by Sharon
Aelliana leaned forward in the chair.
It was not so marked a translation as that in the port, yet she had the uncanny certainty that she was beholding a man similar in form to her lifemate, yet undeniably someone … other.
Like Daav, Scholar Kiladi was an upright man, proud without being prideful. It seemed that he was not quite so tall as Daav, nor, when he opened his eyes, so bold or ascertaining in his glances. He looked into her face, then courteously looked aside, as would a newly acknowledged colleague. He seemed younger than Daav, or perhaps, Aelliana thought, it was the lack of Korval’s weight burdening his melant’i. A mere scholar, no matter how many times an expert, was a simple thing, compared to Daav yos’Phelium.
“Walk,” she whispered. “If you please, Scholar.”
“Scholar,” he murmured, and turned, walking from the copilot’s chair across the chamber, toward the hall.
His step was light, but by no means silent; his carriage easy, even graceful, but it did not cry out “Pilot!” nor even whisper “Scout.”
“Stop,” Aelliana said, wrenching herself out of the chair. She approached him, and looked boldly into his eyes. The gaze that returned hers was intelligent, polite, inquisitive. The eyes and the face of a stranger.
“You can support this?” she asked. “For how long?”
An eyebrow twitched. “Your pardon, Scholar?”
She took a breath, recalled herself and bowed. “Forgive me, Scholar; I misspoke. I met one of your students today on the port. He spoke of you warmly and with genuine regard. The message he sends is that he has recently received great news, and that it was the influence of your teaching upon his life which had brought him to this happy circumstance. His name is Chames Dobson, though he doubted you would remember him, as indifferent a scholar as he had been.”
He smiled with unfeigned pleasure, and inclined his head. “My thanks to you, Scholar. Chames was—an earnest student. One is gratified to hear of his success, unspecified as it is. To have one’s teaching credited with so much, must of course bring joy to a teacher’s day.”
“Exactly,” she murmured, and stepped back, suddenly exhausted, and of no further mind to have a stranger on her ship.
“Daav.”
Jen Sar Kiladi melted; she could not have pointed to the moment when he was gone entirely and Daav yos’Phelium stood before her, his face etched in an exhaustion that echoed hers.
“I can support it more easily at length,” he said softly. “It becomes worn in, like a favorite sweater.”
She nodded, and sighed, and raised her hands again to her sticky hair.
“I am going to have a shower,” she announced. “If you please, find us a meal and some tea. While we eat, we shall plan our best return to Liad.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The most dangerous phrase in High Liaden is coab minshak’a: “Necessity exists.”
—From “A Terran’s Guide to Liad”
“Uncle Daav!”
A missile hurtled out of the branches of the decorative tree they strolled past. Aelliana twisted sideways, heart in her mouth, the outcome of the child’s trajectory as obvious to her as if he had already struck his head and snapped his neck. She was too far away to catch him!
However, Daav was not.
He spun in a graceful arc, arms extended, as unhurried as if there were no possible danger, swooped the hurtling body out of the air and continued his spin, faster now, the child slung over his shoulder screaming with laughter.
Daav slowed, coming to a halt with his back toward her. Shan grinned at her, blithely upside-down.
“Hi, Aelli.”
“Hi, Shannie,” she returned, over the frenzied pounding of her heart. “Perhaps next time you might consider an approach less fraught with peril. How if your uncle had missed you?”
“Uncle Daav never misses,” Shan said comfortably.
The subject of this encompassing trust gave a shout of laughter, snatched the child off his shoulder and set him upright on his feet.
He dropped to one knee, and peered down into the small face.
“Even the quickest pilot sometimes misses,” he said, seriously. “And it is not at all the thing to be ambushing your kin from the shrubberies.”
Shan frowned uncertainly. “No?”
“No,” Daav said firmly. “Also, you had frightened my pilot, a circumstance of which I am required to take a very dim view, indeed.”
Silver eyes sought hers.
“Were you frightened, Aelli?”
“Yes,” she said, kneeling beside Daav on the grass. “I could see the path of your fall, and I could see that you would strike your head, and that I was too far away to catch you.”
“Oh.” Shan looked down, frowning ferociously.
“You see numbers,” he said at last, looking up again. “Like sparkles.”
She had previously been introduced to the concept of “sparkles,” by which Shan would have one believe that he could see another’s emotions. It said much for the change in her circumstances, that she had not found this odd in the least, though he was young, so Anne had told her, to be showing Healing talent.
“Perhaps, a little,” she admitted. “Recall that I cannot compare directly, for I do not see sparkles.”
He nodded, and abruptly bowed.
“Forgive me,” he said formally.
Aelliana inclined her head. “It is forgotten,” she answered properly.
“Very well,” Daav said, rising. “Now, if you please, young pirate, lead us to your parents!”
Their arrival was greeted with embraces, and exclamations about timing and the luck. It transpired that Er Thom had only arrived home himself within the last two-day, and had scarcely, as he told Daav with perfect solemnity, had time enough to sort through his mail.
Shan being returned to the care of his nurse, with whom Daav had a quiet word apart, the adults repaired to the patio overlooking the twilight wild park, where a cold meal was served, over which she and Daav were quizzed on every detail of their trip.
Anne asked the majority of questions, while her lifemate contented himself with studying Daav’s face, his displaying what Aelliana could only say was tenderness. It was very much pilot and copilot work, Aelliana thought, though she could not have said for certain who sat which board.
“No more!” Daav protested at last, falling back in his chair and raising his hands, as if in surrender. “You now have every crumb upon which we had hoped to dine out for the next relumma!”
Anne laughed.
“We won’t tell a soul,” she promised. “Besides, you know that Lady yo’Lanna refuses to believe anything she hears of you, unless it comes from your own lips.”
“Whereupon she disbelieves it doubly! But, here—turnabout is fair play. Tell us all and everything that has happened to you while we were apart! And mind you tell it well!”
“I’m to be interviewer and interviewee? What will you do?”
“Sip my wine and be entertained,” he retorted. “I hope you don’t believe that I memorized that long list of inquiry.”
She laughed, and shook her head, brown eyes dancing.
“If you want it then, laddie, here it is—I was dull and held at home, teaching my classes and playing with my son while Er Thom went out on the route. He came home once, between, and then we were merry.”
“A pleasant tale, if a short one. Brother? Have you nothing with which to embroider this spare narrative?”
“A single thread, I fear, though perhaps it will please.”
He extended a hand to his lifemate, who received it with a smile so brilliant Aelliana felt her eyes tear.
“yos’Galan will soon welcome a second child into the house.”
Anne laughed.
“Don’t let him cotton you,” she said. “I’m only just caught, so it’s more ‘eventually’ than ‘soon.’ “
A ferocious joy struck Aelliana from across the table, nearly unseating her. Daav being Daav, it was nothin
g so simple as only joy, no matter how fierce; it carried envy on its back; hope, anticipation, delight, and a single dark stroke of fear.
“The clan increases!” he cried, and it was joy only that informed his face and his voice. “May we reap much delight from Korval’s new child!”
They arrived at Jelaza Kazone with the rising of the stars, and went first to the inner garden, walking hand in hand along the flower-choked path, toward the center, and the Tree.
“I see that I shall have to free the pathways,” Daav said, “else random strollers will become engulfed.”
“Do we have many random strollers?” Aelliana asked, letting his happiness marry her own. The result was a gentle euphoria, edged with excitement.
“We do from time to time host gathers, and the garden is of course open to our guests. I will lead here, Pilot, in case there is a savage beast lying in wait … “
He stepped forward without relinquishing her hand and led her safely past a tangle of twigs, leaves glossy and black in the starlight.
When she was able to walk beside him again, she murmured, “I like the garden wild.”
“As I do. I swear that I envision no such pretty tribute to the landscaper’s art as we might see in the city. Though they have their place, it is not this place. No, I merely wish to widen the trail so that two may walk abreast.”
They left the path altogether then, and walked across the root-woven grass to the tree. Daav put his free hand flat against the broad trunk, and she did the same.
Immediately, she was aware of warmth, of a sense of welcome, and of a gentle probing, as if the tree asked how did she go on.
“Very well, thank you,” she murmured. “I hope you have not been lonely.”
The leaves directly over her head fluttered, though there was no breeze—laughter, so she thought. Intense focus sizzled along her connection with Daav, and her fingers grew quite warm. She did not pull away, and after a moment the heat faded.
Daav moved, retreating two deliberate steps from the trunk, pulling her with him. From high in the boughs came a clatter of leaf, as if a rock had been thrown from inside the canopy, then two seedpods plummeted out of the Tree, striking the ground precisely—one at Daav’s feet; the other at hers.
“It seems we are welcomed home,” Aelliana murmured, bending to retrieve her pod.
“So it does,” Daav murmured. “Shall I open that for you?”
“Please.”
She lifted the first of the neat pieces to her lips, abruptly and ravenously hungry, though the meal with Anne and Er Thom was only recently behind them. Tonight’s nut smelled of sweet cedar, the taste … If hot and cold were tastes, it would have tasted thus. The first morsel left her hungry for the second; the second for the third, and the fourth—sated her entirely.
Fulfilled, she looked to Daav, who was watching her with a quizzical tilt to his eyebrow.
“Have I forgotten to say that you are a thing of astonishing beauty,” he murmured, “the love of my life and the guiding star of my heart?”
She smiled up at him, shivering with delight. “I believe you may have mentioned it once or twice,” she said. “But how unhandsome! You leave me with no words to say at all, van’chela, only a wish to stay always at your side.”
“A rare compliment,” he said, “considering how many will have nothing at all to do with Korval.”
He turned and bowed to the tree—honor-to-a master—straightening just as Relchin, orange-and-white-striped tail held high in welcome, burst from -he shrubbery and ran to them, burbling excitedly.
Aelliana laughed, and bent down to offer her finger. Relchin rubbed his muzzle, eyes slit in ecstasy.
“Now here’s an enthusiastic welcome!”
“Indeed,” Daav said, rubbing an orange ear briskly. “I wager Mr. pel’Kana has forgotten to fill the food bowls. Only see the poor creature, with his ribs on display!”
It was no such thing; Relchin was as sleek as ever he had been beneath her stroking palm. Aelliana gave him one skritch on the chin and straightened.
“We should go inside, then, and check the bowls.”
“We should go inside,” Daav corrected, taking her hand as they started back to the path, “and deal with our mail.”
Aelliana sighed comfortably as the warm breeze gently dried her, then she reached for her robe and belted it loosely around her. She paused in their bedroom to brush out her hair before going to the parlor.
Daav, resplendent in a house robe embroidered with gloan-roses, was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, long legs stretched before him, Relchin leaning companionably against his knee. The disordered clutch of mail she had last seen him with had been reduced to several tidy piles.
“I should have given it out that we were not expected to return,” he said, looking up with a rueful smile. “Er Thom has the right of it—the worst of coming home is dealing with one’s mail.”
She sat down by his shoulder and leaned forward. His hair was loose on his shoulders, damp and smelling distractingly of sweet cedar. She wanted to comb her fingers through it, bury her face in it … Aelliana took a breath and forced herself to focus on the tidy piles.
“What a lot of invitations you have,” she said, eying the stack of square ivory envelopes. “I suppose you can’t just throw them out?”
“More’s the pity—however! I am not alone in having mail to sort, my lady.” He rummaged briefly and produced two invitations and an envelope.
“These,” he said, putting them into her hands, “are for you.”
“For me?” She couldn’t remember when she had last received an invitation. Before her marriage, surely. After—she had not cared for going among people, and if she had shown any disposition for society, she thought, with a surprisingly hot spark of anger, Ran Eld would doubtless have forbidden her the pleasure.
Daav rested his head on the cushion at her side, and gave her a lazy, upside-down smile.
“That robe is quite fetching,” he murmured.
“You gave it—” she began, and then realized that her position had allowed the loosely-wrapped garment to fall somewhat open, thus revealing certain of her holdings.
“Fetching,” he repeated, softly, and reached up to pull on the sash, which obligingly gave up its knot; the robe opened more fully, falling away from one breast entirely.
Clearly, a countermeasure was called for.
She bent down and kissed him, as thoroughly as she knew how.
His desire rose to meet hers; she leaned closer, hungry for his mouth, his hands, for him …
“The mail is all mixed up again,” she said some while later.
She was lying across his back, breast against shoulder, cheek against cheek, his hair and hers thoroughly tangled together, with only the vaguest notion of how she had gotten there.
His other cheek pressed against the carpet, Daav sighed.
“Torn from virtuous industry by a ravishing temptress; all—all—to be done over!”
“Ravishing temptress? Who was it opened up my robe?”
“Who ravished whom?”
“That’s not the point.”
“No, only give me a moment to recruit myself!”
She laughed.
“If I let you up, will you comport yourself as a gentleman?”
“For how long shall I be bound to that hideous fate? It may be that I will prefer death by ravishment.”
“Did I offer that alternative?” she asked, the sternness of her voice marred by a giggle. “You shall be bound for the time that it takes us to read our mail.”
“I suppose I may last that long. Am I allowed the comfort of a glass of wine?”
“Certainly,” she said grandly. “You may fetch me one, too. Have we a bargain?”
“We do, cruel lady.”
“Rise, then,” she said.
“After you.”
She rolled to her feet, glanced about—and found her robe cast all everyway across the reading chair. She
slipped it on and tied the sash firmly, while Daav likewise reassembled himself and moved off toward the kitchen alcove.
Aelliana knelt on the rug amid the disorder of envelopes and picked up an invitation.
By the time he returned with the wine, she had gathered the invitations into one pile, and discovered most, but she felt not all, of the letters.
“My lady wishes to make my time in bondage as short as possible,” he murmured. “Perhaps she is not cruel, after all.”
“Merely pragmatic,” she said, rising to receive her glass. “I fear that some of the letters may have taken refuge beneath the furniture.”
“Fear not, I will recover all. Please, rest from your labors and attend to your own matters.”
Her correspondence had remained aloof upon the sofa cushions, where they had been joined by Relchin, who was asleep with his chin on an ivory card. She smiled, put her glass on the occasional table, and slid the letters free. The cat opened one eye, muttered and went back to sleep.
“Thank you,” she said politely, retiring to the corner and curling against the pillows. She broke the seal on the first invitation, which was marked with the sign of a snake wrapped ‘round a moon.
The gift of your time is solicited for a select gathering of friends at an informal midmorning tea in the garden at Glavda Empri on Metlin Eighthday of the current relumma. Acceptances only to Ilthiria yo’Lanna, Thodelmae.
“Who,” Aelliana wondered, “is Ilthiria yo’Lanna?”
Daav looked up. He had resumed his seat on the floor and was engaged in dividing the invitations, still sealed into their envelopes, into two piles.
“Ilthiria yo’Lanna is my mother’s best and oldest friend,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
She held up the card.
“She invites me to a picnic on the grounds of Glavda Empri, but—surely not. It is in three days! I have not been introduced to the lady, and will know no one—”
“Ah, but there you are out!” Daav riffled the envelopes in his hand and held one up so that she could see the Snake-and-Moon. “Unless she has lost her touch—which is not the wager to take—this is my invitation to the same event.”
