Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

by Lee, Sharon

  She considered him. “You wish me to enter battle?”

  “Not in the least. Only attend and demonstrate to Kareen why her equations are faulty.” He tipped his head. “If you refuse to attend this gather, she will only have another, you know. Refuse again and it will surely come to be known that Korval's dependent shows scant gratitude to the House.”

  It took the breath away, that summation, but Aelliana had to admit that nothing he said struck her as being beyond Kareen's scope. Certainly, it was to the lady's benefit to publicly discover her rag-mannered and worse. Not to mention that such a public humiliation must also score a strike upon Daav.

  Stomach tight, she returned that card, too, to its envelope and put it with the first.

  “Tomorrow,” she said unwillingly, “I will send an acceptance.” She looked up and met his eyes. “In my own hand.”

  He smiled, pride evident.

  “We play on,” he said and inclined his head. “Of course, I shall accompany my pilot onto this chancy port.”

  He placed his sister's card onto the smaller of the two piles, dropped the three remaining in his hand onto the larger, and picked up his other correspondence.

  Aelliana sipped her wine, watching him lazily as he opened the first, and drew out a sheet of pale violet paper. He could have read no more than the first two lines before he dropped it, too, into the larger pile and opened another envelope.

  Smiling, feeling very much at peace, Aelliana turned her attention to her own letter. The envelope bore the ship and planet sigil of the Liaden Scouts over the words Verisa pel'Quinot, Scout Academy. She broke the seal and withdrew a single sheet of white paper, light and crisp to the touch.

  The letter itself was brief, consisting merely of a proposition, and a request for a meeting, if the proposition pleased.

  Aelliana smiled. If it pleased? Of course it pleased! The inevitable presence of Scouts in her Math for Survival seminar had never failed to delight her. To be offered an entire student contingent composed only of Scouts and those whom the Scouts thought it worthwhile to train—

  “Now there's the smile of a conqueror,” Daav murmured. “One rarely sees so much delight on a single face.”

  “I have cause, I think,” she said. “Scout Academy writes to ask if I would consider teaching the advanced seminar there.”

  “A coup, indeed! Will you accept?”

  “Certainly, it is tempting. I very much enjoyed working with Scouts. At least I must speak with Scholar pel'Quinot and see what she envisions.”

  “If talk comes to contract, recall that you have dea'Gauss to call upon.”

  She began to say that she would scarcely trouble the gentleman with so trivial a matter, but pressed her lips together without uttering the sentence. Only see how well she had done with her other employment contract!

  Perhaps it would be a . . . good idea to ask Mr. dea'Gauss if one of his staff might be available for the task.

  “I will remember,” she said, picking up Scholar pel'Quinot's letter once more.

  “I swear that the man is prescient,” Daav murmured, his tone an interesting mixture of humor and resignation.

  She looked up. “Is there something amiss?”

  “Likely not,” he said, giving her a half grin. “Mr. dea'Gauss has a matter which requires my personal attention, and asks that I meet with him at my earliest possible convenience.”

  Aelliana glanced toward the dark-filled windows.

  “Which will be,” Daav said, folding the letter back into its envelope and placing it on the smaller of his two piles, “tomorrow.” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “We have finished reading our mail,” he said, his voice low and intimate.

  Aelliana felt her belly tighten, and her breath came ridiculously short. She tried not to let him see these things, however, and calmly put her letter with the others.

  “Your geas is lifted,” she said coolly, raising her glass for a sip.

  Daav smiled. “Then I am no longer required to be a gentleman.”

  Effortlessly, he came to his feet and approached her comfortable corner, his eyes on hers. She could not look away from his face; she could not move . . .

  Gently, he took her glass and placed it on the table, keeping her hand in his. She found that she could move, after all; he raised her and she stood shivering and breath-caught as he loosened her sash. The robe fell open and he bent to kiss her breasts.

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  Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Love is best given to kin, and joy taken in duty well done.

  —Vilander's Proverbs, Seventh Edition

  They had breakfast on the balcony overlooking the inner court, at not a particularly early hour. Daav had gone in to dress while she dawdled over her second cup of tea; he returned, overneat in his town clothes, to join her for a third.

  “Is there anything that I might bring you from the city?” he asked.

  “Nothing springs immediately to mind,” she answered. “Please convey my best regards to Mr. dea'Gauss.”

  “Certainly. It may be that I will return in time for lunch; it may be that I will not. Mr. dea'Gauss was not as plain as he might have been regarding the nature of our business.”

  “Mr. pel'Kana will see that I don't stint myself,” she said, smiling at him from a vast inner contentment. “In the meanwhile, I have my letters to write, and an appointment to fix. After that, I may walk in the garden, or find Lady Dignity and stroke her.”

  “It sounds a full day, yet not overly fatiguing,” Daav acknowledged with a grin. He rose and kissed her, sweetly, on the cheek. “Will you sleep with me tonight, beautiful lady?” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

  Aelliana shivered.

  “Eventually,” she said.

  He laughed at that and went away. She finished her tea as she wrote out her acceptances, taking especial care with the note to Kareen yos'Phelium, then dressed and placed a comm call to Scout Academy.

  By the time she came belowstairs, port comm under arm, it could fairly have said to have been midday. She stopped in the kitchen to ask for an apple, some cheese and a bottle of cold tea, and carried these out into the garden, where she made camp on the bench surrounded by gloan-roses. She opened the computer and was very soon lost in the complexities of sub-rational mathematics.

  It was there that Mr. pel'Kana found her more than an hour later, her lunch forgotten on the bench beside her, the sunlight threading her tawny hair with gold.

  “Your pardon, Pilot,” he said softly. “This was brought, express. You left no instruction . . . ”

  Immersed as she had been, it took a heartbeat, or longer, for her to understand the words.

  “Express?” she repeated, frowning up from the screen. “I did not ask for—an express what, Mr. pel'Kana, if you please? I fear I am—somewhat fuddled.”

  “Your pardon,” he said again, and held up a letter for her to see. “This arrived for you by express messenger, Pilot. I thought you would want it. If not, I will take it away and place it with the rest of the correspondence.”

  “Oh, I see! I will take charge of it. It was kind of you to bring it out.”

  “Not at all, Pilot,” he said, placing the envelope into her hand. “May I bring you anything else? A muffin, perhaps?”

  “No, thank you, I am quite well-provisioned.”

  “Of course, Pilot,” he answered and left her, walking as if he were not quite accustomed to grass.

  She glanced down.

  Mizel's seal leapt at her from a field of too-bright white; her name written out in blue ink in her mother's familiar hand.

  Aelliana's stomach clenched. For a moment, she thought of merely tearing it up, unread, and scattering the bits among the roses.

  But that would be craven; unworthy of a pilot, and to refuse a letter from kin—that was smaller than she knew herself to be.

  She broke the seal, and withdrew a sheet of pa
per that felt unpleasantly smooth against her fingers, and unfolded it.

  It was not, after all, a letter from her mother.

  It was a command from Mizel.

  It is the judgment of the Delm that Aelliana Caylon has been too long separate from Clan and Kin. Her duties have languished for lack of another to carry them out, and any further absence is to Mizel's disadvantage.

  Aelliana Caylon is therefore commanded to return to her Clanhouse no later than Zeldra Seventhday of this present relumma, bringing with her such items as legitimately belong to her, and nothing else. She will herefore consider the House of Mizel her natural and permanent residence, and Mizel's care and protection her natural right.

  It has further come to the attention of Mizel that Aelliana Caylon owns, in her name alone, a spacegoing vessel and a viable courier business. These things will pass properly into the care of the Clan, and any profit realized from them will be divided by Mizel equally among the members of the Clan.

  “No!” The word burst from her. She raised a hand and pressed her fingers hard against her lips, lest there be more, and stronger, to dismay the garden's peace.

  Mizel's patience had run out, and she was summoned home, all her goods forfeit to the Clan, as was proper and according to custom. Well, and she had known that it might happen—that it would happen. She had hoped for more time for circumstances to further resolve themselves, but she saw now what her choice must be. Really, there had never been a choice at all.

  She glanced down again to the letter.

  It has further come to the attention of Mizel that Aelliana Caylon owns, in her name alone, a space-going vessel and a viable courier business.

  Yes, well.

  She stood, folding the paper without much attention to the process and sealing it into her sleeve pocket.

  Her ship would not be compromised, nor would it be dishonored.

  And she would not—she would never—return to Mizel.

  Deliberately, she gathered up the port comm, and her ignored lunch, entering the house by the kitchen door. The cook was elsewhere; she stowed the tea bottle and the cheese in the coldbox, left the apple on the counter and continued on course, walking briskly down the hall and up the stairs to their apartment.

  Not more than two minutes later, she ran lightly down the stairs, jacket on, keys in hand. She let herself out the side door closest to the garages, and was very shortly away, on a heading for Solcintra Port.

  * * *

  Daav read the letter twice, not because a single reading had failed of putting him in possession of the pertinent facts, but because the sheer audacity of the thing had left him breathless.

  Not to say angry.

  “So,” he managed at last, lifting his head to face Mr. dea'Gauss decently, “Mizel accuses Daav yos'Phelium of kin-stealing. How refreshing.”

  In fact, it was, and showed a small glimmer of wit. By naming him personally responsible, rather than Clan Korval, Mizel swept half of his pieces from the board and made the game much more equal.

  “Alas, there is some merit to their argument,” his man of business said gently.

  Of course there was. Aelliana Caylon did not belong to Korval. By custom, Daav yos'Phelium had no call upon her. He was not her employer—far the contrary! The world would see that he held her out-of-clan for his own pleasure, while using his melant'i as Korval to insure that none would interfere.

  How many times had she said that she would not return to Mizel? Nor should she return to a clan that valued her so little, to a delm who would make certain to remind her every day that her brother had died on her account.

  “Can we stall?” he asked, and only realized that he had spoken in Terran when he saw the incomprehension on Mr. dea'Gauss' face.

  “Your pardon, sir. I meant to say: Can we stand against this?”

  “Ah.” The other man folded his fingers together before his lips, as if he would prevent any unfortunate words from escaping, and gazed thoughtfully down at his desk before finally speaking.

  “There are certain . . . delaying tactics which might be employed, your lordship. I will detail them, if you wish.”

  Daav considered him. “I would be interested in hearing your estimation of the probable success of these tactics.”

  “We may delay,” Mr. dea'Gauss said promptly and far too certainly, “but we will not prevail. It will be expensive, and—forgive me—your lordship is not in funds.”

  Daav took a breath.

  “Does Pilot Caylon remain steadfast in her refusal of a . . . formal lifemating?”

  “She does not wish to speak of it,” Daav said neutrally.

  “Ah. If I may then offer a suggestion on what is, most naturally, a most delicate matter . . . ”

  “You know that I value your advice, Mr. dea'Gauss. Please, speak plainly.”

  “Thank you, your lordship. I wonder if a contract marriage might be proposed to the pilot. This would win time—for all—and be . . . considerably less expensive than entering into a stall with Mizel.”

  It would win time up front, Daav thought. But when the contract was done, Aelliana would be bound by law and custom to return to her clan.

  That was unacceptable, he thought—and thought again. A contract marriage would buy them time, yes. More importantly, it would buy her time, to ready herself and her ship.

  And that might be a fair line of play.

  He rose. “Thank you, Mr. dea'Gauss. I will speak with Pilot Caylon. Now, if you might produce a very small stall on my behalf. Pray allow Mizel to know that I am only yesterday returned to planet, and beg another day's grace so that I may craft a formal reply.”

  Mr. dea'Gauss inclined his head. “Of course, your lordship.”

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  Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The pilot's care shall be ship and passengers.

  The copilot's care shall be pilot and ship.

  —From the Duties Roster of the Pilots Guild

  Mr. pel'Kana was plainly distressed. No, the pilot had left no word. He had brought her a letter—yes, sir, Mizel's seal—brought the letter to her in the garden. She was deep in her work; had he known it, he would never have disturbed her, but she had left no instructions, and—an express message. He had followed House protocol . . .

  “Of course,” Daav soothed. “You did exactly as you ought, Mr. pel'Kana. But I wonder, did it seem the letter disturbed her?”

  “Truly, sir, she scarcely regarded it. She took it in hand, but did not even glance at the mark, and thanked me for bringing it. I asked if she wished for anything else, but she said she was well-provisioned and dismissed me. I—Cook and I were in the back room, inventorying . . . neither of us heard her come in, or leave. She left no message in the house base; the garage reported her car out . . . ”

  “I see,” Daav said, keeping his voice calm and his face noncommittal. “Doubtless it slipped her mind; she is sometimes forgetful of commonplaces when she is at work. I have no doubt she'll be back with us soon, never thinking that we would have missed her. Thank you, Mr. pel'Kana.”

  His butler hesitated.

  “She is a fine lady, sir,” he offered tentatively, “gracious and sweet-tempered. Staff is pleased to serve her.”

  Well, here is a recommendation! Daav thought. First, Mr. dea'Gauss and now Mr. pel'Kana. Aelliana conquers wherever she goes.

  “Indeed, she is a fine lady,” Daav answered. “To my mind, there is none finer.”

  Mr. pel'Kana bowed.

  “Sir,” he murmured. “Will you wish to sit for prime meal, or—”

  “I will wait, I think, until Pilot Caylon has returned,” he said smoothly, as if he had no doubt that she would do so, and soon.

  “Of course, sir,” Mr. pel'Kana said, and went away.

  Alas, it appeared that Daav had been unreasonably optimistic in his assessment. Hours passed and Aelliana did not return, nor did she send any message. In order that
the servants not be subjected to his increasingly disordered state, he retired to his apartment, where he paced, and searched the house base for any message she might have left for him that may have gotten misfiled. When he tired of that, he humiliated himself by checking her closet, and so found that her jacket was gone, which comforted him not one bit.

  Sitting down at his worktable, he tried to calm himself with carving, but his thoughts wandered so that he was a danger to his own fingers, and soon set the knife aside.

  He went out onto the balcony where only this morning they had shared breakfast and she had outlined her plans. A pleasant day it had seemed she intended, before the arrival of Mizel's letter.

  Mizel's damned letter, of which he had found no trace, though he had found her port comm and the empty envelope on the desk, with the cards she had written out that morning.

  Mizel had threatened her; he was more certain of that than he was of his next breath. The shape of the threat scarcely mattered; it had been enough to send her flying out of their house without a word to any who might try to prevent her, without even a message for him in the house base, explaining—explaining . . .

  What?

  That she was taking her ship and fleeing, refusing both the dominion of Mizel and Liad? Or that she was returning to her clan, hostage to his honor?

  He hoped for the former, if, indeed, she had left him. If it were the latter . . .

  . . . he could not abide it, if she had returned to her clan in order to protect him, and he became yet another stick for her delm to beat her with.

  The racket of the night birds mocked him. He went back inside and resumed pacing.

  To leave, without so much as a word . . . He thought to bring up the departure log from the port feed, but froze with his fingers on the keys, certain that his heart would break, if he found The Luck gone; and nothing proven, if she were still at dock.