by Sharon Lee
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 the 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 d
o 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."
"That was clever of her," Aelliana acknowledged. "Shall we go?"
"I should think that we must. She's very likely enjoyed herself immensely in choosing the guest list so that she may be the first to make you known to those whom you may find charming, interesting, or of use. We could hardly be so churlish as to deny her so much pleasure."
Aelliana frowned down at the card, trying to read intent into the few formal lines.
"Of use?" she murmured.
"Indeed. Lady yo'Lanna is nothing, if not a pragmatist—you see? Already you share ground in common! It appears that she is willing to ease your way into the world."
She looked up. "This is—a kindness?"
"So I believe, yes."
A kindness. Aelliana sighed.
"Tomorrow, I will write Lady yo'Lanna a note, accepting her kind invitation and thanking her for her notice."
Daav grinned. "I shall do the same. In my own hand, mind, or I will have such a peal rung over me that it will be heard in the Low Port!"
She tucked the card back into its envelope, placed it on the side table, and sipped her wine before turning her attention to the other invitation.
The embossing was Korval's familiar Tree-and-Dragon; her name was written in glossy black ink in a hand so firm the pen had scored the paper.
She broke the seal and drew out the card.
Since their second, not entirely cordial interview, she had not again met Daav's sister. Indeed, it might have been said that, busy as she had been with other matters, the lady had slipped her mind altogether.
Alas, she had not been similarly forgotten.
She drew a breath.
"Ah, Kareen," Daav murmured, "so subtle."
He held what she could only suppose was a like card; shaking his head at it sadly.
"I will not be attending this formal evening gather," Aelliana stated.
Daav looked at her, one eyebrow up. "Whyever not?"
"Because it is a trap. Lady Kareen warned me that I would not be able to hold my place among the High. Now, she seeks to prove her course and shame me publicly. I will not attend."
"Don't you wish to prove her wrong?" Daav asked, with every appearance of seriousness.
"I fear that I will rather prove her correct."
"No, only think! Lady yo'Lanna's picnic is well before this evening gather. Recall that you will at that event be introduced to people whom she thinks you should know. I will grant that not all will be High House, but some will. Very certainly some, if not all, of those whose acquaintance you will make at Glavda Empri will also be present at Kareen's affair. And, you know, you will probably receive other invitations between—Kareen having been so kind as to give us more than half a relumma to prepare."
She considered him. "You wish me to enter battle?"
"Not in the least. Only attend and demonstrate to Kareen why her equations are faulty." He tipped his head. "If you refuse to attend this gather, she will only have another, you know. Refuse again and it will surely come to be known that Korval's dependent shows scant gratitude to the House."
It took the breath away, that summation, but Aelliana had to admit that nothing he said struck her as being beyond Kareen's scope. Certainly, it was to the lady's benefit to publicly discover her rag-mannered and worse. Not to mention that such a public humiliation must also score a strike upon Daav.
Stomach tight, she returned that card, too, to its envelope and put it with the first.
"Tomorrow," she said unwillingly, "I will send an acceptance." She looked up and met his eyes. "In my own hand."
He smiled, pride evident.
"We play on," he said and inclined his head. "Of course, I shall accompany my pilot onto this chancy port."
He placed his sister's card onto the smaller of the two piles, dropped the three remaining in his hand onto the larger, and picked up his other correspondence.
Aelliana sipped her wine, watching him lazily as he opened the first, and drew out a sheet of pale violet paper. He could have read no more than the first two lines before he dropped it, too, into the larger pile and opened another envelope.
Smiling, feeling very much at peace, Aelliana turned her attention to her own letter. The envelope bore the ship and planet sigil of the Liaden Scouts over the words Verisa pel'Quinot, Scout Academy. She broke the seal and withdrew a single sheet of white paper, light and crisp to the touch.
The letter itself was brief, consisting merely of a proposition, and a request for a meeting, if the proposition pleased.
Aelliana smiled. If it pleased? Of course it pleased! The inevitable presence of Scouts in her Math for Survival seminar had never failed to delight her. To be offered an entire student contingent composed only of Scouts and those whom the Scouts thought it worthwhile to train—
"Now there's the smile of a conqueror," Daav murmured. "One rarely sees so much delight on a single face."
"I have cause, I think," she said. "Scout Academy writes to ask if I would consider teaching the advanced seminar there."
"A coup, indeed! Will you accept?"
"Certainly, it is tempting. I very much enjoyed working with Scouts. At least I must speak with Scholar pel'Quinot and see what she envisions."
"If talk comes to contract, recall that you have dea'Gauss to call upon."
She began to say that she would scarcely trouble the gentleman with so trivial a matter, but pressed her lips together without uttering the sentence. Only see how well she had done with her other employment contract!
Perhaps it would be a . . . good idea to ask Mr. dea'Gauss if one of his staff might be available for the task.
"I will remember," she said, picking up Scholar pel'Quinot's letter once more.
"I swear that the man is prescient," Daav murmured, his tone an interesting mixture of humor and resignation.
She looked up. "Is there something amiss?"
"Likely not," he said, giving her a half grin. "Mr. dea'Gauss has a matter which requires my personal attention, and asks that I meet with him at my earliest possible convenience."
Aelliana glanced toward the dark-filled windows.
"Which will be," Daav said, folding the letter back into its envelope and placing it on the smaller of his two piles, "tomorrow." He lifted an eyebrow.
"We have finished reading our mail," he said, his voice low and intimate.
Aelliana felt her belly tighten, and her breath came ridiculously short. She tried not to let him see these things, however, and calmly put her letter with the others.
"Your geas is lifted," she said coolly, raising her glass for a sip.
Daav smiled. "Then I am no longer required to be a gentleman."
Effortlessly, he came to his feet and approached her comfortable corner, his eyes on hers. She could not look away from his face; she could not move . . .
Gently, he took her glass and placed it on the table, keeping her hand in his. She found that she could move, after all; he raised her and she stood shivering and breath-caught as he loosened her sash. The robe fell open and he bent to kiss her breasts.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Love is best given to kin, and joy taken in duty well done.
—
Vilander's Proverbs, Seventh Edition
They had breakfast on the balcony overlooking the inner court, at not a particularly early hour. Daav had gone in to dress while she dawdled over her second cup of tea; he returned, overneat in his town clothes, to join her for a third.
"Is there anything that I might bring you from the city?" he asked.
&n
bsp; "Nothing springs immediately to mind," she answered. "Please convey my best regards to Mr. dea'Gauss."
"Certainly. It may be that I will return in time for lunch; it may be that I will not. Mr. dea'Gauss was not as plain as he might have been regarding the nature of our business."
"Mr. pel'Kana will see that I don't stint myself," she said, smiling at him from a vast inner contentment. "In the meanwhile, I have my letters to write, and an appointment to fix. After that, I may walk in the garden, or find Lady Dignity and stroke her."
"It sounds a full day, yet not overly fatiguing," Daav acknowledged with a grin. He rose and kissed her, sweetly, on the cheek. "Will you sleep with me tonight, beautiful lady?" he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
Aelliana shivered.
"Eventually," she said.
He laughed at that and went away. She finished her tea as she wrote out her acceptances, taking especial care with the note to Kareen yos'Phelium, then dressed and placed a comm call to Scout Academy.
By the time she came belowstairs, portcomm under arm, it could fairly have said to have been midday. She stopped in the kitchen to ask for an apple, some cheese and a bottle of cold tea, and carried these out into the garden, where she made camp on the bench surrounded by gloan-roses. She opened the computer and was very soon lost in the complexities of sub-rational mathematics.
It was there that Mr. pel'Kana found her more than an hour later, her lunch forgotten on the bench beside her, the sunlight threading her tawny hair with gold.
"Your pardon, Pilot," he said softly. "This was brought, express. You left no instruction . . ."
Immersed as she had been, it took a heartbeat, or longer, for her to understand the words.
"Express?" she repeated, frowning up from the screen. "I did not ask for—an express what, Mr. pel'Kana, if you please? I fear I am—somewhat fuddled."
"Your pardon," he said again, and held up a letter for her to see. "This arrived for you by express messenger, Pilot. I thought you would want it. If not, I will take it away and place it with the rest of the correspondence."
"Oh, I see! I will take charge of it. It was kind of you to bring it out."
