Baldwin raised both eyebrows, but chose not to fence words. Sixty-five Sans Sleep is not old, Baldwin. Stop aging yourself.
Chuckling, Cort said: “Well, I need to say good night to Tobias and to Leah. I may be as tough as old leather, but even leather needs rest from friction. A good evening to all of you.” He reached to gently touch Sheel’s smooth, sharp-boned face, clapped Baldwin on the shoulder, and smiled in passing to the archpriest. All gave their nod of fealty at his leaving, his two guaard tight on his heels.
When Cort was out of earshot, Baldwin favored Sheel with one of his frowns. “Your attire is a bit casual for the occasion.”
“A boy’s birthday party?” Sheel arched one eyebrow because he knew Baldwin could not. “On the contrary, I think I am the only one appropriately dressed.” Glancing down at his pale green syluan tunic and pants, simply and elegantly styled, he took in Baldwin’s suit of tussah silk.
The new style of jacket, lacking lapels or pockets, did not suit Baldwin. The brown was a good color for him, matching his grey-flicked hair, but he was neither tall enough nor lean enough for the cut. The archpriest was dressed in robes of white silk, his second best ensemble — but then Ward always looked impressive.
Baldwin could be generous. “If I could look presentable in anything other than a state suit — ” he started.
Sheel held up his hand in warning. “His name is Ryce. Over on Second Street. And not many have discovered him yet, so keep it to yourself!”
The heir pursed his lips thoughtfully, but did not speak. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, a smile almost never seen, and he nodded his thanks as he started off toward where Leah was holding court, his guaard matching his pace.
Ward actually looked amused as he watched Baldwin wander away. “You always know how to handle him. He is quite fond of you, you are aware of that?” the priest murmured, sipping his warmed wine.
“I am fond of Baldwin. He will make a good Atare,” Sheel responded, thinking warmed wine sounded relaxing. “You are in good spirits tonight. Is Jonas feeling better?” The High Priest’s health had been fragile for many days. Sheel suspected that Jonas was older than even Cort, but had courteously refrained from checking the records.
“Yes, he was much stronger today. A few visitors would cheer him, and he is ready for them. Come by when you have a moment.”
“I have been on night duty, but now that I am back on days I will be able to see him,” Sheel said obliquely, hoping Ward had no plans to lecture.
Not about the emergency center, at least. “Jonas still hopes to bring you back into the fold before he dies,” Ward announced, glancing casually at Sheel out of one dark brown orb.
Controlling the smile which fought to spring forth, the same smile Baldwin always fought, Sheel said: “And you?”
Ward actually shrugged. “I would rather have you as you are, an unbeliever asking questions, than have you disinterested, like your brother Seri Fabe, or politely going through the motions like Seri Iver. I do not worry about your soul, Seri; only your peace of mind.”
“Your concern is kind, but unnecessary,” Sheel said, keeping his tone neutral. Ward had been within the palace walls during a few family arguments, and was well aware of Baldwin’s fury over the unmarried state of his youngest siblings. “Perhaps I can stop in before work tomorrow. I will be trespassing tonight, I was generous again.”
Ward was the only one who knew that Sheel occasionally bedded down in the temple guest rooms. “Maybe you should just send them to me?” Ward suggested, his face impassive.
Suspecting Ward was making a joke, Sheel said: “I do not think his pride could stand it. The ‘borrower’ would probably fear questions about when the child was due.”
“If it is who I think it is, such questions would do him good,” Ward announced, using his official tone. Shaking his dark head, the priest started toward Caleb, still another throneline brother. “You are about to be accosted. A good evening to you, Sheel of Atare.”
Staring after the man, Sheel automatically tensed, expecting Crystle reb^Lesli’s delicate hand on his shoulder.
“Found you! I was not sure you would come, I heard last night was long!”
Relaxing, Sheel turned to face his little sister. He never called her that; he knew better. Avis was fully twenty-one Terran, and after nine moons of Baldwin and Leah’s condescension had endured enough abuse as the youngest of eight children. The shortest of the family, almost a head smaller than Leah, and slender, Avis good-naturedly bore up under enough advice to send Sheel fleeing for the hills.
Beautiful eyes gazed up into his, tinted in delicate pastels, one iris blue, one green. Her full head of curly blonde hair drew men without effort, but Avis was unconscious of her beauty. Leaning into him, she whispered conspiratorially: “I need you to check something.” Without ceremony she seized his hand and placed it on her stomach.
“Is this really the time or place?” Sheel asked innocently as Mailan and Avis’s guaard moved to shield from prying eyes. It was common knowledge that Sheel’s healing gift went beyond the usual limits — indeed, into the womb, where no probe could see without inducing a miscarriage. He was in great demand for predicting the sex of children. That he also knew whether they would be sini – radioactive — or not was a secret he kept to himself. Along with other secrets.…
“Well?” Her impatience was charming. Wondering if she would actually stamp her foot in frustration, Sheel concentrated on the search. No, no conception, but…
“Where is Stephen?” Sheel asked, removing his hand and glancing over her shoulder past her guaard.
“Sheel!”
Laughing, he hugged her. “Not yet,” he whispered into her ear. “But I suggest you find Stephen and spend a large part of the next three days working on it!”
Her expression enthusiastic, Avis impulsively kissed him on the cheek and dashed off again. Unable to control the smile which crossed his face, Sheel turned toward the bar and looked for someone pouring refreshment. Wine? No, not yet… “Soda with a lemon wedge,” he said easily to the young man pouring drinks.
“You cannot be merry on soda, Seri,” the youth replied, his tone almost scolding. “Can I interest you in a grocha?”
“I think my brother is covering that area nicely,” Sheel replied, his expression bland. Laughing, the bartender opened a new container of soda and poured him a tall glass.
The touch on his spine was light and cool. “A moment for good nights, Sheel?”
“I took care of congratulations early on, in case Iver’s socializing overcame me,” Sheel said as he turned to face his older sister. Stooping without ceremony, Sheel extended his hand to Tobias. “Turning in, guy?”
Tobias made a face. “Mother says it is very late, but it does not feel late!” He carefully shook hands with Sheel, watching his mother with his one brown eye.
Her eyes a mirror of her son’s, Leah’s strong, square jaw tightened and then relaxed as she smiled. “Go ahead, it is your birthday — I will not scold!”
Grinning, Tobias tossed his arms around Sheel and hugged him. “It is undignified,” he explained with a serious face.
“Yes,” Sheel agreed, his own expression just as sober, “but birthdays are rare occasions. Sleep well, Tobias!” Standing and nodding politely to the boy’s nana, they watched Tobias troop off toward the family wing, his guaard and attendant in tow. Turning to give Leah his attention, Sheel said: “A great success, Leah!”
“Tobias or the party?” she returned with a smile, the gold in her green eye glinting.
“Both, of course. You can be proud of him. May I compliment you on how well you look? Childers’ potions did not kill you after all!”
“Sheel!” Looking over her shoulder and finding only her guaard, she gave her brother one of her stern expressions. “I know you do not like the man, but he is a certified doctor, and has been a great comfort to me since I lost the child.” Her voice was slightly colorless at this last statement, and She
el took her free hand in sympathy.
“I simply think there are some things a healer can do best, and since you have one at your disposal, it is a shame to keep him patching together careless revelers instead of tending to his family’s health.” Leaning over to lightly touch her cheek, aware of her tensing beneath his touch, he said: “I meant it. You look stunning in dark green.”
This brought forth one of her genuine smiles, almost a shy smile, and a toss of long, flowing dark tresses. “Knowing how rarely you make any comment on appearance, I am quite flattered.” Her gaze, restless as always, wandered over the crowd. “I am not yet beyond notice! The dark and the light, Avis and I — ”
“And the most attractive women in the room,” Sheel assured her, sensing she was worried about something. Leah, if you would only trust me enough to see if I can help.…
“Avis is cheerful tonight,” Leah said softly, locating their sister near the windows. “Did you have good news for her?”
For those with eyes to see and ears to hear, it was there.… “No, but you know her exuberance. After that disaster on Emerson… Stephen and Brant, among others, have renewed her self-confidence. It will make our trip to Caesarea less humbling,” Sheel said carelessly, sipping his drink. If you do not yet realize that Stephen has won the game, you will have to plumb the depths of other sources. But to stay? No one had asked Stephen, as far as Sheel knew. Even if it was but a passing thing, Sheel hoped that Avis conceived. Waiting on the birth would postpone the Caesarean trip. Leah would not be pleased about that child… not at all.
“You will find someone acceptable to you, Sheel. I am confident.” Leah’s voice intruded into his thoughts, years of experience weighing her voice. Choosing not to respond to her comment, Sheel casually met her gaze. Her expression rueful, his elder sister took leave of him with a cool touch to his face.
No change. The thought drifted to the surface of his mind, and he was glad no telepaths were in the room. No one knew how sensitive his talents really were… no one except Cort Atare. Shortly after his return from Emerson, his uncle had set him a task — determine if Leah could bear more children. Not would…could.
The fear, the danger such a question brought on was stifling. Yet Cort’s suspicions had proved correct. Leah reb^Riva Atare was sterile, and Sheel had no idea why it had come about, or if it could be reversed.
That off-world idiot Childers certainly could not do anything for her — she brought him back from Caesarea because she could control him, through his desire for position and wealth. Whether hot healing could help her was an unknown, and Sheel could not maintain physical contact with her long enough to test his theories. It had been hard enough to make the initial determination. Finally arranging to sit behind her at an informal family gathering, he had rubbed her shoulders while seeking answers within her bloodstream.
Reduction in hormones… premature menopause. No wonder she was so edgy; she was terrified. Leah defined herself by her house status. As a sterile member of a very fertile house — no wonder she was desperate to keep it secret. And she knew little about the three youngest of her siblings — why should she trust any of them with the information? But pretending to have had a miscarriage! Knowing exactly what he was seeking, the answer to that question had been instantaneous; Leah had not been pregnant recently.
What could he do to help her?…
He was oblivious to the crowd, and therefore not expecting to have someone practically thrust into his arms. A gasp penetrated his thoughts even as something cold splashed across his back and arm, drenching the woman clinging to him.
“It is grocha!” came the bartender’s cry as he thrust a bottle of soda into Sheel’s hand. Not pausing for explanations Sheel promptly dumped the entire contents down the front of the woman’s dress, even as someone soaked his own back.
“By The Path what a mess!” came Iver’s voice. “I most humbly beg your pardon, I forgot about the step up!”
Turning slightly, Sheel saw Iver wore an agonized expression. Glancing down, he realized the woman using his arm as a support was the exquisite ice princess. Her expression was one of complete bewilderment as she stared first at the bottle in his hand and then at her wet garment. Iver’s apology was lost on her.
Her gaze finally reached Sheel’s face, and he found it odd that she did not change expression; most off-worlders were startled by his eyes. Sweet Mendülay, Iver was correct, she did have eyes that pulled the viewer in.…
“It was grocha,” Sheel heard himself say. Realizing this would not help much, he added: “Grocha can remove dye from cloth. Soda neutralizes this effect.” He glanced over his own shoulder as he spoke.
“We caught it, Seri, but the fiber has probably been weakened.” The bartender looked quite stricken.
“It happens,” Sheel said gently, his tone dismissing the problem. Turning to Iver he said: “Perhaps you should escort our rather damp guest to a place where she can change clothing? That dress should be in soda immediately.”
Just then two familiar faces came into focus: Leah, and Iver’s wife Bette. Seeing the mess, Leah shook her head graciously. “Iver, you must pick women built more like Avis or myself if you expect us to be able to loan them clothing.”
Not good — people were starting to gather, and Iver’s spouse was very unhappy. At least the ice princess was not becoming hysterical or abusive. “If you will come with me, an attempt will be made to save that lovely garment,” Sheel said quickly, lightly taking her elbow and allowing Mailan to force a path through the crowd.
In moments Sheel felt the ancient, rough-hewn stone of the first floor corridor beneath his fingertips. Silence rang in his ears after the din of the party room, but he did not slow his pace. No footsteps followed, but he would take no chances. Not knowing this woman’s rank or authority, he could not risk any public embarrassment. Brother Baldwin would fry Iver’s ears if this woman had any complaints. Always careful of the proper procedure, was Baldwin.…
“Here, Seri,” came Mailan’s voice out of the dimness ahead. The guaard was holding open a door to a guest room, her slender body straddling the doorsill. Staying his swift pace, Sheel gestured for the woman to precede him.
She was very small, scarcely 150 in height, he guessed. Finding suitable clothing would be a problem. Perhaps sending a guaard to her room… Proceeding straight into the sanitation, Sheel turned on the lights, revealing a large room tiled in pastel blues. A touch at the control eye and the closet door slid open.
“There is a robe here, and the wipes are on the ledge next to the shower cabinet,” Sheel began, bending to find the delicate soaking cleanser. Stocked as always — he sealed the basin near the door, started the water and dumped the packet in. Setting the dial for barely warm, he turned back to the woman.
She was studying him, a slightly bemused expression on her face. It was a searching gaze, missing little. Iver would have quite a chase with this one.…
“Completely submerge the dress in this — ” Sheel gestured to the basin. “It will stabilize the dye and strengthen the fibers. I will see if there is anything appropriate to be found to replace it, or if we must send to your hostel.”
“Do not put yourself to great effort, Sir,” she said softly, her voice very low and vibrant. Natural or chemicals? That the question should distract him momentarily amused Sheel, and then he said:
“I am Sheel of Atare. Do you need… help?” He was suddenly at a loss, realizing he might have offended a personage used to attendants.
“No… Seri. I will manage quite well, thank you.” She was already moving toward the sanitation, pulling free the wrapped skirt as she walked.
“As you wish,” Sheel said quickly, feeling his own surprise pulling into a smile and controlling it. Moving toward the corridor, he slipped past Mailan and said: “Put someone on the door.”
How Mailan was able to put a guaard on the guest room and still catch him within a dozen strides was one of the innumerable mysteries of guaard training. Fort
unately the storage closets were only in the next corridor.
Nothing of Leah’s would do — his elder sister was nearly Mailan’s height. And Avis was much rounder. But he remembered an old silk tunic of his own.… Yes. Pulling it out, he studied it a moment. Flaming red, of jacquard weave, it had long, full sleeves and was slit up the sides. Not the current style at all, but at least she could retire to her own apartments and wardrobe in it.
It was not until he was once again at the guest room door that he realized he had not caught her name. Had she offered it? Had there been time? Curse The Path, Baldwin would be furious.… Mailan was already knocking, the second guaard ignoring them both. Sweet Mendülay, his back was damp.
“Come in.”
Mailan led, stationing herself against the supporting wall between sanitation and entry way. Sheel found the woman had already bathed and was wrapped in one of the thick, absorbent robes provided for all Nualan guests. She turned away from the tall windows at his return, a faint smile crossing her face. “I did not realize anyone still used wipes exclusively. It is a novelty rarely appreciated.”
Sheel had time to notice how rigid Mailan appeared — she thinks it was an insult — before answering: “In a climate as hot and dry as ours, vacuums can cause the skin to flake. Wipes take less energy to maintain.” He laid the tunic on the center bed. “This is not the latest style, but it will allow you to return to your hostel in comfort.”
“You need it back immediately?” she asked, moving to examine the material. “I would not want to offend the hostess by leaving early.”
“A damaged dress is a perfect excuse to leave,” Sheel assured her.
The woman struggled to control the wry expression which crossed her face. “Returning to the party might be awkward… and I have spent the last ten years in Freeze. I need something tonight besides rest! I hoped to discover more about the city and your customs before paying my evening respects.” Loosening the woven black belt knotted around the tunic, she walked into the sanitation. “Accurate information about your world is scarce, in the Seven Systems, and my employers expect me to be well-versed in Nualan courtesies before the night has ended.”
Fires of Nuala Page 4