by Lee, Sharon
“Tower did seem sincere,” he answered, his tone so bland that it could only mean mischief. “You will notice that they did not welcome me home.”
“That was very wrong of them,” she said, matching his intonation as nearly as possible. “Open the line and I shall have them make amends.”
He laughed, and gave his board one last flick before leaning back in the chair, grinning.
“In truth, it is . . . a relief to be ignored. And I would not have Tower abused.”
“Abused!” Her hands had finished shutting down the pilot's board. She spun her chair to look at him. “As if I could abuse anyone!”
“Could you not?” he asked, and there was a thread of seriousness beneath the mischief that gave her pause.
“It is true that I . . . struck Ran Eld,” she said slowly, “but my object—as Trilla has taught me—was to run away.”
He appeared to consider that, his gaze straying over the dark board.
“The difficulty with running away,” he said slowly, “as with most solutions, is that one must judge when it will answer—and when it will not.”
He focused on her. “I do not say, in the case, that running away would not have served you, and well. But, sometimes, we must stand and fight, Aelliana, and be deliberate in the mayhem we choose to inflict.”
She bit her lip, feeling again the blaze of her anger, the smooth swing of her arm, the jolt, when the back of her hand, weighted with the Jump pilot's ring, connected with her brother's cheek.
“I fear that I was not . . . thoughtful in the inflicting of mayhem.”
His lips twitched. “Happily, the knack may be acquired.”
“Through practice?”
“Alas.”
“And yet, I don't know that I could . . . coldly . . . harm someone. Without anger as an impetus . . . ”
“Anger is a chancy copilot,” he said, suddenly rising, arms over his head. When his stretch was done, he looked down at her, his expression almost sleepy. “As I have cause to know. Does it please you to exit, Pilot? The hull is cool.”
Jon dea'Cort was leaning over the workbench, eyeshields on, using what seemed to Aelliana to be one of Patch's whiskers to tweak the internals of a device no larger than her palm. A few steps out, she hesitated, not wishing to disturb his concentration, but he spoke without raising his head.
“Back already, are you?” he asked, his tone distinctly grumpy.
“Indeed, we are, Master,” Daav answered, and Aelliana saw Jon's shoulders stiffen.
Carefully, he withdrew the probe and placed it on the bench, straightened and pulled the eyeshields up and off.
For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Indeed, he seemed to Aelliana to be cataloging her face, her person. She stirred, stilled—and Jon smiled.
“Pilot Caylon. You're a bold sight, child.”
Her eyes filled. “Jon—” She swallowed, unable to find words adequate to the riot of emotion that enveloped her.
“Jon—I thank you, for . . . for all of your care.”
“There's no need to thank me for that, math teacher,” he said, turning away with a sudden briskness and peeling off his gloves.
“And yet,” Daav murmured, “one might be grateful for the sunlight at the end of a bitter night, and thank it, most sincerely, for its warmth.”
“Lecturing your elders again, Young Captain?”
“It's this standing at the head of my clan, you see,” Daav explained earnestly. “It puts the most absurd notions into one's head.”
Jon considered them both. “Finally got 'round to telling her, did you?”
“Too late, as you'll make your point, but yes.”
“It is not Daav's fault that my brother is—was—an aberration,” Aelliana stated firmly.
“That's said fair enough,” Jon said. “But you would never have had to endure last evening's adventure, if you'd known your copilot for a Dragon.”
Aelliana tipped her head. “Possibly that is true, but it hardly matters now. And, if I had not been the target of Ran Eld's anger one more time, then I would not have had the Healers, and I—I think that having the Healers was a very good thing, indeed.”
“There are less risky roads to a Healer, math teacher,” Jon said, and threw up his hands. “I bide by your judgment, and not another word from me.”
“For now,” Daav added, sotto voce.
The elder pilot snorted. “So, the past being past, have you taken thought for the present, or the future?”
“For the present,” Aelliana said, “I have accepted Da—Korval's protection.”
Jon's eyebrows rose. He looked to Daav. “Protection, is it?”
“Is there a problem, Master Jon?”
“Why ask me?” He looked back to Aelliana. “All right, that's a reasonable course. And the future?”
“The future . . . must still be determined.” Her chest was once again tight with conflicting emotions. “I need time to think, Jon. So much has happened since yesterday . . . ”
“No need to make excuses for taking thought,” he told her. “Just remember your comrades, eh?”
“Of course I shall! You will doubtless grow tired of seeing me, and answering my questions, for you know, Jon, I am still quite desperately ignorant about—so many things!”
“Well, we can't have that,” he said comfortably. “Recall that you and I have a meeting with the Scout Commander and a tour of the World Room before us.”
“On Trilsday,” she said. “I remember. Jon?”
“What's on your mind, math teacher?”
“When is Clonak's next shift? I—I must speak to him.”
Jon's gaze slid to one side—to Daav, Aelliana thought, and wondered what information passed from old Scout to younger in that rapid glance.
“Clonak's off these next few days,” Jon said, carefully, to Aelliana's ear. “He said he had some business to lay before his father.”
“Oh.” Aelliana bit her lip. “I had hoped to speak with him—soon.”
“As it happens,” Daav murmured, “I have Clonak's comm number. I might, if you wish, and after you are settled, call him and ask if he will speak with you—or when you might meet him.”
“Thank you,” she said, much relieved. “That will answer. I don't wish to leave him in distress . . . ”
“ 'Course not,” Jon said, gruffly. “ 'Course not.”
* * *
Aelliana had been silent for some time, her head turned slightly away from Daav, paying attention, so he thought, to the spectacle of Solcintra Port. The vehicle they traveled in was smaller than the car loaned for his use in Chonselta, and far more nimble. Had he been driving only himself, he would have made use of several of the smaller ways known to him and so put the port behind him sooner. With his passenger so rapt, he drove along the main thoroughfares, at a mostly decorous speed, and kept his tongue between his teeth.
They had cleared the gate and were into Solcintra proper, when she stirred and looked over to him.
“Is Clonak High House?”
She knew Clonak's surname, which ought to have given her the answer, but Aelliana appeared to have never learned the teaching songs matching Lines to Clan. Or, he thought, she had forgotten them, as less important than mathematics, or, perhaps, survival.
“ter'Meulen belongs to Guayar, certainly,” he said gently. “And Guayar holds place among the Fifty.”
She nodded as if she had suspected as much, and her face grew more serious.
“In that case, I feel that I must speak with Clonak—very soon, indeed. I do not wish to count myself too high, but the tenor of his message leaves me to fear that these matters he intends to put before his father might have to do with a, a strike against Mizel.”
“Mizel has offered Clonak no insult,” Daav pointed out, wondering at this new political sensibility.
The corners of her mouth tightened.
“Clonak sat my copilot, too,” she said.
“Ah. I understand.” He maneuvered the littl
e car down the Boulevard of Flowers—not the most direct route out of the city, but a pretty, winding way that he thought might please her.
“Clonak's father is not likely to allow him to act precipitously. I fear that an account of my actions on your behalf last evening has found its way into The Gazette, of which he is an avid auditor. I am certain he will not endorse any plans Clonak proposes for Balance with Mizel until he has spoken to me and, now that you are able, to yourself.” He glanced over, reading tension in the tilt of her chin.
“You are very right that you must speak with Clonak soon, and give him what ease you may. But I believe that we may depend upon his father to keep him in hand for a few hours more.”
Aelliana inclined her head. “You have knowledge which I lack,” she said. “Doubtless you are correct, that Clonak's father will not allow him to do anything . . . foolish.”
She glanced out at the street, and her smile flickered, which was the usual response to the Afternoon Garden. It was a small plot, scarcely larger than a patio, planted with blooming things in all shades of orange and yellow, with a few benches artfully adrift in flowers.
“That's lovely,” she said, and cast a quick look to him. “And perhaps not the straightest route out of the city.”
“Discovered! No, not the most direct route—nor the least. I thought a casual survey of the gardens might do us both some good.”
“Chonselta Public Garden is very grand,” she said, her attention focused out the windows. “But these are—pocket plantings! And the houses, with their flowers! It's like being in the middle of a wildwood!”
Daav, who had spent some considerable time in wildwoods of one sort or another in his capacity as a Scout captain, did not correct her.
“The yellow is the Afternoon Garden,” he said, instead. “There is also an Evening Garden, a Dawn Garden, and a Midnight Garden. Groups are made up to visit each at its proper moment; in between, there are tours of the house gardens and refreshments alfresco.”
“It sounds a marvelous way to while away a day,” Aelliana said, and laughed slightly. “I don't think I've ever taken such a tour.”
No, very likely she had not, Daav thought darkly. Though the elder brother had doubtless taken as many pleasant excursions as he might have wished.
“We leave the flowers here, alas,” he said, turning onto North Street. “If you like it, we may come back and take more time with them, another day.”
“I would like that,” she said, and shifted in her seat.
He glanced over and met wise green eyes.
“Now that our diversion is done, if you please, Daav: an account of your actions last evening? Is there more than one?”
Discovered, indeed! He sighed lightly.
“In fact, there are. Mind you, both accounts detail the same actions; it is the meaning of those actions which is appropriated . . . rather differently.”
“And The Gazette tells the misappropriated tale?”
“It does—which was my intention. It was necessary to shield Pilot tel'Izak as much as possible from her delm's anger. Unfortunately, in taking what I might to myself, I fear that I have exposed you to the eyes of the curious.”
He met her eyes, soberly.
“It was a clumsy solving, Aelliana. I beg your pardon.”
She considered him for a long moment, then put her hand on his knee.
“There is no need to beg my pardon, van'chela. Indeed, I was well on my way to making a spectacle in my own right. Had I not arranged to have my name appear in the news sheets, Ran Eld should never have known that I owned a ship.” She gave him a smile.
“You needn't hold your speed down for my sake, Pilot.” she said.
Daav laughed, surprised and delighted.
“Transparent, am I?”
Aelliana frowned slightly. “I would not say transparent, only . . . strangely obvious. It is odd, but not unpleasant.” She looked over to him. “Do you find it so?”
“Unpleasant? No. Surprising, I would say.”
“And not precisely what you anticipated,” Aelliana murmured, her fingers warm on his knee. “What did you anticipate, Daav?”
He hesitated. “Any number of things, since last evening, and been joyously proved wrong in most.” He took a breath. “May I ask that we pursue this topic . . . later, after we have made you known to my cha'leket, gained his smile, and seen you comfortably settled? It may be that a few hours more will illuminate that which is presently obscure.”
After a moment, she nodded. “That may be wisest. Tell me about your brother.”
Encapsulate Er Thom? Almost, he laughed again, but—no. Aelliana was tentative among strangers. Her manner was—or had been, he corrected himself—self-effacing, and her manners, while not boorish, were . . . unpolished. Well she might be shy of meeting a High Clan lordling in his own house. Especially with the example of her own brother before her.
“Er Thom is . . . very dear to me. And you must forgive me for miring you immediately in another of Korval's muddles.”
“Is he not your brother, then?” Aelliana teased.
“Ah, you think it a simple question! We are the children of identical twins, near enough to the brothers our hearts believe us to be. However, Er Thom was born to Petrella yos'Galan, and I to Chi yos'Phelium. More! The delm ordered our births, and thereafter took both of us into her care and training. We were two seeds in one pod, you understand, neither one greater nor lesser than the other, until we came halfling. At that point, the delm decreed that I be sent to the Scouts, as the children of yos'Phelium often are, and that Er Thom join his mother aboard Dutiful Passage, there to learn all he might of the mysteries of trade.”
“It must have been very hard,” Aelliana said softly. “To have grown so near, then parted so sternly.”
Daav sighed. “Certainly, it seemed so at the time. But, Delm's Wisdom will out, you know, and in the end we both saw that it had been no random cruelty. Er Thom now stands as Korval's master trader, thodelm of Line yos'Galan, and heir to the delm. I trust him with my life—indeed, I trust him with Korval! And that was wisdom—to weave us together, so that either might become what the other is, at need, for the profit and the strength of the clan.”
“Your delm was . . . farseeing,” Aelliana murmured.
“She did her best, which is all any of us may do. Even those of us doomed as delm.” He gave her a swift smile. “But of Er Thom! He is lifemated to Honored Scholar of Linguistics Anne Davis, and his heir, young Shan, is a joy and a terror to all.”
“Scholar Davis?” Aelliana sat up straighter. “I have not yet read her book!”
He gave her an amused glance. “She would scarcely have expected it.”
“Truly? I have read reviews in the journals, and seen discussions among the scholarly forums—indeed, the scholar's work seems to me to be at least as weighty as you would have me believe the Revisions to be. Perhaps more! Jon had said he would lend me his copy, when he was done.”
“I am certain Anne will be happy to give you a copy of her book, if you truly wish to read it, though I warn you, she may seem bemused. She had expected, you see, that the work would be of interest to perhaps another dozen scholars in her immediate field. The excitement that it has caused among—shall we say, among those who are not scholars?—has quite taken her by surprise.”
“Shall I not mention her work?” Aelliana asked worriedly. “I would not wish to offend—and it is true that a mathematician is not a linguist.”
“As you have an interest in the work—and an opinion!—I believe you will not offend. And, you know—Anne is a native speaker of Terran.”
Her eyes widened. “Of course she is! Would she care, do you think, if I were to practice my Terran against her?”
“I think she would be delighted,” Daav said truthfully. “And now, Pilot—are your straps secure?”
She touched the shoulder harness and the lap strap.
“They are. May I know why the pilot asks this question?”
“Because now that we are out of the city, I intend—very much—to give over holding down my speed.”
Aelliana smiled, and settled back into her seat, moving her hand from his knee to her own.
“Good,” she said.
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Contents
Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon
Chapter Eight
Each clan is independent and each delm law within his House. Thus, one goes gently into the House of another clan. One speaks soft and bows low. It is not amiss to bear a gift.
—Excerpted from the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
The wind roared, yanking her hair hard enough to bring tears. Aelliana recalled that she had used to be frightened of speed; certainly the blurred countryside through which they pelted—houses, trees, flowers, and fields smeared into the abstract—ought to sent her curling into the corner of the seat, face hidden behind her arms.
Instead, she laughed, and sat forward, giddy with sensation. Drunk with speed. Drunk, indeed, with Daav's joy and a sort of feral alertness, so potent that there was no need to touch him in order to clarify what he felt.
The car swooped to the top of a hill, spun into a thin lane and dashed downward. Stomach in free fall, Aelliana laughed again, and heard Daav laugh, too.
At the base of the hill, he downshifted, and followed the lane to the left, through a series of twists and turns, slowing almost imperceptibly as they negotiated each until, by the time they passed beneath an archway thick with flowers, the car was proceeding very nearly at a stately pace.
Colmeno bushes lined the lane on both sides, their lemony scent cleansing away the sweet breath of the flowers. At the end of the line of bushes, the lane intersected another. Aelliana caught a glimpse of a stairway, a glitter that was perhaps a window, then Daav turned the little car left, then right, going quite slowly now, and pulled into a 'crete apron between a building that might have been a garage, and a pleasant lawn.
“And so we arrive,” Daav said, shutting the car down. He raised his hands and smoothed them over his head, utterly failing to tame his wind-snarled hair.
“That did no good whatsoever, if you were trying for decorum,” she told him, her voice effervescent in her own ears.