The Dragon Variation

by Sharon Lee

  "Yes, certainly." Er Thom squeezed her hand gently. "What disturbed you, then?"

  "It was Shan," she said and shivered, recalling her son's fright. "He's never—you know he's never afraid of anyone! But he was afraid of Fil Tor Kinrae. Demanded to go home now." She looked down into Er Thom's eyes.

  "In the car, I asked him what had happened. And he said—no sparkles—and hid his face . . ."

  Er Thom's eyes darkened. "No sparkles?" He glanced aside, chewing his lip.

  "There is—a thought," he said after a moment. "My grandmother had been a Healer, you know. I recall she once said that no one holds the key to all rooms. That those who are locked and dark to one Healer may be open and full of light to another." He looked up into her face.

  "Shan is young. If this is the first person he has met who does not—broadcast on the same frequency, Daav would say—he may well have been frightened." His gaze sharpened, a little.

  "It might be wise, were we to ask the delm to call a Healer to our child. He is very young to be experiencing these things. There is perhaps something that may be done to alleviate such distress as was occasioned last evening."

  And only another Healer would know what to do, she thought, suddenly cold. Whatever are ye about, Annie Davis, to be taking the laddie away from such aid? How will he learn what to do with his sparkles, when there's no one who's Terran can teach him?

  She snatched at his hand. "Er Thom!"

  "Yes, denubia." His voice was soothing, his fingers firm. "What else troubles you?"

  Almost, she told him. It hovered on the tip of her tongue, the rollygig of loss and love, hope, denial and confusion. She was a heartbeat away from burying her face in his shoulder and sobbing out the whole.

  Down the walkway beyond the tree came a couple, very fine in their day-clothes and jewels. The woman turned her head and met Anne's eyes. Disgust washed over her perfect Liaden features; she clutched her companion's arm, leaning close to whisper.

  He turned his head, face and eyes cold.

  They walked on.

  Anne cleared her throat.

  "It's nothing," she said, and could not meet Er Thom's eyes. "I—Thank you, Er Thom—for listening."

  There was a long silence, and still she could not bring herself to raise her face to his. Finally, she felt him move, coming smoothly to his feet, his hand still firmly holding hers.

  "I shall listen whenever you wish," he said gently. "Will you come with me now to port?"

  "Yes," she said numbly and stood, and let him lead her back to the car.

  MASTER JEWELER MOONEL was as taciturn as Eyla dea'Lorn was voluble. He took the bit of fabric from Er Thom's hand and glared at it as if he suspected it held a flaw.

  "Tomorrow?" he snapped and moved his eyes to Anne. "This the lady for whom the items are destined?"

  "Scholar Anne Davis," Er Thom murmured, "guest of Korval. Please feel free to give Eyla another name, Master, if the deadline is too near."

  "Yes, very likely." Moonel spun on his stool, showing them his back as he reached for his tools. "I'll send them 'round by mid-day. Good morning."

  "Good morning, Master Moonel," Er Thom said, bowing to the older man's back. He smiled at Anne and held out his hand.

  Hand-in-hand they came out into the narrow Avenue of Jewels.

  "Would you care for luncheon?" Er Thom asked as they turned down a slightly wider side street.

  "Good-day to you, Captain yos'Galan!" The passerby who gave the greeting had close-cropped gray hair and a multitude of earrings. She raised a hand from across the way and the sunlight gleamed on her master trader's ring.

  "I've yet to hear from the Guild, sir!" the little woman added gaily. Her sharp eyes swept once over Anne's face and then she was gone, swallowed in the crowd.

  Er Thom's face was stiff with anger, his mouth a tight line. Anne blinked in amazement.

  "Who was that?"

  He took a deep breath and sighed it out forcefully, then looked up into her face, violet eyes bland.

  "No one," he said flatly. "Let us go to Ongit's for luncheon."

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The last of those who had hand in Eba yos'Phelium's capture and shaming seven years ago is dead. Balance achieved.

  —Daav yos'Phelium, Sixth Delm of Korval

  Entry in the Delm's Diary for Trianna Seconday

  in the Fourth Relumma of the Year named Sandir

  "MORNING WINE OR RED?"

  "Red, if you please," Er Thom answered absently, eyes on the counterchance board sitting ready before the hearth.

  Daav filled the glass and put it into his brother's hand, added a splash of morning wine to his own cup and shot a shrewd glance at the other's abstracted face.

  "What's amiss?"

  "Hmm?" Er Thom had wandered over to the board. He picked up a pair of dice, idly shook and released them: Eighteen.

  "Is it true," he murmured, perhaps to the dice, "that Eba yos'Phelium was publicly whipped by her thodelm?"

  Daav's eyebrows rose. "Yes," he said matter-of-factly, "but you must understand that it was the means by which her life was preserved."

  Violet eyes flashed to his face. "Ah, was it?"

  "Certainly. Times were—unsettled. To make a complex tale simple, Eba fell into the hands of those who wished Korval ill. They then showed her, still bleeding from the abduction, knife along her throat, to her thodelm, who was also her cha'leket.

  "The enemies of Korval were adamant that Eba be punished for some insult they had concocted. The one with the knife claimed the right to her life and professed herself willing to do the thing at once. However, there were cooler heads present, who saw that their ends would be met as well by a public shaming." Daav sipped his wine.

  "The young thodelm judged Eba's odds of survival, not to say recovery, significantly better did he wield the lash himself, so he contended for, and won, the right."

  Er Thom picked up the dice and made another cast: Six.

  "And?"

  Daav moved his shoulders. "And he laid the stripes, then ran, weeping, to cut her down, his back guarded by all of the clan who could hold a weapon. Balance commenced immediately she was safe at Jelaza Kazone and her wounds had been treated. Seven years were required for fruition, as there were several Houses involved." He lifted an eyebrow.

  "Shall I show you the entries in the Diaries?"

  "Thank you," Er Thom murmured, raising his glass and meeting Daav's eyes across the rim, "that will not be necessary."

  "Ah." Daav lifted his own glass, but did not drink. "Has your thodelm threatened to flog you, darling?"

  Er Thom grinned. "One is amazingly disobedient, after all."

  "So I've heard. Does it occur to you to wonder whither Aunt Petrella has purchased these sudden notions of propriety?"

  "Perhaps her illness . . ." her son offered, and sighed. "I miss our mother," he said, very softly.

  "As I do." Daav drifted over to the table, picked up the dice and threw. Eleven.

  "Our mother would have liked your Anne, I think," he murmured. "The devil's in it that I believe Aunt Petrella would like her well enough, were we only able to show her Line and House!"

  Across from him, Er Thom shifted. Daav looked up, eyebrows high.

  "You wonder that the delm would ask you to give her up, eh? But the lady's summation was unfortunately correct: Accepting a Terran makes the clan vulnerable. It can be managed, if it must be managed. But how very much easier, to go on as always we have. As for Daav—" he moved his shoulders and threw again: Seven.

  "Daav likes her very well indeed and thinks it a great pity that Liad must be so overfull with Liadens."

  Er Thom laughed. "Spoken like a Scout! But there. When have we ever gone on as proper Liadens? The Diaries tell us that is not our contract. Here are our mothers born aside the Delm's Own Word, simply because Kin Dal and Larin could not keep from each other!"

  "And they send us to be Scouts and traders," Daav agreed. "Which makes us even odder." H
e tipped his head. "How does Anne take news of your betrothal?"

  "Unhappily," Er Thom said, frowning. "For one who states she will not be played, my mother throws the dice with energy."

  "Will Anne show her face at the gather, I wonder?"

  "Certainly. We have settled it between us." He smiled. "I believe I may soon bring you proof of a win, brother, and ask the delm to See my lifemate."

  "So? I will wish you joy gladly, darling. Is there reason the win must wait upon the gather?"

  "Kindness for Nexon's daughter," Er Thom said softly. "At the gather I shall have opportunity to show her that we would not suit. Also, a matter of Balance, in part. It is ill-done to hold such an event at this moment. Add to that the manner in which my mother chose to speak to Anne regarding our son—I will tell you, brother, it has disturbed Anne greatly! She is distracted—anxious . . . It is a shame to the House, that a guest be treated so, never mind what punishment thodelm finds proper for a'thodelm!" He raised his glass and drank, showed a rueful smile.

  "Still, she has agreed to attend the gather, bold heart that she has—and show a calm face to Nexon and her daughter, not to speak of Thodelm yos'Galan."

  "Honor to the lady," Daav said, with sincerity. "She may yet learn to be a player to fear." He sipped.

  "Should you bring a lifemate before the delm," he said after a moment, "certain things shall be required, for the good of the clan. You will be required to provide the clan several more children. Your lifemate shall be required to take pilot's training."

  Er Thom inclined his head. "I shall discuss these things with Anne."

  Daav eyed him with a touch of wonder. "Oh, and will you?"

  "Of course," Er Thom said. "How else?"

  "How else, indeed?" his brother replied politely.

  "There is a matter which might be brought to the delm's attention, however," Er Thom continued, oblivious to—or ignoring—irony.

  "Our son has recently met with one who frightened him—an unusual occurrence. The reason he gave his mother for this fright was that the person in question possessed 'no sparkles.' In view of his extreme youth and the apparent precocity of his talent, it may be wise to call a Healer, before he experiences another—perhaps needless—fright."

  "Yes, I see." Daav frowned down at the counterchance board. "He is very young for this, is he not? Mostwise, talent shows when one comes halfling . . ." He shook himself and looked up.

  "Certainly, a Healer must be summoned. The delm shall see it done."

  Again, Er Thom inclined his head. "I shall inform Anne of the delm's care." He lifted his glass and drained it.

  "I shall have to leave you now. Is there a commission I may discharge for you in Port?"

  "Thank you, no. My steps are for the City this morning. The delm and Mr. dea'Gauss are called to renegotiate with Vintyr."

  "Pah." Er Thom made a face. "Vintyr is never satisfied, brother."

  "So I begin to notice. I believe I may mention it to Mr. dea'Gauss, in fact. It seems a change of course is indicated."

  "Good lift to the delm, then," Er Thom said, with a lighthearted bow. "I shall see you at the gather, shan't I?"

  "Indeed, how could I stay away, when Aunt Petrella was so gracious as to order my appearance?"

  Er Thom lifted troubled eyes.

  "Her illness weighs more heavily upon her, I think."

  "I think so, as well," Daav said, and resolutely shook off his sudden chill. "I shall be there to support you this evening, never fear it. Until soon, darling."

  "Until soon, Daav."

  WELL, ANNIE DAVIS! And you preened in the green gown and thought yourself so fine.

  The new gown, like the old, was cut low over her bosom, close in to her waist. There, all similarity was done.

  A wide collar swept up to frame her throat, belling, flower-like, to cup her face. Long sleeves fell in graceful pleats, calling attention to her hands, and the floor-length skirt, deceptively slim, was slashed to permit all of her accustomed stride.

  Eyla dea'Lorn twitched the skirt into more perfect order and smiled.

  "Yes," she said, standing back and clasping her hands before her. "I believe his lordship will be pleased."

  Before Anne could make answer to that, the little tailor held up a finger.

  "Attend me, now, Lady. The dress is all very well, and Moonel's jewels will shame no one. However, if you are wise, you will take my advice in a few certain matters. First—hair. Sweep yours up—yes, I know it is not long! Up and back, nonetheless. The collar's work is to frame the face—a little daring, I admit, but not wanton. Of a sophistication, perhaps, that a master trader might encounter—and admire—far outside of Liad's orbit." She rubbed her hands together.

  "You walk well, with a fine smooth stride. The dress is made to accommodate you. Your hands—so beautiful, your hands! Show them, thus—" She extended an arm and flicked her wrist. "Try."

  Anne copied the other woman's gesture; the sleeve flipped smoothly back from her hand, revealing strong, slender fingers.

  "Good," Eyla approved. "An original is a Code unto herself. There is not your like on all of Liad. The rules that bind you are not found within the world, but within yourself. Recall it and carry your head—so! Eh? There are those who must crane to admire you—that is their concern, not yours. There are those who will turn their face away and cry out that you are not as they." She lifted a hand to cover a bogus yawn.

  "Boors, alas, are found in even the highest Houses."

  Anne smiled, palely, and inclined her head. "You are kind to advise me."

  "Bah!" Eyla swept thanks away with an energetic hand. "I will not have my work shamed, that is all." She smiled and bent to gather up her work-kit. "His lordship means to fire you off with flair, which is profit to me, does this gown please." She straightened.

  "It will be amusing to see what the world makes of you, Lady. And what you will make of the world."

  SHAN WAS FRACTIOUS and weepy. He jittered from one end of the nursery to the other; even the Edu-Board failed to hold his attention for more than a few seconds. All Anne's attempts to ease him into a less frenzied state were met with utter failure.

  At last, feeling her own frazzled nerves about to go, she gathered him into her lap, thinking that a cuddle might do them both good.

  "No!" He jerked back, body stiff, silver eyes wide.

  "Shannie!"

  "No!" he shouted again and smacked her hand aside, so un-Shan-like that she let him go in astonishment.

  "Mirada!" He stamped his foot, glaring up at her. "I want Mirada! Go away! Go away, bad Ma!"

  And with that he was gone, running pell-mell down the long playroom—and into the arms of Mrs. Intassi, who had just stepped through the door that led to the nursery's kitchen.

  "Bad Ma!" Shan cried, hurling himself against the nurse's legs and hiding his face in her tunic. "I want Mirada!"

  "That's all very well," Mrs. Intassi said in firm and unsympathetic Terran. "However, you are not very kind to your mother. You should beg her pardon."

  "No," Shan said stubbornly, refusing to raise his head.

  Sick to her stomach, shivering and weary, Anne rose, shaking her head at the tiny ex-Scout.

  "Never mind," she said, hearing how her voice shook. "If he doesn't want me here, then I'll go." She turned toward the door, missing the concerned glance Mrs. Intassi flung her.

  "Good-bye, Shannie," Anne called. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

  The nursery door slid closed behind her with a sound like doom.

  SHE WAS LYING on her bed some while later, staring blankly through the overhead window. The Liaden sky was brilliant, blue-green and cloudless.

  The brilliance pierced her, searing the tumbling thoughts from her mind, scalding emotions to ash.

  Seared, scalded and gone to ash, she closed her eyes against the brilliance.

  When she opened her eyes again, the brilliance had faded. She turned her head against the pillow. The clock on the bedside table tol
d her there were two hours left to prepare for the gather.

  Sighing, feeling not so much exhausted as drained—of thought, of emotion, of any purpose save the plan—she rolled out of the wide bed, glanced at the mirror across the room—and frowned.

  On the vanity beneath the mirror, among her familiar belongings, were two unfamiliar boxes.

  The large box was covered in lush scarlet velvet. Anne lifted the lid.

  A rope braided of three gold strands: Pink, yellow and white, weeping drops of yellow diamond exactly matching her gown. Tiny yellow diamond drops to hug her earlobes, glittering allure. Woven gold combs and pins, dusted with yellow chips, to hold her hair, up and back.

  Anne looked down at the velvet box's treasure, at jewels that cost more than she would likely earn in a lifetime, created to grace one dress, created in turn for one gathering . . .

  His lordship means to fire you off with flair.

  Anne sighed, feeling, perhaps, a distant relief.

  Now she would have enough money to buy passage. Home.

  The smaller box was wood, carved with vines and flowers, a center medallion inlaid with bits of ivory. She opened it, found a folded square of ivory-colored paper. Her name, written in uncertain Terran characters, adorned the outer fold.

  Inside, the words were in Liaden, the letters true and bold.

  For my love. To say hello, and never to say good-bye. Er Thom

  Nestled in a satin pillow was a band of rosy gold. The gem set flush to the metal, simply cut and pure as pain, was precisely the color of his eyes.

  For a long moment she simply stood there, wondering if her heart would take up its next beat, if her lungs would accept another breath.

  When it seemed that she would, after all, live, she closed the little box and set it gently aside. The scrap of creamy paper she placed in her briefcase, sealed in the pocket with the disk from Jin Del yo'Kera's computer.

  The velvet box she let stand open, giving its expensive glitter to the room while she began at last to ready herself for the gather.