval does not own Shan. My son is not for sale.

  Resolutely, she summoned the best smile stiff face muscles could provide.

  "I'm fine," she lied. "Just—tired. I didn't sleep very well."

  "Ah." He touched the back of her hand with light fingertips. "When we are lifemated, perhaps . . . The clan keeps a house by the southern sea. We might go there, if you like it, to rest and—grow closer."

  Pain twisted, a mere flicker of agony in the larger pain of his betrayal. Anne smiled again.

  "That sounds wonderful," she said, and it was true. "I'd like that very much, Er Thom."

  If it all was different. If you hadn't lied. If you hadn't schemed and connived. If I could dare even pretend that this might be true . . .

  "Then it is done." He smiled. "Come and let us put you into Eyla's hands."

  EYLA DEA'LORN STOOD back, gray head cocked to a side, lined face impish.

  "So, your lordship brings me a challenge," she said to Er Thom, and rubbed her clever hands together. "Good."

  To Anne, she bowed slightly, eyes gleaming.

  "Ah, but you will provide such opportunity, Lady—I give you thanks! Nothing usual for you, eh? Nothing the same as so-and-so had it at Lord Whomever's rout. Hah! No, for you, everything must be new, original!" She shot a gleaming glance aside to Er Thom.

  "An original. There is no possible comparison between this lady and any other lady in the world. In this, the world has failed us, but the lady shall be accepted on the terms of her own possibility. I accurately reflect Your Lordship's thought?"

  "As always," Er Thom told her, lips twitching, "you are a perfect mirror, Eyla."

  "Flattery! Recall who made your first cloak, sir, and speak with respect!" She beckoned Anne. "Come with me if you please, Lady. I must have measurements—ah, she walks as a pilot! Good, good. Put yourself entirely in my hands. We shall send you off in a fashion the world has rarely seen! Such proportions! So tall! The bosom, so proud! The neck—Ah, you are a gift from the gods, Lady, and I about to expire of boredom, or strangle the next same-as who walked through my door!"

  The little woman's eagerness pierced even the iron-gray dreariness that enclosed Anne. She smiled.

  "I fear I may prove a little too far out of the common way for such a debut as that," she murmured as she was led back to the measuring room.

  "Never think it!" Eyla told her energetically. "The world is a great coward. Merely keep a level gaze and a courteous face and the world will bow to you. Some will scoff, certainly, but you needn't mind those. An original is a Code unto herself. And you have the advantage of sponsorship by Korval, which has elevated originality to an art form." She rubbed her hands together, looking Anne up and down with eager appraisal.

  "And now," she said, going over to a discreet console. "If I may ask you to disrobe . . ."

  THE GOWN WOULD BE brought to Trealla Fantrol no later than mid-morning, tomorrow. The color was to be antique gold, to "show that delightful brown skin." Eyla gave Er Thom a patch of fabric, which he solemnly placed in his pocket.

  "We shall be going along to Master Moonel presently," he murmured. "When the design is fixed, perhaps you might call and allow him to name a suitable jeweler."

  "He'll want the work himself," Eyla predicted with a smile. "Only show her to him. The deadline will mean nothing to Moonel, with such a showcase for his craft." She clasped her hands together and bowed them out with energy.

  "And to think that only last evening I was considering retirement!"

  "YOU AND EYLA are good friends?" Anne asked, because it was necessary to say something. It was imperative that Er Thom think everything was just the same between them, and to put down any oddness in her behavior to the effects of a restless night.

  "dea'Lorn and Korval are old allies," he murmured, guiding her along the flower-scented street with a gentle hand on her elbow. "Eyla will want to make your entire wardrobe."

  "Would that be wrong?"

  "Not—wrong. Indeed, it might well be prudent. Eyla has the gift of seeing exactly what is before her, rather than what she believes is there." He smiled up at her. "It has in the past been considered—expedient—to engage the services of several tailors, so Korval's patronage may not be used to undue advantage."

  "But if your Houses are allied—"

  "Not allied. Not—precisely—that. Doubtless my Terran falls short. It is—in the time of my fourth-great-grandfather—the youngest of dea'Lorn, who had just finished his apprenticeship, came with a proposal for trade. The dea'Lorn would undertake to make whatever clothes Korval required at cost, in return for materials at cost."

  Anne frowned. "That sounds rather audacious."

  "Indeed it was. But audacity amused my grandfather. He inspected those items the dea'Lorn offered as samples of his work, and made a counter-offer. He would provide shop space in one of Korval's Upper Port warehouses and a very favorable discount on materials, as well as options on certain—exotic—fabrics. These things would constitute his buy-in and make him one-half partner in the dea'Lorn's business, which would indeed make Korval's clothes. Free of charge."

  "But in return he got free advertising," Anne said, "and the opportunity for his clothes to be seen at society functions . . ."

  "And so he prospered," Er Thom concluded. "The dea'Lorn's daughter was able to move the shop to its present location and to retire Korval's partnership. The trade agreements remain in place—and dea'Lorn from time to time makes Korval's clothes. At cost." He sent her a glance from beneath his lashes.

  "Anne?"

  She drew a careful breath, willing her face to be neutral. "Yes?"

  "I wish," Er Thom said, very softly, "that you will tell me what troubles you."

  Oh, gods . . . She swallowed, glanced aside, groping for a lie—

  "I—it's foolish, I know," she heard herself saying distractedly, "but I
can't seem to get it out of my mind."

  Annie Davis, she demanded in internal bewilderment, what are ye nattering about?

  "Ah." The pressure of Er Thom's fingers on her elbow changed, guiding her to the edge of the sidewalk and a bench beneath a flowering tree.

  "Tell me," he murmured.

  The bench was not particularly roomy. Er Thom's thigh against hers woke a storm of emotion, of which lust and anguish were foremost. Anne bit her lip and almost cried out when he took her hand in his.

  "Anne? Perhaps I may aid you, if I can but understand the difficulty."

  Well, and what will you tell him? she asked herself with interest.

  But the back-brain planner had been busy.

  "It's probably nothing," she heard her voice say uncertainly. "But—I took Shannie with me yesterday to Doctor yo'Kera's office. I was doing an inventory of his research computer, and it took longer than I had expected—I sent you a note."

  "Yes, so you did," Er Thom murmured, apparently not at all put out by this rather rattle-brained narrative.

  "Yes. Well, it was late when we finally did leave—the night lamps had come on in the hallway. I made sure the office door was locked, and when I turned around there was—a man. He startled me rather badly, though of course—" She shook her head, half in wonderment at herself, half in remembered consternation.

  "A Liaden man?" Er Thom wondered softly.

  "Oh. Yes. Very ordinary-looking. He spoke to me in Trade at first—I'm afraid I was pretty sharp in setting him straight. He was polite after that—offered to carry my case—and of course he had a perfect right to be there, since he's a grad student . . ."

  "Do you recall his name?"

  "Fil Tor Kinrae," she recited out of memory, "Linguistic Technician and Student of Advanced Studies."

  "Ah. And his clan?"

  Anne frowned. "He didn't say."

  "Did he not?" Er Thom's glance was sharp.

  "No," she said defensively, "he didn't. Why should he? It was more important for me to know that he was a linguistics student with a perfectly legitimate right to be where he was."