by Sharon
“My mother has distressed you,” Er Thom said gently. “I regret that. Will you tell me what she has said?”
She considered that, deliberately cold. First and foremost, she must have verification of her worst suspicions. Yet she must gain such verification without alerting Er Thom to her plan.
“Your mother—confused me—on a couple things. I thought I understood—” She hesitated, then forced herself to meet his eyes.
“Shan is accepted of Clan Korval, isn’t he?”
Something flickered in Er Thom’s eyes, gone too quickly for her to read.
“Yes, certainly.”
“But your mother said that he wasn’t—wasn’t good enough to be your heir,” Anne pursued, watching him closely.
Anger showed again, though she sensed it was for his mother and not for herself. He extended a slim, ringless hand. “Anne—”
“It’s just—” She glanced at the dead hearth, feeling how rapidly her heart beat. Gods, gods, I’m no good at this …
“It’s that—” she told the cold bricks, “if Shannie’s going to be a burden on your clan, maybe it would be best if I just took him back to University—”
“Ah.” His hand gripped her knee very briefly; her flesh tingled through the cloth of her trousers. “Of course Shan shall not be a burden upon the clan. The clan welcomes children—and doubly welcomes such a child as our son! To snatch him away from kin and homeplace, when the clan has just now embraced him as its own … ” He smiled at her, tentatively.
“Try to understand, denubia. My mother is—old world. She has held always by the Book of Clans, by the Code—by Liad. To change now, when she is ill and has lost so much in service of the clan—” He moved his shoulders. “I do not think that she can. Nor, in respect, must we who hold her closest demand such change of her.” He seemed for an instant to hesitate. One hand rose toward her cheek—and fell again to his knee.
“I regret—very much—that she found it necessary to speak to you in such terms of our son. If you will accept it, I ask that you take my apology as hers.”
A rock seemed lodged in her throat, blocking words, nearly blocking breath. That he could plead so sweetly for a parent who showed him not an ounce of affection, who ordered him to her side as if he were her slave rather than her son … Anne managed at last to get a breath past the blockage in her throat.
Verification, announced the strange new part of her mind that was busily molding its plans. We proceed.
“I—of course I forgive her,” she told the hearth-stones. “Change is difficult, even for those of us who aren’t—old—and—and ill … ” She cleared her throat sharply and closed her eyes, hearing her heartbeat pounding, crazy, in her ears.
“I find I’m to wish you happy,” she whispered, and there was no iron in her voice now at all. “Your mother tells me you’re going to be married—”
“No.”
His hands were on her shoulders, his breath shivering the tiny hairs at her temple. Anne shrank back into the corner of the sofa, a sob catching her throat.
“Anne—no, denubia, hear me … ” His hands left her shoulders and tenderly cupped her face, turning her, gently, inexorably, toward him. “Please, Anne, you must trust me.”
Trust him? When he had just confessed to lying, to kidnapping, to using the trust she had borne him to—no.
On Liad, you won. Or you lost.
It was absolutely imperative that she win.
She allowed him to turn her face. She opened her eyes, looked into his and saw, incredibly, tenderness and care and longing in the purple depths.
Er Thom smiled, very gently, ran his thumbs in double caress along her cheekbones before taking his hands away.
“I love you, Anne. Never forget.”
“I love you, too,” she heard herself say, and it was true, true, gods pity her, and the man had stolen her son.
Never mind, the cold planner in the back of her mind told her. Disarm him with the truth, so much the better. Put any suspicions he may have fast asleep. Then the plan will work.
He sat back, reluctantly, to her eye, and folded his hands carefully on his knee. The face he showed her was earnest, the eyes tender and anxious.
“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 co
urage 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 lockplate, 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 past 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. The
re 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.