by Sharon Lee
"That looks wonderful!" Anne said, eyeing the tray of cheese and vegetables and sauce with real appreciation. She smiled at Er Thom and stretched high on her toes to work out the kinks, fingers brushing the ceiling, as always.
"Blasted low bridge," she muttered, as she always did. "How much could it cost to add an extra two inches of height?"
"Quite a bit, I should think," Er Thom replied seriously. "Two inches on such a scale of building very soon becomes miles." He moved his shoulders, studiously watching the wine he was pouring into the glasses, rather than the delightful spectacle of her stretching tall and taut above him. "And cantra."
Anne grinned. "I expect you're right, at that. But it's a nuisance to always be bumping my fingers on the ceiling tiles."
She sank down into a corner of the sofa and took the glass he offered her. "Thank you, my dear, for all your labors on my behalf."
For a moment he froze, panicked that she might somehow know of the plea he had made on her behalf to Daav—Then he shook himself, for of course she only meant the task this evening, which was in truth nothing to one accustomed to balancing the holding pods of a starship.
"You are welcome," he said, since she seemed to wish hear him say it, and was rewarded by her smile.
Carefully, he sat on the opposite end of the sofa, striving to ignore the way his blood heated with her nearness, the shameful desires that clamored for ascendancy over honor and melant'i . . . He sipped wine, set the glass gently aside and steeled himself to look up into her face.
"I regret," he said, clearing his throat because his voice had gone unexpectedly hoarse. "I regret very much to have caused you pain, Anne. It was not understood that you would arrive home at an early hour. I erred and I wish you will forgive me."
She blinked. So that was the reason for his earlier stiffness. Almost, she reached out to touch his cheek. It was only the memory of the searing, unreasoning passion that the least touch of him awoke that kept her hand resting lightly on her knee.
"I forgive you freely," she said instead, smiling at him warmly. "It was—foolish of me to have panicked that way. You had given me your word and I should have—" Dangerous ground here: Fatal to say that she had doubted his word. "—I should have remembered that."
"Ah." He gave her a slight smile in return. "You are kind."
He hesitated then, putting off the moment when he must, in honor, ask what melant'i trembled to conceive. And it was not, he admitted to himself, wryly, as he would admit it to Daav, honor's argument that most compelled him. Rather, it was happy circumstance that honor in this instance bent neatly 'round his heart's desire.
He sipped his wine and had a nibble of cheese, all but trembling with desiring her. Sternly, he pushed the passion aside. He had sworn that it would be precisely as Anne wished it, with none of Er Thom yos'Galan's unruly passions to disarm her. There were proposals to be considered here; trade to be engaged upon. He took a deep breath.
"Anne?"
"Yes, love?" The intensity of her gaze betrayed a passion as unruly as his own and almost in that instant of meeting her eyes he was lost again.
Gritting his teeth, he shifted his gaze and swallowed against the flood tide of desire.
"I have a—proposal," he managed, hearing his voice shiver with breathlessness. "If you will hear me."
"All right," she said. Her voice seemed odd, as well, though when he turned to look at her, she had her face averted, watching the wine glass she had set upon the table. "What proposal, Er Thom?"
"I propose—" Gods, his thodelm would berate him and his delm also—perhaps. She was outside the Book of Clans—Terran, Terran, Terran to the core of her. She was bread to nourish him, water to slake him—desire to torment him until he could do nothing else but have her, though it flew in the face of clan and Code and—yes—of kin.
"I propose," he repeated, forcing himself to meet her eyes with a calmness he did not feel, "that we two be wed."
Chapter Eleven
If fate decrees you'll be lost at sea, you'll live through many a train wreck.
—Terran Proverb
"WED?" ASTONISHMENT overrode exultation—barely. With the force of both emotions rocking her, she heard her own voice, stammering: "But—I'm not Liaden."
Er Thom smiled slightly, slender shoulders moving in a fluid not-shrug. "And neither am I Terran," he said, with a certain dryness. He half-extended a hand to her, thought better of it and reached instead for his wine glass.
"It would be proper," he murmured, with exquisite care, for who was he to instruct an equal adult in proper conduct? "Proper—and well-intended—for you and I to be bound by contract—wed—at the time our son is Seen by Korval."
Exultation died with an abruptness that was agony. No lover-like words from Er Thom, Anne thought with uncharacteristic bitterness—when had she had even an endearment from him? This was expedience, nothing more. Unthinkable that a man of Er Thom yos'Galan's melant'i come home to show his delm a doxy and a bastard when he might, with only a little expense, show instead a wife and legitimate heir. Anne blinked through a sudden glaze of tears and willed herself to believe that the pounding of her heart was caused by anger, not anguish.
"No, thank you," she said shortly, proud that her voice was sharp and even. She turned her head, refusing to look at him, and reached for her glass.
"Hah." His hand—slim golden fingers, one crowned by the carved amethyst ring of a master trader—his hand lay lightly on her wrist, restraining her, waking fire in her belly.
"I have given offense," he murmured, taking his hand away. "My intention was—far otherwise, Anne. Please. What must I do to bring us back into balance?"
"I'm not offended," she lied, and managed to meet his eyes squarely. "I just don't want to marry you."
Winged golden brows lifted, eloquent of disbelief. "Forgive me," he said gently. "One recalls the joy shared just recently—as well as that which we knew—before . . . "
"Did I say I didn't want to go to bed with you?" Anne snapped, all out of patience with him—and with herself. "Far too much of that, my lad! But lust is less of a reason for marrying than, than because it's—proper—and I'm damned if I'll marry for either!" She took a hard breath, barely able to see his face through the dazzle of tears—angry tears.
"It's your own notion to be taking Shannie to show your delm, not mine. For all of me he can stay uncounted 'til the end of his days! He's a Terran citizen, which is good enough for quite a number of folk, who manage to have good, long, productive lives and—"
"Anne." He was very close, one knee on the sofa cushion while his hands caught her shoulders, kneading the tight muscles. "Anne."
She gasped, half-choked and lifted a hand to wipe at her eyes. Unaccustomed, she looked up into Er Thom's face, heart melting at the distress in his eyes even as passion flared and took fire at his nearness.
Achingly slow, he lifted a hand, ran light, trembling fingers down her damp cheek, over her lips, purple eyes wide and mesmerizing.
"I love you," he whispered, "Anne Davis."
"No." It was a battle to close her eyes, to deny her body the solace of him. Every thread of her ached to believe that whispered avowal, saving only one small bit of sanity that clamored it was nothing but expediency, still.
"No," she said again, eyes shuttered against him, trembling with need. "Er Thom, stop this. Please."
Instead, she felt warm breath stir the hairs at her temple an instant before his lips pressed there.
"I love you," he said again, wonderful, seductive voice shaking with passion. He stroked her hair back with tender fingers, kissed the edge of her ear. "Anne . . . "
"Er Thom." Her own voice was anything but steady. "Er Thom, you gave me your word . . . "
She could have sworn she felt the jolt go through him, the icy jag of sanity that broke the flaming fascination of desire for the instant he required to jerk back and away, coming to his feet in a blur of motion—and going entirely still, hands firmly behind his
back.
"Oh, gods."
Anne shuddered, finding his abrupt absence less easement than added torment. What is this? she asked herself, for the dozenth time since yesterday. She had felt a rapport with Er Thom yos'Galan almost from the first. But this—compulsion—reminded her of the ancient stories of the Sidhe, the Faerie Lords of old Terra, and the enchantments they wove to ensnare mere mortals . . .
Except one sight of Er Thom's sweat-damp face and anguished eyes proved beyond human doubt that if this was enchantment, then he was netted as tightly as she.
She let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding and straightened against the cushions. "Er Thom . . . "
He bowed, effectively cutting her off. "Anne, only think," he said quickly, his accent more pronounced than she had ever heard it. "You say you will be traveling to Liad, that there is duty owed one who has died. What better than to travel with one who is your friend, to guest in the house of your son's kin for as long as you like? Everything shall be as you wish—" He bit his lip and glanced sharply away, then back.
"If you do not wish us to wed, why then, there is nothing more to be said. I—certainly I cannot know your necessities. However, you must know that my necessities require our son to show his face to the delm no later than the second day of the next relumma—three Standard weeks, as you had said." He moved his hands, showing her palms, fingers spread wide, concealing nothing.
"I tell you all," he said, the pace of his words slowing somewhat. "Anne. I do not wish to wound you, or to frighten you, or to steal our son away from you. But he must be brought to the delm. He is yos'Galan! Provision must be made—and yourself! Will you stand alone and without allies, having borne a child to Korval?"
Anne stared, breathless with hearing him out. "Is that—dangerous?" she asked.
"Dangerous?" Er Thom repeated, blankly. He moved a hand, a gesture of tossing aside. "Ah, bah! It is games of melant'i. Nothing to alarm one who is prudent." He tipped his head, bit his lip as if unsure how to continue.
"It is prudent to gather allies," he said at last and Anne heard the exquisite care he took now, lest he offend her. "Korval is not negligible, you understand. And the child is yos'Galan. None can deny basis for alliance. The marriage I—wished for—would have brought you immediately into a case of—of—intended alliance. You would have been seen to be under the Dragon's wing now, rather than waiting upon the trip to Liad and the drawing up of—other—contracts." He took a deep breath, and met her eyes, his own wide and guileless.
"It distresses me to see you in peril," he said, very softly, "when I have the means and the—desire—to give you protection."
"I—see," she managed, around the hammering of her heart. She shook her head in a futile effort to clear it and made a grab for common sense. This was University Central, after all: Haven of scholars and students and other servants of odd knowledge and arcane thought.
"No one's likely to come after my head here," she told him, meaning it for comfort and an ease to the distress he showed her plainly, and added a phrase with a flavor of High Liaden: "Thank you for your care, Er Thom."
He hesitated, then bowed acceptance of her decision, or so she thought.
"In three Standard weeks," he said, straightening, "I shall pilot our son and yourself to Solcintra. We shall all three go to the delm and Shan shall be Seen. After, I shall take you to Trealla Fantrol—the house of yos'Galan—where you may guest until your duty to your friend has been completed."
It made sense, even if it was phrased rather autocratically. It solved her transportation and living problems. It solved Er Thom's pressing need to have the newly-discovered yos'Galan added to clan Korval's internal census.
It did not solve her disinclination for having the order of her life disrupted for as long as two months while she tried to sort out a colleague's private working notes.
And it certainly did not solve the fact that she would be staying those two months on Liad—in Solcintra, called "The City of Jewels" for the standard of wealth enjoyed by its citizens. At—Trealla Fantrol—she might well be Er Thom yos'Galan's honored guest and recipient of every grace the House could provide. But in Solcintra she would be a lone Terran in the company of Liadens, with their fierce competitiveness and Liad-centric ways—
. . . in a society where the phrase, "Rag-mannered as a Terran," enjoyed current—and frequent—usage.
"I had thought perhaps of—not—going to Liad," Anne began, slowly. "It might be just as useful for me to copy my old letters to Jin Del—Scholar yo'Kera—and send them to his colleague. That way she—"
The doorbell chimed—and again, insistent.
"At this hour?" Anne was already moving, unaware that Er Thom had moved with her until he caught her hand, pulling her a step back from the widening door.
"Er Thom—"
"Anne!" Jerzy all but fell into her arms. "You're here! You're safe! Gods, gods—the whole damn pantheon! Down at the Quad S Tavern when the news came over—terrified you'd stayed late to grade exams—too stupid to find a call box—" He sagged against her shoulder and let a theatrical sigh shudder through him before he lifted his head to grin at Er Thom.
"Evening, Mr. yos'Galan."
Er Thom inclined his head. "Good evening, Jerzy Entaglia," he said gravely. "Is there a reason why Anne should—not—be safe?"
Jerzy blinked, straightening away from Anne's support and glancing from her to Er Thom. "You didn't hear?" he asked, eyes going back to Anne. "The bulletin, right in the middle of the—" He stared around the room, spied the dark screen. "Guess not. Well, all that exercise for nothing."
"Heard what?" Anne demanded. "Jerzy, it's past midnight! If this is one of your—"
"My jokes? No joke." He grabbed her hand, ugly face entirely serious. "Comp Ling's gone. The whole back corner of the Language Block blew sky-high, two hours ago."
PETRELLA YOS'GALAN eyed the child of her deceased twin with a noticeable lack of warmth.
"Felicitations, is it?" she said ill-temperedly. "And to what event does my delm desire me to attach felicity? The continued absence of my heir, perhaps? Or the visit from Delm Nexon this morning, inquiring of that same heir's health? Or shall I find joy in the empty nursery and the absence of a child to continue the Line?"
Daav had a sip of red wine. "Well, certainly you may rejoice in any such that may move you," he said agreeably. "I had only meant to bring tidings of my cha'leket's return on the second day of the next relumma."
"Three days later than the delm's deadline," she said with asperity. "As I am certain the delm recalls, having so—long—a memory."
He grinned. "Well-thrown, Aunt Petrella! But as it happens, your heir begged the delm's grace and received the extension, as insisting on the previous timeframe would have considerably inconvenienced the guest."
"Ah, the felicity not only of the return of one's son, but also the inestimable joy of a guest!" Petrella flung her hand high in mock jubilation. "How fortunate for the House, indeed. Is one to know more of the guest, I wonder? For the universe, you understand, is a-bursting with potential guests."
"Why, so it is!" Daav said, much struck by this viewpoint. "I had not considered it thus, but I believe you are correct, ma'am! How piquant, to be sure: An entire universe, panting to guest with Korval!"
"Yes, very good," she returned. "Play the fool, do, and amuse yourself at an old woman's expense. I note that details regarding the guest have not come forth."
He moved his shoulders. "The guest is a scholar of some repute."
"More delight," his aunt said acidly. "A scholar, to our honor! As if there were any more rag-mannered, saving only a—"
"A Terran scholar," Daav interrupted gently. He assayed another sip of the excellent red. "You may wish to remodel the Ambassadorial Suite."
Petrella was staring. "A Terran scholar?"
"Indeed, yes," her nephew said, and amplified: "A scholar who also happens—a mere accident of birth, I assure you!—to be Terran."
&
nbsp; Petrella had closed her eyes and allowed herself to slump back into her chair. Daav watched her closely, seeking a sign by which he might know if this sudden sagging were an artifact of her illness or a ploy to divert him.
Petrella opened her eyes. "Er Thom is bringing a Terran scholar to guest in this house," she said, absolutely toneless.
"Correct," replied Er Thom's foster-brother and, when she still glared at him: "He being so scholarly himself, you see."
She snorted. "A master trader may not be an idiot, I allow. However, I confess that this scholarly aspect of my son's nature has heretofore escaped my notice." She waved a hand, and Daav saw sincere weariness in the gesture. "But there—a cha'leket will know what none other may guess."