by Sharon
“Aelliana—” A third time, he invoked the Rainbow, seeking his own balance—felt her relax in his hands; saw her face smooth and her eyes calm.
“That is—useful,” she murmured. “What is it?”
For a moment, he simply stared, remembering Kestra’s warnings of damage and dreams dead before they were known …
“Daav?”
“It is—” he cleared his throat. “It is called the Rainbow, Aelliana—a Scout thing. We use it to reestablish center, and, sometimes, to—rest.” He tipped his head. “Of course, one should not depend overmuch … “
“Of course not,” she murmured. “But useful, all the same. My thanks, van’chela.”
“No thanks needed,” he replied. He hesitated … and did not quiz her about what she had seen, or demand to hear how she might explain having seen it. Time for such things later, after this current topic was retired.
“Your brother,” he said, and her gaze leapt to his, eyes wide and green, yet not—entirely—panicked.
“He—”
Daav lay light fingertips on her lips.
“Peace, child. Allow me to give you news of your clan.”
Beneath his fingers, her mouth curved, very slightly.
“So,” he stepped back, breaking physical contact, and bowed formally, as one imparting news of kin.
“In this morning’s Gazette, it is reported that Ran Eld Caylon Clan Mizel has died. He will endanger you no more.”
“Died?” Aelliana repeated. “Ran Eld? He was in the best of health!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Clonak—Jon—they did not … “
“Not so far as I know,” Daav said, carefully. “Though Jon would certainly be within his rights, should your brother be so foolish as to seek Binjali’s. But, no—your delm has cast him out.”
For a heartbeat, he thought she hadn’t heard him; her face and eyes had gone perfectly blank. Then, she moved, two steps forward, and took his hand.
“Mizel has cast Ran Eld out,” she said, and it seemed to him that it was in some way a—test, though what she should be testing he could not have said. “Ran Eld Caylon, Nadelm Mizel, is made clanless.”
“That is so,” he said, watching her with Scout’s eyes. She sighed, sharply and suddenly, and closed her eyes, as if she had received … information—and of a sudden jumped, her eyes snapping open.
“But this is terrible!” she cried. “Where will he have gone? I must find him—at once!”
Daav stared. That she was in genuine distress was apparent, yet this same Ran Eld had in the not-distant past done his utmost to destroy her.
“He will likely have gone to Low Port,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “All of the clanless do, soon or late. It is the only place on Liad where their voice is heard and their coin is good.”
“Then I must—go to Low Port,” Aelliana stated, and bit her lip. “Will you come with me?”
“If it transpires that the errand must be run, I challenge you to hold me from your side,” he answered. “However, if I may … what is this urgency to seek a man you describe as spiteful and dangerous—and who has in the last day lost everything—because of you.”
“He has stolen the ring that Jon gave to me!”
Ah. Here, then, was not madness, but sensible outrage.
Daav bowed slightly. “Indeed,” he said gently, “he did so. However, it was recovered, through the good offices and sharp eyes of Pilot tel’Izak. Your delm requested that I hold it for you and return it to your hand, when you were found.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and produced it. “I regret. I should have given it to you immediately.”
It sparkled against his palm, seeming at first glance the most garish and gaudy bit of trumpery in the galaxy, formed all of glass and gypsy silver. Second glance saw that the rubies, emeralds, diamonds and sapphires were every one of the first cut, and the metal too heavy for anything but platinum. Daav dared not hazard a guess as to how long the ring had been in Jon’s family; dea’Cort was an old piloting line. Say it was an antique, precious beyond its worth, and leave the matter there.
“I am in the pilot’s debt,” Aelliana breathed. “Pray, how do I find Pilot tel’Izak?”
“I will tell you—later,” Daav said carefully. “Just at this present, she stands beneath her delm’s displeasure.”
Aelliana stared up at him. “On my account?” she asked, and he could see that she meant to sally forth immediately and do battle on Samiv’s behalf, if it were so.
“On mine, if you will have it. I used her shamefully.”
She frowned. “If it were done in service of protecting your pilot, then the debt is mine, as well,” she said.
Daav straightened his face with an effort, but she shot him a sharp glance, as if she had heard the laugh he had swallowed.
“Is there a joke?” she asked sternly, reminding him all at once that she was a teacher.
“Only that you had never used to lecture me on Code, Aelliana,” he said meekly, and smiled when she laughed.
“As to that,” she said, taking the ring from his hand and slipping it onto her finger. “I have just completed an intense study of the Code.”
It was humor—and Scoutlike of its kind—yet too close, far too close. Daav shivered.
“Oh, no!” She stepped forward, bold as she had never been, and put her arms around him. “It is well, van’chela! The Master Healer has said it—and, truly! I feel—I cannot recall when last I felt so well!”
His returned her embrace—how could he not?—his blood heating with unruly passions. Dazzled, he reached once more for the Rainbow … yet, here was Aelliana stretching high on her toes, her arms around his neck now, and her face turned up to his, eyes wide, lips barely parted. He bent his head …
Pounding roused him, and a voice shouting, “Korval!”
He stirred, breaking the kiss tenderly, and raised his head, as fuddled as if he had been woken from deep sleep. Aelliana moaned, her arms tightening, her body taut against his.
“Korval!” The voice came again, and he had wit enough now to recognize Master Kestra’s voice. “I remind you that there are children in this House!”
“What does she mean?” Aelliana whispered.
Daav laughed, breathless, and found the strength to step back from her and put his hands down at his sides.
“Why, she only means that the Healers find me very—loud—as they have it, and rightly fear the impact of our—passion—upon the tender empathies of the students of the House.” He raised his voice to address the door.
“We are reminded, Master Kestra.”
“Bah,” the door returned comprehensively, followed by the sound of footsteps moving, much too heavily, away.
“Daav.”
He looked to where she stood, her eyes vividly green, her robe more than a little awry.
He managed a shamefaced grin. “Your pardon, Pilot. It will not happen again.”
“Now, that was not the proper answer.” Aelliana tucked her hands into her sleeves and shook her hair away from her face. “Daav—I—do not wish to—lift without you. Yet, to preserve myself, I must go. Even with Ran Eld … dead … Ride the Luck is not safe. The delm—Mizel is by no means wealthy. The sale of a starship would go some distance toward reasserting the clan’s fortunes.”
“You still intend to work the ship?” Daav asked her.
“I—yes! But—circumstances are come upon me so quickly, that … ” She closed her eyes. “I must think, and not call Mizel’s attention to myself until I have thought myself through.” She bit her lip, though her gaze never wavered. “I am different from who I was. I need time to understand this.”
He inclined his head gravely.
“I offer assistance,” he said, carefully.
“Assistance?”
“It may be no better—you must be the judge of that, Pilot. But, I offer, if it will serve you, to place you under Korval’s protection.”
She blinked. “Can—Is that by Code?”
His lips twitched. “Oddly enough, it is. Korval’s interest in pilots is well-known. It falls well within my honor to offer Korval’s protection to an endangered pilot.” He tipped his head. “Such an action will, perhaps, not please your delm, but it will freeze all of the pieces on the board, for however long you choose. You will have your peace, you and your ship will be safe, and you will have however much time to think as you need.”
She closed her eyes, and it seemed to him that he could hear her thinking. A dozen heartbeats passed, and she opened her eyes with a slight smile.
“I believe it will answer,” she said. “Did you send those clothes?” She tipped her head toward the bed.
“Yes.”
“Thank you for your care,” she said softly. “I will be a moment, dressing, and then we may leave the Healers to their peace.”
“Well enough.” He tipped his head. “When did you last eat?”
Aelliana hesitated … sighed.
“I don’t recall.”
Of course she didn’t recall. Food was never among Aelliana’s priorities.
“While you dress, I will petition the chef.”
“But, to linger—”
“We have time for you to drink a cup of tea and eat a biscuit,” he interrupted. “As I’m perfectly certain that I’ll be able to impose upon you to eat very little more.” And, he added to himself, since you seem to have less control than a halfling, it would be best if you were not present to watch her dress.
Aelliana sighed. “I know better than to argue with a Scout,” she said, and gave him a measuring glance. “When did you eat last?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Lunch, yesterday.”
“Then you will,” she commanded, turning toward the bed, “ask the house for the kindness of two cups and two biscuits.”
He grinned and inclined his head. “Yes, Pilot.”
Chapter Four
In the absence of clan, a partner, comrade or copilot may be permitted the burdens and joys of kin-duty. In the presence of kin, duty to partner, comrade or copilot must stand an honorable second.
—From the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
Aelliana dressed quickly, hardly attending what she did, her thoughts dashing in all directions, rather like a gaggle of particularly rambunctious puppies.
Daav was dear to her, and yet that she had dared—her marriage had taught her to be wary of intimacy, to dread even a touch! The joy that had infused her, on beholding him—it had seemed the most natural thing, and then to all but demand that he … kiss …
“It was sweet,” she whispered defiantly, carefully folding the white shirt and blue pants into the box with the other unused clothes.
Oh, it had been sweet, and she aching for more, ready to—well, and she hardly knew what she had been ready to do, had the Healer not interrupted them. Certainly, Daav, with his clever fingers, had seemed to entertain some notions of a direction they might travel.
She put the lid on the box, and reached behind her head, pulling the ring free. Holding it in her teeth, she finger-combed her hair away from her face, and clipped it once more into a tail. To show her face before the world, after so many years in hiding … with the aid of her comrades, she had begun to learn again how to hold herself in pride, as a person of honor …
Hands shaking, she lifted the space leather jacket. She had earned the jacket, as she had earned her license—and Jon’s ring—and the cantra piece. If nothing else, she must strive to be worthy of her accomplishments. Melant’i demanded no less.
The jacket settled firmly onto her shoulders. She slipped her license into one inner pocket and the cantra piece into another, sealed both—and turned, prompted by some new and entirely appropriate sense, as the door opened to admit her wayward copilot.
Tall and graceful, he came across the room to the windows, bearing a tray on which reposed a teapot, cups, and a plate piled high with shaped sandwiches.
“Will it please my pilot to sit by the window and break her fast?”
His deep voice was grave, though she knew him well enough to hear it for irony.
She tipped her head. “What if it does not please me?”
He settled the tray on the cushion and looked over his shoulder at her, one strong dark brow quirking.
“Why then, I will only say that there are messages here requiring your attention.”
“Messages … ” She came forward to sit on the edge of the other cushion, her eyes on the tray. A message pad leaned against the teapot, its surface opaque. With her hand half extended, she hesitated. Who, after all, would send her a message? What if Ran Eld—
“Pilot?” His voice was entirely serious.
Aelliana cleared her throat and looked up into his black eyes.
“Sky nerves,” she said, gratified that her voice was firm. “Nothing more.”
Resolutely, she picked up the message pad and put her thumb against the plate.
The surface lightened, revealing a list of names: Jon dea’Cort, Clonak ter’Meulen, Sinit Caylon, Trilla sen’Elba, Qiarta tel’Ozan.
Sinit Caylon. Aelliana touched her sister’s name and put the screen on her knee.
“Pilot.”
So soft it might have been her own thought. She barely glanced up, taking the cup from his hand with a murmured, “My thanks.”
“Aelliana,” Sinit’s voice was quivering and high with strain, entirely unlike her usual brash and sunny mode. “Sister, I hope—with all my heart I hope—that this message finds you well. If I’d known, please believe that I would have let you out—I would! Don’t think badly of me, Aelliana. I—you can come home, whenever you like. Ran Eld has been cast out, and he won’t strike you anymore. I think—I think it’s—wonderful, exciting that you fly with Daav yos’Phelium. He has your ring, the one that Ran Eld took—Delm Korval, I mean. He told mother that he’d give it to you … ” There was a pause, and the suggestion of a sniffle, then, “I love you, Aelliana.”
She tapped the screen again, pausing it, and swallowed hard in a throat gone tight. For Sinit to think of stopping Ran Eld—it horrified one who knew all too intimately what pain their brother took pleasure in inflicting upon those who thwarted him. Aelliana shivered, raised her cup and sipped tea.
Ran Eld is cast out, and beyond harming Sinit. She formed the thought with care. It scarce seemed believable, yet surely Daav was not mistaken.
Somewhat less unsettled, she looked again to the device in her hand and tapped the first name on the list—Jon dea’Cort.
“Good day to you, math teacher, and hoping this finds you well. I have your ship keys safe, and will hold them, per your instructions, until you or your rogue of a copilot claim them. Rest easy on that score, and come back to us, when you’re able.”
She bit into her sandwich, tasting mint and vehna fish, while the message pad cycled down to the next name.
“Goddess, you will not again refuse my escort, if I must follow three steps behind you the whole way into peril.” Clonak’s voice was almost stern. “I’m quite aware that I am ridiculous, but believe me sincere in my regard for yourself. If you have any need, call on me.”
There was muted chatter while the pad sorted over Sinit’s message, and found the next unread message—from Trilla. Aelliana sipped tea and had another bite …
“The master will have called and told you; just thought I’d add my well-wishes—and Patch’s. Come back when you’re able, Pilot, and we’ll dance in earnest.”
Another sip emptied the cup. She sat holding it while the last message played out.
“Scholar Caylon, it is Qiarta tel’Ozan, the least of your students.” Unlike the others, Qiarta spoke in the High Tongue, in the mode between student and honored instructor. “I have seen the news, Scholar. I would be honored to serve you, in whatever fashion that you may require. Please do not hesitate to call upon me, at any hour.”
Tears pricked. Aelliana closed her eyes.
“Tea, Pilot?” a respectful voice inquired.
She opened her eyes and looked down slightly, into Daav’s lean, clever face, a novel view. Her fingers twitched as though she would reach out and touch his cheek, which would, she told herself, take wrongful advantage of him—and perhaps dismay the Healers, her kind hosts.
Even seated as he was, cross-legged on the pale blue rug, Daav was tall enough to reach the tray. As if to prove it, he hefted the teapot, quirked an eyebrow and glanced down. Following his glance, she saw the cup cradled in her hands, and held it up, whereupon he poured.
“There are sandwiches left, if you’d like another one or two,” he commented, pouring for himself before setting the pot back onto the tray.
“Another!” she exclaimed, looking once more to the tea tray. In fact, the sandwich plate was empty, save for precisely two, cut into the shapes of a crescent moon and a star.
“Did I—I never ate all of those!” she exclaimed, remembering the pleasant tastes of mint and vehna. “Did I?”
“I accounted for three or four,” Daav said calmly, raising his cup to sip. “Yesterday’s lunch was quite some time gone.”
She sipped her tea and considered the remaining sandwiches.
“The stars are mint and vehna,” Daav murmured. “The crescents are cress and cheese.”
She was, Aelliana thought, hungry. Not ravenous, surely, but—another sandwich would taste … good.
“I’ll have the star if you’ll have the crescent,” she said, giving Daav a sidelong glance from beneath her lashes.
“Done!” he said merrily, and swooped the plate up, offering it first to her.
She took the star, and bit into it, sighing in pleasure. It was a dainty thing, gone in two bites, which was, she supposed, how she had managed to eat several while listening to her messages.
That, and a vigilant Scout, who had no doubt made sure that a new sandwich came into her hand as soon as it was empty.
“I can see,” she said, “that I will have to be on my mettle.”
“You were … a bit … distracted,” Daav admitted. “Which is rarely the case.” He stretched to put his cup on the tray, and looked back to her, black eyes serious.
