by Sharon Lee
"Yes, pilot?"
He glanced over to her—lightless eyes in a hewn-gold face—then went back to his board. "I wish you will tell me true. May you?"
She licked her lips. "Yes."
"Good," he murmured. "I wish to know if you, of your own will and heart, desire this marriage which is promised to your delm."
Of her own will and heart. A Scout's question, phrased as if one's own will and heart had place within the weavings of kin and duty. And yet. . .
"If I were—my own delm—I would not seek the marriage," she said slowly, feeling along those unaccustomed threads of personal desire. "I—forgive me. . ."
"I had asked," he said softly. "There is no need to ask forgiveness for truth, among comrades, eh?"
"Just so." She took a breath, hands fisted on her lap. "Truly, Korval, I find I—like—you much more than ever I—But I do not think that we should—that we should—suit," she finished, somewhat helplessly.
"Ah." More silence, and she sat back into the chair. It came to her to wonder what her delm might think, could she hear Samiv in such a conversation with her affianced husband, and hiccuped a laugh.
"Are you able to bear some little of your delm's displeasure?" he asked abruptly. "I swear that I will take all that I might to myself. But she is bound to be displeased with you."
"She is displeased with me now," Samiv said blearily. "I was never to have come to ask your aid, you know."
"I see. In that wise, I believe we may win you free of the Tree's attentions, pilot. You need only stand firm and quiet. And swear me one thing."
She blinked. "What shall I swear?"
He looked at her, one dark brow up. "Come to me, when your delm's anger has cooled, and let us finish Balance between us."
"Korval, there is nothing owing. I—"
"I must beg you to allow me to know the extent of my own debt," he interrupted, all stern-voiced and by-the-Code. Samiv strangled a rising giggle and managed to incline her head.
"As you will, sir. When I may, I will come to you, in order to complete Balance. My word upon it."
"Thank you," said Korval, and flicked up the comm toggle.
"THIS IS YOUR notion of propriety?" Delm Bindan demanded. "Of withholding from scandal? Of safety and respect for Bindan's treasure? I suppose it a mere trifle for you, Korval, nothing higher than a lark! Certainly, go to the opposite end of the world for your mischief, force yourself into a clanhouse, hold a nadelm at gunpoint, subvert the youth and steal away the second daughter! Amusing in the extreme, I make no doubt! Certainly, Delm Guayar thought the news delicious. He called while I was yet at breakfast to share it with me. I could have hidden my face!
"And you—" She turned her eyes to Samiv.
"I have only respect," Daav murmured, "for the honor and the fortitude of Samiv tel'Izak, who stood staunch, as a troth-wife must and—"
"Troth-wife!" Bindan spun. "If you dare believe, after last evening's escapade, that I will allow one of Bindan to risk herself and her honor in support of your mad whim—Good-day, sir! Your man of business will hear from mine."
Had he not been frantic to return to Chonselta, he would have laughed aloud. Clonak's father had done his work with admirable thoroughness. And, doubtless, he thought wryly, enjoyed every moment of it.
He bowed to Bindan's outraged face. "Good-day, ma'am. Pilot. Sleep well."
"If your Lordship," Bindan's butler murmured from the doorway, "will attend me. I will escort you to the door."
CHARGED WITH UNEXPENDED adrenaline, Daav strode across the glade, laid both palms against the trunk and glared up into the branches.
"You may give over terrorizing Samiv tel'Izak," he said, voice shaking. "She and I will not wed."
The bark beneath his hands warmed. "Yes, very good!" he snarled, snatching his hands away. "Approve me, do! What shall it mean to you, that a fine pilot was all but destroyed for your whim? What shall any of us mean to you, who has seen us all die—from Jela to Chi! Breed-stock, are we? Then hear me well!"
He was in the center of the glade now, with no clear notion of how he had gotten there, hands fisted at his sides, shouting up into the branches as if the ancient, alien sentience cared—had ever cared—for his puny, human anguish.
"I shall lifemate Aelliana Caylon, if she will have me, and if you dare—dare!—frighten or in any way discontent her, I will chop you down with my own hands!"
His words hung for a moment, and were gone, swallowed by the still, warm air. Daav took a breath—another—deliberately relaxed his fists. . .
In the height of the branches, something moved.
He tensed, recalling the torrent of trash that had greeted Samiv tel'Izak, thinking that the Tree could easily and with no harm to itself loose a branch onto his unprotected head, thus disposing of a breed-line that had failed of its promise.
The noise grew louder. Daav crouched, ready to leap in any direction.
And fell to his knees as dozens of seed-pods cascaded around him.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The heart keeps its own Code.
—Anonymous
THE DOORKEEPER SHOWED him to a private parlor, served him wine and left him alone, murmuring that the Master would be with him soon.
The wine was sweet and sat ill on a stomach roiled with fear. He set it aside after a single sip and paced the length of the room, unable to sit decently and await his host.
Behind him, the door opened, and he spun, too quickly. Master Healer Kestra paused on the threshold and showed her hands, palms up and empty, eyebrows lifted ironically.
Ignoring irony, Daav bowed greeting, counting time as he had not done since he was a halfling, throttling pilot speed down to normality, though his nerves screamed for speed.
The Healer returned his bow with an inclination of her head and walked over to the clustered chairs. She arranged herself comfortably in one and looked up at him, face neutral.
"Well, Korval."
He drifted a few paces forward. "Truly, Master Kestra?"
She waved impatiently at the chair opposite her. "I will not be stalked, sir! Sit, sit! And be still, for love of the gods! You're loud enough to give an old woman a headache—and to no purpose. She's fine."
His knees gave way and, perforce, he sat. "Fine."
"Oh, a little burn—nothing worrisome, I assure you! For the most part, the Learner never touched her. She knew her danger quickly and crafted her protection well. She created herself an obsession: an entire star system, which required her constant and total concentration—I should say, calculation!—to remain viable." She smiled, fondly, so it seemed to Daav. "Brilliant! The Learning Module will not disturb rational cognition." She moved her shoulders.
"Tom Sen and I removed the obsession, and placed the sleep upon her. We did not consider, under the circumstances, that it was wise to erase painful memory, though we did put—say, we caused those memories to feel distant to her. Thus she remains wary, yet unimpeded by immediate fear." Another ripple of her shoulders.
"For the rest, she passed a few hours in the 'doc for the cuts and bruises. I spoke with her not an hour ago and I am well-satisfied with our work."
Daav closed his eyes. She was well. He was trembling, he noted distantly, and his chest burned.
"Korval?"
He cleared his throat, opened his eyes and inclined his head. "Accept my thanks," he said, voice steady in the formal phrasing.
"Certainly," Kestra murmured, and paused, the line of a frown between her brows.
"You should be informed," she said, abruptly, and Daav felt a chill run his spine.
"Informed?" he repeated, when several seconds had passed and the Healer had said no more. "Is she then not—entirely—well, Master Kestra?"
She moved a hand—half-negation. "Of this most recent injury, you need have no further concern. However, there was another matter—a trauma left untended. Scar tissue, you would say."
"Yes," he murmured, recalling. "She had said she thought it
—too late—to seek a Healer."
"In some ways, she was correct," Kestra admitted. "Much of the damage has been integrated into the personality grid. On the whole, good use has been made of a bad start—she's strong, never doubt it. I did what I could, where the scars hindered growth." She sighed lightly and sat back in her chair.
"The reason I mention the matter to you is that I find—an anomaly—within Scholar Caylon's pattern."
Daav frowned. "Anomaly?"
The Healer sighed. "Call it a—seed pattern. It's set off in a—oh, a cul-de-sac!—by itself and it bears no resemblance whatsoever to the remainder of her pattern. Although I have seen a pattern remarkably like it, elsewhere."
"Have you?" Daav looked at her. "Where?"
Master Healer Kestra smiled wearily, raised a finger and pointed at the vacant air just above his head.
"There."
It took a moment to assimilate, wracked as he was. "You say," he said slowly, "that Aelliana and I are—true lifemates."
Kestra sighed. "Now, of that, there is some doubt. The seed-pattern was found in the area of densest scarring." She looked at him closely, her eyes grave.
"You understand, the damage in that area of her pattern was—enormous. Had a Healer been summoned at the time of trauma—however, we shall not weep over spilt wine! I have—pruned away what I could of the scar tissue. At the least, she will be easier for it—more open to joy. That the seed will grow now, after these years without nurture—I cannot say that it will happen."
He stared at her, seeing pity in her eyes. His mind would not quite hold the information—Aelliana. She was his destined lifemate—the other half of a wizard's match. He was to have shared with Aelliana what Er Thom shared with his Anne . . . She had been hurt—several times hurt—grievously hurt and no one called to tend her, may Clan Mizel dwindle to dust in his lifetime!
He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, reached through the anger and the anguish, found the method he required and spun it into place.
He was standing in a circle of pure and utter peace, safe within that secret soul-place where anger never came, and sorrow shifted away like sand.
"And who," Kestra demanded, "taught you that?"
He opened his eyes, hand rising to touch his earring. "The grandmother of a tribe of hunter-gatherers, on a world whose name I may not give you." He peered through the bright still peace; located another scrap of information: "She said that I was always—busy—and so she taught me to—be still."
"All honor to her," Kestra murmured.
"All honor to her," Daav agreed and rose on legs that trembled very little, really. "May I see Aelliana now?"
THE ROOM WAS SUN-FILLED and fragrant, with wide windows giving onto the Healers' extensive gardens. She stood in the open window, looking out on the rows of flowers—a slender woman in a long green robe, her tawny hair caught back with a plain silver hair-ring.
He made no noise when he entered, but she turned as if she had heard him, a smile on her face and her eyes gloriously green.
"Daav," she said, and walked into his arms.