by Sharon
“By your leave, Aunt Petrella, I am now in desperate need of wine.”
“Go, then,” she snapped, pleased to have an excuse to be annoyed with him. “And send my son to me, do.”
“TURNABOUT, DARLING!” Daav cried as he approached the couple tete-a-tete at the wine table. “You to your mother and I at long last to drink and fashion pretty compliments for the delectation of the guest!”
Er Thom turned, showing a tolerably composed face in which the violet eyes were heated far beyond the prettiest compliment. Anne Davis, her own eyes bright, ventured another of her delightful laughs.
“We’ve already dealt with the dress and the hair and the hands,” she told him gaily. “You shall have to be inventive, sir!”
He smiled at her in appreciation. “But you see, I may admire your abilities in the High Tongue, which are as new to me as our acquaintance, and if Er Thom has not already been delighted with your manner before my aunt, I can only call him a dullard.”
“I have never found Anne’s manner other than a delight,” Er Thom said calmly, while his eyes betrayed him and his brother wondered more and more.
“Best answer the summons quickly, you know,” Daav said when a moment had passed and Er Thom made no move to go to his parent. “Try to comport yourself well. Scream, should the pain go beyond you, and I swear to mount a rescue.”
Er Thom laughed his soft laugh and bowed gently to his companion. “My mother desires my presence, friend. Allow Daav to bear you company, do. I engage for him that he will not be entirely shatterbrained.”
“Bold promises!” Daav countered and Anne laughed. Er Thom smiled faintly and went at last to wait upon his mother.
“Wine is what I believe I shall have,” Daav announced, moving toward the table. “May I refresh your glass?”
“Thank you.” She came alongside him and held out a goblet half-full of his aunt’s best canary.
He shook the lace back from his hand, refilled her glass and took a new one for himself, into which he poured misravot. He had just replaced the decanter when the woman beside him spoke, in a very quiet tone.
“Delm Korval?”
He spun, startled by such an address here, when more proper solving would call for privacy and time and—
Her face showed confusion at his alacrity; indeed, she dropped back a step, fine eyes going wide as her free hand lifted in a gesture meant, perhaps, to ward him.
“Hah.” Understanding came, as it often did to him, on a level more intuitive than thoughtful: She meant courtesy, that was all, and called him by the only title she knew for him. He inclined his head, face relaxing into a smile.
“Please,” he said, going into Terran for the proper feel of friendly informality. “Let me be Daav, if you will. Delm Korval is for—formalities.” He allowed his smile to widen, showing candor. “Truth told, Delm Korval is a tiresome fellow, always about some bit of business or another. I would be just as glad to be shut of him for an evening.”
She smiled, distress evaporating. “Daav, then,” she allowed, following him into Terran with just a shade of relief in her voice. “And I will be Anne, and not stodgy Professor Davis.”
“Agreed,” he said, bowing gallantly. “Though I must hold that I have not yet found Professor Davis stodgy. Indeed, a number of her theories are exciting in the extreme.”
She tipped her head. “You’re a linguist?”
“Ah, no, merely a captain specialist of the Scouts—retired, alas.” He sipped his wine and did not yield to the strong temptation to look aside and see how Er Thom got on.
“My area of speciality was cultural genetics,” he told Anne Davis, “but Scouts are all of us generalists, you know—and linguists on the most primitive level. We are taught to learn quickly and to the broad rule of a thumb—” She laughed, softly. “And, truly, there are several languages which I speak well enough to make myself plain to a native of the tongue, yet still could not make available to yourself.” He sighed. “My skill as a lexicographer falls short, I fear.”
“As does mine,” she said. “I’ve been working forever on a translation guide between High Liaden and Standard Terran.” She shook her head, though not, Daav thought, in order to deny anything, unless it was a point made in her own mind. “I’m beginning to think I’m barking up the wrong tree.”
Daav took note of the idiom for future exploration. “Perhaps your time on Liad will enlighten you,” he suggested.
“Maybe,” she allowed, though without observable conviction. “It’s just frustrating. With the back-language so—” She started, flashing him a conscious look.
“You don’t want to hear me rant for hours about my work,” she said, smiling and taking a nervous sip of wine. “Professors can bore the ears off of the most sympathetic listener—as my brother often tells me! It would be much safer, if we were to talk about you.”
But he was saved from that bit of fancy dancing by the advent of Mr. pak’Ora, come to say that Prime meal awaited them in the dining room.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wicked men obey from fear; good men, from love.
—Aristotle
PRIME WENT OFF WITHOUT too much event, though Daav fancied he saw Er Thom once or twice hint Anne to the proper eating utensil. Still, there was no harm done, and the attention no more than a dutiful host might without offense offer to a guest of different manner.
Anne had apparently settled upon the more-or-less neutral mode of Adult-to-Adult for her conversation, a point of Code which Petrella was at first inclined to dispute. However, as neither of the remaining party found it beyond them to answer as they were addressed, Adult-to-Adult became the mode of the evening.
There were to have been cards afterwards, but as the guest had never used a Liaden deck, the play was a trifle ragged, and Petrella soon excused herself, pleading, so Daav thought, a not-entirely fictitious exhaustion.
As if this were her cue, Anne also announced an intention of retiring, turning aside Er Thom’s offered escort by saying she wished to stop in the nursery for a few moments. Both ladies then quit the drawing room in the wake of Mr. pak’Ora.
And so the brothers were abruptly alone, trading bemused glances across the card table.
“Well,” commented Daav, “and to think we shall live to tell the tale!”
Er Thom laughed. “Now I suppose you will make your excuses, as well.”
“Nonsense, what would you do with yourself all the long evening if I were to be so craven?”
“There are several hundred invoices awaiting my attention,” Er Thom replied with abrupt seriousness, “and a dozen memoranda from my first mate. The evening looks fair to overfull, never fear it.”
“Hah. And I wishing to share a glass and a bit of chat … “
Er Thom smiled his slow, sweet smile. “As to that—a glass of wine and some talk would be very welcome, brother. The invoices quite terrify me.”
“A confession, in fact! Very well—you see to the door, I shall see to the wine. I suppose you’re drinking red?”
“Of your goodness.” Er Thom was already across the room, pulling the door closed with a soft thud.
“None of my goodness at all, I assure you! The wine is from yos’Galan’s cellars.” He brought the two glasses back to the table and settled on the arm of a chair, watching as Er Thom gathered in the cards they had spread out for Anne’s instruction.
Delm, Nadelm, Thodelm, A’thodelm, Master Trader, Ship, then the twelve common cards, until the three suits—red, blue and black—were all joined again. Absently, Er Thom tamped the deck and shuffled, fingers expert and quick among the gilded rectangles.
Daav sipped misravot. “Your mother my aunt appeared somewhat—fractious—this evening,” he murmured, eyes on the lightning dance of the deck. “How did you find her earlier?”
The shuffle did not waver. “Less inclined to be courteous even than this evening,” Er Thom said composedly. “She refused to acknowledge the child, which was not entirely unexpec
ted, though—regrettable. I feel certain that, after she has had opportunity to meet Shan, she will—”
“Thodelm yos’Galan,” Daav interrupted neutrally, “has requested that the delm arrange fostering for Shan yos’Galan, child of Korval alone.”
The shuffle ended in a snap of golden fingers, imprisoning the deck entire. Daav looked up into his brother’s face.
“He will come to me, of course,” he said, and with utmost gentleness, for there was that in Er Thom’s eyes which boded not much to the good.
“I am—grateful,” Er Thom said, drawing a deep breath and putting the cards by. “I point out, however, that such an arrangement will most naturally—distress—Professor Davis.”
“Yes, so I mentioned as well.” Daav tipped his head slightly, eyes on his brother’s set countenance. “Thodelm yos’Galan informs me that the guest remains for only a twelve-day.”
“Thodelm yos’Galan is—alas—in error. There are—matters yet to be resolved—but I feel confident that Anne—Professor Davis—will be making a much longer stay.”
“Oh, do you?” Daav blinked. “How much longer a stay, I wonder? And what is it to do with Anne—forgive me if I speak too plainly!—should Korval make what arrangements are deemed most suitable for one of its own?”
Er Thom glanced down, found his glass and picked it up. “It is not necessary,” he told the sparkling red depths, “that my—our—child be—deprived—of association with his mother. They have been in the habit of spending many hours a day in each other’s company. Even so small a separation as Shan’s removal to the nursery has caused Anne—anxiety, though certainly he is old enough—” He seemed to catch himself, to shake himself, and brought his gaze up to meet Daav’s fascinated eyes.
“My thodelm had suggested I might take a house in Solcintra,” he said, with a calm that deceived his cha’leket not at all. “I believe that this course is, at present, wisest. Anne will be more at ease in—a smaller establishment—and may be free to pursue her business at the university. Mrs. Intassi shall continue to care for Shan—”
“And yourself?” Daav murmured.
“I? I should naturally live with my son and—and his mother. Anne is not—she is not up to line, you know, and depends upon me to advise her.”
“Yes, certainly. What of young Syntebra? Shall she be added to your household?”
For a heartbeat Er Thom simply stared at him, eyes blank. Then recollection glimmered.
“Ah. Nexon’s daughter.” He glanced aside, perhaps to sip his wine. “That would be—entirely ineligible.”
“So it would,” Daav agreed. “Nearly as ineligible as setting up household with a lady with whom you share no legitimate relationship, save that she has borne you a child outside of contract!”
Er Thom gave him a solemn look. “You had never used to care for scandal.”
“And if it were myself,” Daav cried, mastering a unique urge to throttle his cha’leket, “I should not care now! But this is yourself, darling, on whom I have always depended to lend me credence among the High Houses and untangle me from all my ghastly scrapes! How shall we go on, if both are beyond the Code?”
Er Thom seemed to go suddenly limp; he sagged down onto the arm of the chair, eyes wide and very serious.
“I asked Anne,” he said slowly, “to become my contract-wife.”
“Did you?” Daav blinked, remembered to breathe. “And she said?”
“She refused me.”
And all praise, Daav thought gratefully, to the Terran scholar!
“Surely then there is nothing more to be said. If she will not have you, she will not. To talk of sharing houses only ignores the lady’s word and belittles her melant’i. Certainly, you owe her better—”
“It is my earnest belief,” Er Thom interrupted gently, “that she wishes a lifemating. As do I.”
It was Daav’s turn to stare, and he did, full measure. When he at last spoke again, his voice was absolutely neutral, a mere recitation of the information he had just received.
“You wish a lifemating with Anne Davis.”
Er Thom inclined his head. “With all my heart.”
“Why?”
The violet eyes were steady as ever, holding his own.
“I love her.”
“Hah.” Well, and that was not impossible, Daav considered, though Er Thom’s passions had not in the past run so very warm. He recalled his brother’s eyes, hot on the scholar’s face; the care he took to shield her from error during the meal and then after, going so far as to lay out the entire deck and painstakingly delineate each card. Love, perhaps, of a kind. And yet …
“It had been three Standard Years since you had seen her,” he said evenly. “In all that time—”
“In all that time,” Er Thom murmured, “I saw no face that compelled me, felt no desire stir me. In all that time, I was a dead man, lost to joy. Then I saw her again and it was as if—as if it were merely the evening after our last, and I expected, welcomed. Wished-for. Desired.”
Oh, gods. It was all he could do to remain perched on his chair-arm, glass held loose while he met his brother’s eyes. Within, jealousy had woke, snarling, for Er Thom was his, Er Thom’s love his perquisite, not to be shared with any—
He drew a deep, careful breath, enforcing calm on his emotions. Er Thom was his brother, the being he loved best in all the worlds, his perfect opposite, his balancing point. To wound his brother was to wound himself, and what joy gained, should both be mortally struck?
“This is,” he said, and heard how his voice grated. He cleared his throat. “This is the matter you would have brought before the delm?”
Er Thom inclined his head. “It is.” His eyes showed some wariness as he looked up.
“I would have—spoken—some time—with my brother before arousing the delm.”
“As who would not!” Daav extended a hand across the table, Korval’s Ring flaring in the room’s light, and felt an absurd sense of relief as Er Thom caught his fingers in a firm, warm grip.
“The delm does not yet take notice,” he said earnestly, damning his melant’i and the defect of genes that made Kareen unable to take up the Ring. But Kareen would never have Seen young Shan at all and would likely have sent the Terran scholar briskly about her business, richer by neither cantra nor solving, while Er Thom became the victim of whatever punishment spite was capable of framing. He sighed sharply, fingers tight around his brother’s hand.
“You must tell me,” he said. “Brother—this bringing home of your child—and most especially his mother!—how does this make you ready to contract-wed in accordance with your thodelm’s command?”
Er Thom’s mouth tightened, though he did not relinquish Daav’s hand. “You will think I am mad,” he murmured, violet eyes showing a sparkle of tears.
“Darling, we are all of us mad,” Daav returned, with no attempt, this once, to make light of the truth. “Ask anyone—they will say the same.”
A small smile was seen—no more, really, than a softening of the corners of Er Thom’s mouth, a glimmer that dried the sparkling tears.
“Yes,” he said softly; “but, you see, I am not entirely in the way of seeming so to myself.” He squeezed Daav’s hand; relinquished it.
“When I left you, these few weeks ago, it was to accomplish one plan, which I felt must be accomplished, after which I—hoped—to be able to show the Healers a calm face and come away from them obedient.”
Daav shifted on his chair-arm. “The Healers—that was not necessity, except as you had not accomplished your plan.”
“Yes.” Er Thom sighed. “And yet necessity did exist. It had been three years, as I said, since I had looked upon a face that pleased me. Three years of—mourning—for she to whom I had given nubiath’a. What right had I to bring such business to the contract-room? Nexon’s daughter is young, this her first marriage. In all honor, her husband must be attentive, capable of—kindness. I had ought to have had the Healers time a-gone, myself, e
xcept I would not forget … ” He drew a hard breath and took up his glass, though he did not drink.
“I went to Anne,” he said softly, “to say only that I loved her. It was knowledge I knew she would treasure. Knowledge that I could not allow to be lost entirely to the Healers’ arts. It was to have been—a small thing, simply done.”
“And the child?” Daav murmured.
Er Thom lifted a hand to rake fingers through his bright hair, a habit denoting extreme distraction of thought, very little seen since he had put boyhood behind him.
“There was no child,” he said, and his voice was distracted, as well. “There was no child nor mention of a child, three years ago.”
“Hah.” Daav glanced down, caught sight of the deck and took it up, then sat holding it in his hand, staring hard at nothing.
“You hunger yet for this lady?” he asked and heard Er Thom laugh, short and sharp.
“Hunger for her? I starve without her! I astonish myself with desire! There is no sound, save her voice; no sensation, save her touch.”
Daav raised his head, staring in awe at his brother’s face. After a moment, he touched his tongue to his lips.
“Yet she refuses a contract-marriage,” he persisted, pitching his voice deliberately in the tone of calm reason. “Perhaps the—depth of your passion—may be—no dishonor to her!—inadequately returned.”
“It is returned,” Er Thom told him, with the absolute conviction of obsession, “in every particular.”
Daav bit his lip. “Very well,” he allowed, still calm and reasonable. “And yet unalloyed passion is not the foundation upon which we are taught to build a lifemating. You speak in such terms as make me believe you have indeed erred, by giving nubiath’a too soon, before your passions were slaked. In such case, a wiser solving is to go with the lady to the ocean house, indulge yourselves to the full extent of joy, to return home, when you have had your fill—”
“Fill!” Er Thom came to his feet in a flickering surge; instinct brought Daav up, as well, and he met his brother’s eyes with something akin to dread.