by Sharon Lee
The recounting of successful mischief was soothing; the child was beginning to relax, his muscles loosening under Daav's fingers. He lifted the restraining arm away. Val Con sat up, straddling Daav's chest, and looked down into his face, green eyes foggy.
That was a knife to the gut: Just so did his mother's eyes fog, with worry or—so seldom since they had embraced each other—with fear. Daav took a hard breath—and another as his son leaned forward and put one small hand on each cheek.
"Aunt Anne said that Mother wasn't coming home," he said huskily. "That's wrong, isn't it, Father? Mother lifted, but she'll come home."
Oh, gods. He raised his hand and stroked the back of his fingers along the boy's silken cheek.
"Aunt Anne is, unfortunately, correct," he whispered, feeling tears slip down his cheeks. "Your mother has—has died, Val Con."
The boy stared at him, foggy eyes full. "Like Relchin?" he asked.
The orange-and-white cat had died in his sleep last year, full of years and valor. If only Aelliana had been granted that same grace.
"Yes," Daav told his son. "Like Relchin."
A shudder ran through the thin body and Val Con began, silently, to cry. Daav caught him in both arms and sat up, cradling his child—Aelliana's child, their child—against his breast.
He rocked and put his cheek against the boy's soft hair, letting him weep, and weeping himself, in earnest.
Gradually, the boy's sobs lessened, and Daav found his tears less, as well.
"You won't die, will you, Father?" the boy's voice was blurry.
Daav sighed and cuddled him close. "Not for so long as I may," he whispered. "I promise."
Val Con sighed, apparently satisfied; and lay limp and exhausted. Daav kissed a damp cheek, and closed his eyes.
The gunman had been after him, Er Thom had said. Daav shivered and held his son closer. Was he a danger, then, to all his kin? Dare he never again walk on the port with his brother, his niece—
His son?
He needed—he needed to think. Gods, he needed to talk this over with Aelliana to—
Not Aelliana, he thought carefully. You will never speak with Aelliana again.
It seared, that thought, but the abyss did not open at his feet.
Of course not. He had promised his son that he would try to live.
Cradling Val Con against him, he rose, and carried him into the bedroom. He settled the boy snug under the covers, then lay down next to him, one arm over the small body. He closed his eyes, not expecting to sleep.
The next thing he knew, it was morning.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I have today received Korval's Ring from the hand of Petrella, Thodelm yos'Galan, who had it from the hand of Korval Herself as she lay dying.
My first duty as Korval must be Balance with those who have deprived the clan of Chi yos'Phelium, beloved parent and delm; as well as Sae Zar yos'Galan, gentle cousin, a'thodelm, master trader. There is also Petrella yos'Galan, who I fear has taken her death-wound.
Sae Zar fell while defending his delm. All honor to him.
Chi yos'Phelium died of a second treachery and in dying gave nourishment to her sister, my aunt, who alone of the three was able to win back to home.
The name of the world which has fashioned these losses for Korval is Ganjir, RP-7026-541-773, Tipra Sector, First Quadrant.
This shall be Korval's Balance: As of this hour, the ships of Korval and of Korval's allies do not stop at Ganjir. Korval goods do not go there; Korval cantra finds no investment here. And these conditions shall remain in force, though Ganjir starves for want of us.
. . . I note that my mother is still dead.
—
Daav yos'Phelium
Eighty-Fifth Delm of Korval
Entry in the Delm's Diary for Finyal Eighthday in the first Relumma of the Year Named Saro
"I thank you for your generosity to my lifemate. With her death, your gift returns to you." Daav extended the Jump pilot's ring.
Jon dea'Cort hardly spared a glance for it; his attention was on Daav's face.
"How are you, child?" he asked, his voice more than normally gruff.
"Alive," Daav answered, the ring still extended.
"The pilot's ideal, right enough," the elder Scout acknowledged, and pressed his lips tight.
"Jon," Daav said, perhaps too patiently, "take the ring."
The elder pilot sighed, and finally did look down at the thing, sparkling like a galaxy against Daav's palm. Slowly, he raised a hand and took the ring away. He clenched his fingers, hiding the glitter and the promise of it, and looked back to Daav, his eyes swimming.
"Don't forget your comrades, Captain. We're here when you need us."
"I know," Daav whispered, swallowing against rising tears. "Thank you, Jon."
"No thanks needed between comrades; you know that."
"I do, and yet—she would have had it so."
The other man bowed his head. "That she would have." He cleared his throat. "Will you be working today?"
He felt equally horrified and tempted—a sensation that had become wearingly familiar. Binjali's was a safe place—for him and, later, for Aelliana. They had met right here in the garage; had learned to trust, and to love, each other . . .
"Not just today," he managed, around the ache in his chest. "I do not by any means forget my comrades, Master. I—certainly, I will have a shift before the next relumma is done."
Jon inclined his head. "As you will."
As he willed. Daav swallowed against the terrible noise that was not laughter, and inclined his head in turn.
"Soon, Jon. Be well."
"And you, child," the old Scout murmured. "And you."
The door cycled as he approached, admitting a familiar, pudgy form.
"Daav." His hand was caught, and he was drawn into an embrace as gentle as it was speaking. A heartbeat only before Clonak released him.
Daav stepped back, raising his hands with fingers spread wide.
"I am just on my way away," he managed.
Clonak nodded and turned with him, back to the door.
"I'll walk with you, if you'll have me," he said.
"It's only a step to my car," Daav murmured, "but if you crave the exercise . . ."
Outside, it was a sunny, cloudless day, chilly but virtually windless. Aelliana had been dead for thirty-three days.
"Old friend," Clonak murmured, as if he had heard Daav's thought, "there are no words to express—"
Daav's hand shot out on its own, and gripped the other man's arm, tightly—and released him. "Don't, Clonak."
There was a small silence, before Clonak nodded. "I will of course respect your wishes," he said stiffly.
Daav bit his lip, ashamed of his churlishness.
"Forgive me, old friend," he said, with what gentleness he could muster. "You loved her, too—"
Clonak took his arm. "I loved her—and love her yet. However, my concern of the moment is my friend, who seems to be fading as I look at him. Are you well, Daav? Do you need—note, I do not say 'want'—a Healer?"
He shuddered and tried to pull away, but Clonak did not relinquish his arm.
Trapped and goaded, he sighed. "The Healers will cause me to forget those things that—that perhaps cause me not to thrive. I—we had so little time! How can I forfeit even one moment?"
"Get down!" Clonak shouted, augmenting the command with a firm push.
Daav hit the ground, rolling, into the shelter of a delivery van, pulled his weapon, and peered out.
A pellet struck 'crete six inches from his nose, cutting a tiny gouge in a spurt of dust.
"Stay down," Clonak snapped from beside him, "and do try not to be a target."
"Too late," Daav murmured, though he did withdraw to a position of more prudence behind the van.
Clonak slid something back into his belt. "My crew will be here soon," he said. "Just keep your head down, Daav."
"Crew?"
"Security
crew," Clonak said briefly. "I'm team leader."
"So—a practice run."
"Practice makes perfect," Clonak said in Terran. "Who's marked you out as a target, Daav?"
"The Terran Party."
Clonak frowned and shot him a glance. "The Terran Party . . ." he began.
". . . are wingnuts," Daav finished. "Yes, I've been told. They do, however, carry a grudge, and apparently believe that killing me will kill the proof of a common ancestor for Terran, Liaden and Yxtrang."
Clonak stared at him. "They're a little late getting the message, aren't they?"
"Most of the organizations the information was sent to ignored it, so far as I am aware. The Terran Party went to the trouble of finding who I was and setting snipers on me." A pellet struck the side of the van they sheltered behind. "Also, they were kind enough to murder Aelliana."
Clonak said nothing. No one came to claim the van they sheltered behind; no pedestrians or other traffic disturbed them.
No one shot at them.
The device on Clonak's belt vibrated; Daav heard the faint hum.
"Got them," Clonak said. "Want to come along and hear what they have to say?"
He thought about that, weighing the anger that was twisted, twined and inseparable from his grief.
"Yes," he said.
It was, as he had suspected, the information packet he had sent out to various Terran and Liaden supremacist organizations, detailing the common root. The Terran Party had taken umbrage and word had come down that "Daav yos'Phelium" needed to be taken out.
Hidden, he had listened while Clonak questioned both of the . . . people . . . the team had harvested—questioned them closely. Their target was "Daav yos'Phelium," dangerous madman. Clans meant nothing to them, nor did the Scouts or Solcintra University. It was as if they truly believed that the annihilation of Daav yos'Phelium would destroy the information they found so alarming.
Idiots, he thought, stalking along the river path in Trealla Fantrol's wild garden. He had made his excuses to Clonak when it seemed that he must rise and kill them with his own hands.
Balance—but of course it would not have been Balance. The two women taken by Clonak's team were ignorant; they followed orders and collected their pay. Killing them would have as much to do with answering Aelliana's death as drowning two kittens.
When his mother had been murdered, and Sae Zar, he had removed Ganjir from Korval's trade routes, forever. It had caused some difficulty, he had heard, which had failed to gratify him. Had the planet died, its population starved to answer Korval's deaths, yet it would not have nullified those deaths, nor returned Chi and Sae Zar to the arms of their kin.
So it would be with Aelliana. Balance with the Terran Party could accomplish nothing.
Might not Terra take exception to the wholesale slaughter of her folk? Aelliana asked.
"Assuredly she would," he answered, "and to set Korval against Terra is something that we are surely mad to contem—"
He ground his teeth together, looked around him at the empty pathway and crossed to an agreeably placed bench. Sinking into it, he closed his eyes.
This happened, too often. He had thought, with time, his halved soul would grow weary of attempting to simulate what was lost. Dreading the day it happened, yet he had supposed that the instances of his "hearing" her would grow further apart, and eventually, over . . . time . . . fade entirely.
Instead, he seemed to hear her voice more often, and more clearly, as he gained in strength. He tried to suppress it, to hear through it, but the effort left him exhausted in heart and soul. He told no one, not even Er Thom—especially not Er Thom—and that subterfuge further exhausted him.
Perhaps—perhaps, he thought, he should have the Healers. They would . . . Aelliana would be wrapped in mists, as if an old memory that no longer had the power to move him. He would forget the sound of her voice, her phrasing, her laughter; forget the color that mounted her cheeks when she was angry. He would be—reft and alone, the joy they had shared something that need no longer trouble him.
He took a breath and brought his attention forcefully back to the problem at hand. Daav yos'Phelium had a price on his head—he was in fact a hunted man who endangered those remaining of his loved ones by his very existence. Did Daav yos'Phelium vanish, then the hunt would cease.
It would, naturally, need to be a widely publicized disappearance, but he thought he might manage that. There was also the matter of Aelliana's Balance. Certainly, the woman he loved would never have agreed to the slaughter of innocents, even if he found himself willing to pursue such a course.
No, he thought, recalling the interview with the two women. The enemy here was not Terra—it was ignorance.
He might, after all, be able to deal with ignorance.
Sighing, he settled himself more comfortably on the bench, his head resting against the trunk of a silver ash.
Perhaps he fell asleep. Perhaps it was another sort of seizure, which ceded comfortable oblivion, rather than pain and terror.
The stab of a headache brought him to himself again, but he was not drowsing on the bench by the river path.
He was sitting on the family patio at Trealla Fantrol, Val Con tucked onto his lap, the two of them bent over a book. By the count of pages, they had been reading together for some time.
Of the time between his stopping on the bench and this moment, he had no memory . . . at all.
"Father," Val Con scolded, leaning forward, to tap the page. "Here. The nighttime garden was full . . ."
Daav caught his breath.
"Your pardon, my son; I am . . . a little sleepy. So—" He focused on the page.
"The night-time garden was full with moonlight, and the brown cat had no lack of partners for her dance . . ."
It was not a perfect solving—far from it. And yet, they could not find a better, he and his brother and Mr. dea'Gauss between them.
True, it removed a source of danger from within the heart of the clan, and undertook a Balance in Aelliana's behalf that moved Mr. dea'Gauss to a murmured "Excellent . . ."
Unhappily, it separated Daav yos'Phelium from every source of comfort and rare joy left in his life. That Daav yos'Phelium was sliding daily into a benevolent madness was something he did not choose to mention. There had been two more episodes of waking into a situation he did not recall; and the instances of hearing her voice were, he was certain, increasing. Sometimes, in the drifting grey mists between sleeping and wakefulness, he would feel her lying beside him, her head on his shoulder comfortably. He would scarcely breathe, striving to draw out the moment, which always ended too soon.
"Timing will be everything, Mr. dea'Gauss," he had said at their last meeting, where Er Thom and Daav signed the papers that made Er Thom Korval-pernard'i—holding the Ring and the Clan in trust for Val Con.
"I understand, your lordship. It shall be done appropriately."
"Of course it will, sir. You have never failed us."
Mr. dea'Gauss had inclined his head, and said nothing.
The last meeting had also established that Kareen had been offered the Ring in trust, and had refused it. The Ring should pass entirely, she argued; since there was an adult in the Line Direct to take it up.
There was, of course, precedent for this claim, Kareen being expert in such close readings of the Code.
It was all done now, though, and at last, saving one more thing.
Val Con held his hand tightly as they walked down Jelaza Kazone's public hall to the Delm's Hall.
The lights came up as they crossed the threshold, each portrait illuminated individually.
He and Val Con walked slowly, down the long line of Korval's delms. Most frames were inhabited by one face, often stern, rarely by two.
Like the one at the very end.
Daav yos'Phelium and Aelliana Caylon, the Eighty-Fifth Delm of Korval, the inscription ran, and there they were—a good likeness, as the phrase went. He, piratical and sardonic; she, open-faced and int
elligent. They were holding hands, Korval's Ring and the Jump pilot's cluster side by side.
Val Con sniffled, and Daav dropped to one knee beside him.
"I miss her," the boy said.
"I miss her, too," he answered—and caught the child close as Val Con threw himself 'round his neck.
"And I'll miss you. Father—don't go!"
"I must, child. I endanger all if I stay."
"But if you go, the clan can't protect you!" Val Con cried, which was closely reasoned, for one so young.
"Sometimes, it is the clan that requires protection," Daav said slowly. He closed his eyes, holding his son tight. "The clan is people, denubia; never forget that. We can only protect each other. Sometimes, in order to protect those others who are the clan, a person must do something that is very hard. The clan asks much because it gives much."
His mother had used to say that. He had often been of the opinion that the clan took more than it gave—and yet . . .
"When will you come back?" Val Con demanded.
Gods.
"When I can," he said carefully. "It may not be for a very long time. You'll have Shan and Nova and Uncle Er Thom and Aunt Anne, and so very much to learn. There will hardly be any time to miss me."
Val Con sniffled again, clearly indicating an opposing view.
Daav picked him up.
"Look again," he urged.
"All right," Val Con said after a few moments.
"Good. Now, come with me, of your kindness, Val Con-son. We must make an entry into the Delm's Diaries."
Chapter Forty
To be outside of the clan is to be dead to the clan.
—
Excerpted from the
Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
Daav yos'Phelium, once-delm of Korval, was dead—a matter of an error in the unrevised edition of the ven'Tura Tables, which, once embraced, had sent his ship tumbling into a sun.
Jen Sar Kiladi heard the news, but really, it was of but passing interest. More pressing was the need to find a position for himself—and that right quickly.
